I Wish I Was…
I wish I were William Shakespeare
I’d be very happy writing plays,
Seeing them on the stage,
Making my audience laugh and cry.
Writing about some dark lady
I think to be a Muse.
That’d be alright for me.
I wish I were John Lennon
I’d be very happy making music,
Being a poet and a philosopher;
Playing the piano all night.
But I’d give anything up for love.
Give up everything for Yoko.
Hmmm, maybe not.
I wish I was Samwise Gamgee
I’d live a life as happy as could be,
Apart from the business with
Frodo and the Ring,
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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Butterfly Collector
Stuck behind,
Only watching,
She moves fleetingly,
I’m only watching.
The glass between us,
Only watching,
The gulf behind us,
I’m only watching.
I don’t want to be
A butterfly collector,
I don’t want to be
Just a butterfly collector.
The class between us,
Only watching,
She moves on the street,
I’m only watching.
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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It’s My Destiny
If you had one chance,
Would you take it?
If you were given a taste of your dreams,
Would you take it?
If you were shown what you dreamed of,
Would you take it?
Don’t you see?
This is my destiny,
All roads have leaded here.
If you greatest fear was taken away,
Would you take it then?
If all the problems were take way,
Would you take it?
If you were given the chance to show your potential,
Wouldn’t you take that chance?
Don’t you see?
This is my destiny,
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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It All Works Out In The Movies
You know the sort of movie
With the string filled music
And the tear filled eyes
As the knight saves the day
And the hero gets his prize.
It’s another world when love finds a way
And things don’t go wrong.
They’ll live happily after the credits have rolled.
You would not believe the ending
Where the couple sail away,
Because life isn’t so easy-
There are more plot lines in the way.
We could wait until the credits roll
But then we might just miss the film
Because it’s happening as of now.
If you had to read that script
Then you might just throw it away,
You’d get to the point where the feelings show
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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For My Sister on Her 16th Birthday
I can no longer tell people that I have a little sister,
Now I must say that I have a younger sister,
Because you’re old enough to no longer be a ‘little sister’,
Though to be honest, that’s what you’ll always be to me.
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write,
Because there are no words of wisdom that I can give you
That you probably don’t already know,
The only advice I could impart is just to stay crazy.
I know that soon I’ll be going away and things may not be the same,
But I’ll always remember you like you are from this past year.
My sister- the strong, independent girl who takes no rubbish off anyone,
Listens to Elaine Page and the Sex Pistols, quotes Monty Python as if it were verse
And uses her eyebrows as dangerous weapons.
What I just want you to know, no matter how old or young you are,
Just how much your brother loves you dearly,
Even though you’re no longer old enough to be my little sister anymore.
poem by Charlie F. Kane (2007)
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She’s A Running Girl
I don’t know who her parents were,
Her background is hazy,
She never talked about her past,
Because she’s just a running girl,
Never stays in one place too long,
Because she’s just a running girl,
And she was always just born to run.
On the run for something she didn’t do,
Disowned by all those who loved her,
Stabbed in the back and betrayed,
And in a flash she was staring down
The barrel of cops long black gun,
Caught in middle of nowhere,
Condemned for something she didn’t do.
There was a guy once,
Who tired to run with her,
Her got about a mile or so
Before he fell by the wayside,
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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Everybody Dance (The Dance Of The Dead)
As the sun sinks upon the horizon,
As the dark night creeps in,
The dead dance.
On the streets they roam,
Silent,
Alone.
Everybody dances,
The saints and the sinners,
Everybody dances,
To the sound of the rhythm,
Everybody dances,
The dance of the dead.
The dance of the dead goes on,
And on,
Never stops,
Never slows,
Time does not matter to the dead.
Everybody dances,
The poor and the rich,
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poem by Charlie F. Kane
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