Poo Ting Noises

delirious poo ting noises
lips opposite from one another.
talking about bubbles, floating.
humor magical noises.
spice, appearing then leaving
quickly.
musical notes tuned, rubbed
by the silk between,
two pieces of soft rock.
to hear it/is to see it.
to smell the laughter,
is to be
in love, with your whispering,
happy poo ting, fruity flavors.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Sexy Is Sexy, ' Watching You

Walking down the great hall.
Twin curved round balls.
Well rounded calf muscle and strong thigh and tall.
The hiking of skirts not seen by all.
Pink lips they drink from pink clouds,
dark heavy skies and blue clouds.
Full is the rumble and throaty the roar,
coming in through the back door.
Coming back for more pie, as it pulls up fast one striped flag.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Some Children Say

Yours Is now a different world, some children say?
A world that lost it's way as thought advances?
May it never be, that we must give less thought,
to those with more in thought or how the thoughtless.
Why not let the children pray, where children play.
When you are old and Grey because of what you said,
and where then will you stay, from what you made?

poem by Is It Poetry
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Moon Is Like You

Moon will my beam cross over?
Moon how too know I am so lonely.
Moon know, why I do sit under you?
Moon You are so bright, I reach up,
into and touch yours is very heavenly.
Moon why do you blink? Moon so pink.
Moon like you, we are to much similar
and have only one way up into moon.
Moon our faces reflect out and within.
Moon they all do, moon when you do.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Pauls Little Frog

searching for wiggly button of glee from our mail
the tad pole for all under adult supper vision can
sextouple in size to flame thier popularity in times
of recession little help for the blind who can't ever
seem to find some room from a frog in their heart
to hop for a child who needs a friend every day.

st pete times 23~12~2008
for you paul r.thanks.c.e.mcl~d.a.c.

poem by Is It Poetry
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When Love Is Like Fire On Ice

When love Is like the fire on Ice, she needs;
She cools fire and ice is to burn again.
The hard frozen heart cools never a thought,
of one single flake that settles on the fire to melt.
Stiffer my resolve does grow to claims within,
when as sweat that never breaks, entreatingly.
As night ends the fire the heart consumes again
the tempest driven back and forth inside cool winds.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Ebbs The Tide

How long I wait
out there to see your long face
each day and each day I come back
treading water it coming, it going out
either way, 'I know it moves quickly,
and some times, 'I grow restless, floating.

Saying that I would recognize the swells
above the water as your line is
and because of mine there below
I am trapped as well, under water
Ebbs the tide and the water does it move.

poem by Is It Poetry
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In Any Langauge it is What

When with your pity, my family is well.
When I leave yours with such, it is not.
......................................... ...........
When shooting my family, it is good.
When I damage yours back, it is bad.
............................................. .......
...................................... ..............
When you hurt my family it is, fine.
When I leave yours alone, it is not.

poem by Is It Poetry
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i grow, i grow, 'While' i watch 'You

i grow, i grow, While i watch you,
and for all of this time,
you have been where, i grew,
most advanced in your care
as i watched you..

i can dance, i can dace,
and you watch me,
as i dance up and down
come and share
this last dance with me
as i dance this dance,
i hold on to you,
as you hold on to me
while they watch us,
both of us laughing as we
dance the rest of our life away.

poem by Is It Poetry
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My American Niece The Talker

She plays with her dolls hours on in
singing them songs that
never end.
Wishing on them when missing
their feet to go to a doctor to
get a sweet treat.
Ever moving she talks walks talks
television on she turns it off
yes she talks
Even after tiredness over takes her
eyes glazed over in rapture
she talks.
Time doesn't matter to the talker of dolls
every one learned to walk and talk.

poem by Is It Poetry
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