Grace To Thee
Walking alone the beach I came across
this most amazing silver haired citizen I had
seen in a while.
The beach was long for miles he had
this great smile he stopped and young
friend to do to do looking at his right side
of chest tanned bronze it was gracefully gone
surgically removed swan song he still sang.
Walking away after brief exchange some of
these shoes of yours will never be filled.
poem by Is It Poetry
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From Your Lips Pour Honey
Musical talents your angel is wise
for the heavens with taste lent you
graceful thoughts never to hide
now playing them all.
Lips that he holds maybe another are
blessed with a finger to
trace them magic
flows.
No my poems arnt magic my words
will never loose you such as when
I hearinto you now.
Yet you do me great wrong thinking your
beauty of song sends no sliver of
light through my soul.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Apatch Apart Aplay Aday
when i got, it, i fought it,
i gave in to it, to her, any way.
she looks funny wearing it, i try to see it's
humor, it is blind to, it feels,
the heat when you look at it, how, is it?
i do not see what holds it on, determinations
grippes is chastity.
yet she holds it on, it is an every day battle,
a struggle, for
dear is life, if ever she, lets go of it,
she will have won, and it will have lost.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Skinless... I Drag My Foot..through You
if i tell the truth
she will be
arrested
So my foot is bloody
it is other wise unremarkable
except i cannot stand on it, yes
it weeps
it has never stopped
the bandages are yellow with age
and fluid of youths
uncrushable need to explore
gives way to side walks
that creak even under my light weight
as did her car when drunk she passed
over me when i was asleep
trying to stay warm......under the car...
poem by Is It Poetry
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For A Teacher
teacher o so wise all do cry of the
bounty sweet words flowing ever
from your lips.
teacher of the bright lights in Brazil
such students are thrilled by
your love of them.
teacher so skilled wayward the
path you haven chosen
to share.
teacher high in canopy tops from
the winds your hand does hold
the keys for tomorrow.
Teacher, its me now, I am full of you,
still you must teach me more, I wait..
poem by Is It Poetry
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Cigarette
I made by behind it.
Thus, I made it flower, stretched more,
then discharged to him
has whole group!
Its first facial massage, that moment,
monday morning unshowered,
this sexy thing never poses missed under a load.
It led again to her husband.
THEN It s' there extend 'ed with it everywhere
its face his/her husband nds' done forever this with it smoked its cigarette Now 'it' stays patient of it.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Teacher It Is Hard
Teacher it is hard-being one teacher,
and teacher so write none are wrong.
Too pull it out of one and push it into another,
when mothers and fathers blame none but you.
The trial of and-and in love with them all and
girls with men and boys trust you-not too fall.
Weapons books words are plain weapons upon
which to lean and kill not the rose inside her dream.
And more of him as he wanders lost withheld inside.
poem by Is It Poetry
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In Trust, Her Wish List
Way, yes way
I buy her cloths
palaces are pleased is
eloquent lined rack
when shopping for.
Piety on pout chaste Catholic in
Glori's task
reads navy blue
white socks red
cap busted
back wash of pink.
Baptist tree sleeves
a gazelle of grace
legs length
slim traced calves foot
is swift to outrun
preachers son.
Modest exposure releases
flanks
gathered mercies a breath
[...] Read more
poem by Is It Poetry
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When Toys
Unfortunately someone did not have any toys
In the forgotton childhood...hides my attic.
Ingaged, they now play with the other toys
between the wooden rails...ironwood is....
Butterfly wings stick together while others cry
pulling back the wind they fly not far apart....
Jack and Jill they have no other toys
some where In your lost childhood...
When hills had eyes I came back to say
When toys..........
T.G.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Are You A Good Wife
I go shopping for you
dress in rags
so you don't
why can't you miss me
if you don't
why why why.
Jets careers
airfares arteries
arrears
smear me
in you
more each day.
It is not your home
you crawl in to stop
it's wheel
it bogs you down
in the peat
unwanted mail
[...] Read more
poem by Is It Poetry
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