To write right
We must write; right?
I love Texas in the fall
I love Texas in the spring
And oh these two days I love
More than almost anything
There are two parts to poetry
one that speaks
that's you
and one that hears
that's me
Good morning Edgar; how are you? (It's evening here, rather cold and prematurely dark.)
We have a bright sunny day in Houston. Almost two-thirty in the afternoon. I go online a few minutes, then get on with my offline life on Saturdays. Should be popping in and out over the next ten or so hours.
The high temp today was 16 degrees. The sun peeked out for a few hours; at least it wasn't gloomy. I think January and February are the most boring months of the year, they make winter seem so long.
I've lived in places where the weather can be quite gloomy. It can be here, also, but not consistently. Today was bright and sunny and we were in short sleeves much of the day. The worst thing, it gets dark immediately after I get home in the winter time.
Icicles sparkling one by one
they cannot melt from rays of sun
Slippery cold daggers hanging low
make winter passing, so very slow
the crunching slick and wretched ice
salted once and salted twice
you slip and slide
but what the heck
lucky not to break your neck
i ponder the moon
i live on earth like a rat
ponderous balloon
make me feel like a gnat
if i could board that silver rocket
inside of some astronauts pocket
i would take a **** on the moon
take along some clean shirts
just in case
you get the squirt's
This is only the second poem in which I have used the word "moon." Ordinarily I oppose its use.
A sweeter flower hence did bloom
upon the craters of the moon
thus began it's life re-sized
because it's depth was gravitized
No sooner was it to behold
that matter made it just too cold
as if felt a darkened pain
it died because of lack of rain
thus no man was ever meant to see
a moon flower as it was meant to be
The lillies of the moon
Await in the far side gloom
Cold as mushrooms
Final as tombs
A moon was never meant to be
for lovers sipping Jasmine tea
only to light upon a stone
and keep it's beems close to home
moonbeams are nice by far
to keep at home in a jar
The man in the moon growled out loud
and hid his face behind a cloud
a disgrace to all he did not please
his disgruntled face had turned to cheese
edgarblythe wrote:This is only the second poem in which I have used the word "moon." Ordinarily I oppose its use.
Why do you oppose its use?
I was joking because of my use of "****" in a poem. That is the actual word I was really refering to.
I thought it was funny...thinking of such a senario happening on the moon.
I could imagine future astronauts finding it...
