Spontaneous Poems

Golden streams of light
Flood with dawning,
Drenching the pines,
Morning spawning
O'er the land.
Chat of squirrels,
Hacking of crows,
Silent roebuck
In frozen pose,
On Nature's hand.

Fall brings cooler weather
and colorful leaves and maybe a sweater.
There is so much we can do this time
besides writing, pruning, gardening and rhyme.

Mind like a sausage, he meanders.
He walks like a dog leg, slow,
Across the frozen slip that panders
To insidious wind's flow.

Heart like shoe leather, she plucks her eyes
Just at the brow; lets him go.
She allows hail's pelting from the skies
To lay him out in one blow.

Orchid awoke to find himself in love
with Rose, petals blooming, in thorny clothes.
"Shed your thorns," Orchid said, "and let me see
the truth behind your beauty." Rose quivered,
and thought of Orchid's strange reputation,
Death-affirming, parasitic, and yet,
beautiful in bloom. Rose saw potential,
but feared the days that Orchid did not bloom.
"Orchid, while intrigued, I am indeed miffed
that you do not approach your love with Love,
but with possesion, and frightening gall.
What is it that you offer to make me
shed my coat of thorns?" Orchid paused and said
"A noble heart, a cure for Rose forlorn."

Death came with gentle jaws
And stealth into the room
Soon leaving on padded paws
Reeking the spell of doom

Are we climbing evolution's ladder;
Did we step through a rung?
Did we ascend, mad as a hatter,
Or merely try while too young?

California voter,
I appeal to your sense:
Tell Schwartzenager,
Keep it in his pants;
Recall the recall;
Don't play the spoiler's ball.
Recall the recall;
Don't vote a new name at all.

Trying to suppress a smile
At Edgar and his recall style.
And though I'm not succeeding much,
Old Gray makes hay; still in the clutch.
I do so wish the man would let
His hair get ruffled, then you bet
He'd garner a new vote or two.
Windblown hair might be the clue

Gray is gray
In more than one way
But paradise will never be
So why blame it on such as he

Dave Us From Davis?
Oh please save us
from Gray Davis
in angst they whine
all of the time;
Schwartzeneger
is an eager
terminater
recall beater.

---BBB

Without a trace
Our fleeting thought
Without a trace
The things we've bought

Madly to race
Down to our goal
Without a trace
Our fleeting soul

A tulip in a dank plot
Wished to get more sun
It put itself in a pot
To the light did run

The tulip felt warm and lazed
And slept through the day
Until a goat came and grazed
And ate him away

I stand on a hill, more than half way up.
I look down, over the plains and valleys,
At the forests and streams, like a lonesome pup,
Missing lost friends and receding memories:

Then I look up, at the crisp blue sky,
At the path I have before me, yet to climb,
And I have no time to worry and ponder why;
But to make a gentle trail, wending my life's rhyme.

For Edgar:

For Edgar of true navy blue,
A birthday surprise and a smile.
A trampoline fun with a spring
Eternally resilient in style
That captivates all who would read
His verse that we take into soul
And turn it to look at the fold
Of beauty and verse --broken mould

Happy Birthday, Edgar.

Happy Birthday Edgar
Edgar:

With your poets soul
at Able2Know
you set our minds to rhyme
to meter everytime
much birthday happiness
I wish you, I confess

---BumbleBeeBoogie

It will never end
If a single friend
Gives me the nod
Thanks to them all
And my bit of gall
Onward I plod

I lie to you; don't lie to me.
I'm the present; you're the past.
When I look back, you're what I see;
I hold your truth hard and fast.

Though I call this new copper gold
Though I give back lives you sold
Though I knock down your smoking gun
Remove the black sheet
You put across the sun
I've got to have your runway for my planes

Bleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedbleedawashbleed
bleedbleedinbloodbleedofpastpresentandtocomeriversofbloodoceansof
bloodfrailsacksofbloodeasilysplitopenstopthebleeding

Pyrex in the 'wave
Coffee's on the brew
Papa didn't shave
His teeth need their glue

Mama at the sink
Hands all wrinkled and red
Gives Papa a wink
And pats his bald head

Moloch ate children
Desired them by the million
He belched like a cannon
That echoed the canyon
And demanded they have Twinkie filling