Tough Toiling

Lack of knowledge is darker than night.

Young man on a quest in life to be the best.
At whatever it is you set your heart to.
Toiling hard every single day without rest-

Like students study to prepare for their tests
Just so they will pass with points that are not few.
A man on a mighty quest to be the best.

Walking with the sun on her path, east to west
To go milk the cows just before they cry moo-
Every single day working hard without rest.

In the garden getting rid of all the pests.
Working till the bright day loses all its hue.
Young man on a quest in life to be the best-

Like a bird in the dawn rising from its nest
To catch first the worm on its way to the zoo.
Hard at work everyday toiling without rest.

I respect your commitment to the chase but
Be careful not in winter to get the flu
If you're a man on a quest to be the best
Toiling hard day in day out without much rest.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

The Pensive Poets Song

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.


Never fear when the pensive poet is here
For you know he always has his pen near
At hand to help us fight against our fear.

When the car of your life you cannot steer,
And in an accident you end up dear.
Never fear for the pensive poet is here.

Back then, you were right to be scared before
The poet got a pen that is like a spear
In his hands it helps him to fight our fear.

When at the bar you have had one more beer
Too much and your path you cannot see clear.
Never fear for the pensive poet is near.

In the jungle with predators so near
You'll want him to have his red pen nigh
At hand to help him fight against our fear.

When you're running scared, away from your tears
Listen to the birds, singing loud and clear
'Never fear when the poet has his pen near
At hand to help you fight against your fear.'

© 2019 The Poets Peace

More then the sky blue

Just like the blacksmith hammers the gallant knights sword into shape.

Tough times batter me into becoming better.

Lazarus Shatipamba

Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?
Even when your lipstick's smudged and your makeup's dry
He will love you as much as birds love the sky blue.

Tell her, the poet loves you much more then lies the true
When stupid cupid comes around to ask you why
You don't know what it means for a poet to love you.

When your friends come by your house to ask for a clue
How much the poet loves you, without even a try-
Tell them he loves you more then the sky loves its blue.

Say that the poet loves you many times, not a few
When they ask you to answer quick and on the fly
"Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?"

Tell all the people of the wide world the poet loves you.
Even when your own self love does begin to die
He will love you more then the judge loves what is true.

When potential suitors ask if you have a clue
In a voice that's very deep and volume high
"Do you know what it means for a poet to love you?"
Tell them he loves you more then birds love the sky blue!

© 2020 The Poets Peace

Simon Says To Fawn

Once your thoughts reflect who you genuinely want to be, the appropriate emotions and the consequent behavior will flow automatically. Believe it and you will see it.

Wayne Dyer

Sneaky Simon Samuel Stevenson Shawn-
Quite sure you've never heard the name before
Was a boy who many names had to spawn.

At dawn, Simon Samuel Stevenson Shawn
When he sneaks past me on way to the store
Prefers it when i fawn at the name Shawn.

Yet, during the eve he wants me to mourn
The one he takes at dawn, for one before.
Then he goes by the name Steve and not Shawn.

But one day when to the dam we had gone
He tossed Steve into the deep dam before
My eyes and took up the name Sam, not Shawn.

One day, Simon Samuel Stevenson Shawn
Just when i began to think that no more
Names would be coming my way, said "Simon-

From now on will be my name when the dawn,
the evening and the deep dam are no more.
For Simon's the name with which i was born
And Simon says, you should begin to fawn."

© 2019 The Poets Peace

The Best in Town

Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.

P. Vaull Starr

Tall young man on a big and mighty quest
To be first on top of the high hills crest
So that in the town they crown you the best.

Do you ever think of taking a rest
Up high on the tall trees in the birds nest,
Tall young man on a big and mighty quest?

‘Just like the beating heart inside my chest,
I’ll stop when my body is laid to rest
For in the town I must be crowned the best.’

‘I must scale the looming mountain biggest
In nothing but long pants and a tight vest
For I must meet the demands of my quest.’

Have the Gods up high in the blue skies blessed
You yet in your big quest to pass the test
Set by the people to crown one who’s best?

‘The Gods on me did choose to play a jest
When they bid the people to crown a guest
Who went not on a big and mighty quest
To be in the town crowned the only best.’

© 2019 The Poets Peace

I knew I’d Write


since the day i first picked up a pen.
and had the urge to write some poetry.
i knew I’d write, till i grew to be a man.i wasn’t good, for i was a child then.
that wrote only, in verse that was free.
since the day i first picked up a pen-

that has not yet, rested since the day i began.
as I’ve been working, harder then a buzzing bee.
for i wanted, to be better as i grew to be a man.

i spent, more time in my father’s den.
comparing things to a growing tree.
since the day i first picked up a pen-

i grew older, and began writing for fun.
using the names, of things the eye could see.
so i b’came, good as i grew to be a man.

i now receive, much praise from the village clan.
saying that their eyes, did…

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Cries of the Poets Pain

Oh! how it puts a poet in much pain.
Counting syllable after syllable
Just to come up with the perfect refrain.

Five tercets, only a single quatrain
In which to tell my most fetching fable?
Oh! does it put a poet in much pain. 

How much longer can i suffer the strain
On my mind, of wanting to be able
To come up with the most perfect refrain?

Many a page on which i left a stain
Writing a refrain juicier than an apple.
Oh! how it puts a poet in much pain.

On days when my head is on a low plain
I sometimes wonder if my mind's stable
After thinking up the perfect refrain.

Was there really ever something to gain
In trying to write a good villanelle
Either than the cries of a poets pain
When he tries to make the perfect refrain?

However long the night, the dawn will break.

African proverb