Submiit This

Where was I when life went left
Then took a right and flexed

take it on the chin
Not on your shin

Play awhile with life
Not forever but now

where was I when life was hexed
Taken by a sin

Not forever but right
But took a left on the chin

Not but for life left
But for sin and sex.

poem by John Shea
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I believe what.

That pie are not square
They are round

Best dog I ever had
Came from a pound

Life was easy at its worst
Love was harder
When not found

A kind gesture is nice
Not a bad sacrifice for love and life

Nothing I did in the past
Should take away this page of my life

This is what I believe.

poem by John Shea
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An average poem

It was at the railroad station where I met her
She was run over and almost dead

I wiped the blood from her forhead
And gave her the cpr I had been taught

She smiled and said John I love you
That scared the hell out of me

So I drank a quart of coffee
And said, well, excuse the hell out of me.

poem by John Shea
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Runner

When I was young I ran
As fast as I could in a tram

It was a vehicle of life
Not sanctioned by my wife.

Now I run for fun
Fun in the sun

The sun and the burn
The sanction we must learn.

I run, its insane
With my heart and my cane

Ran for cover
And another lover

Runner and lover
Simply under cover.

poem by John Shea
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Wet Steps

I looked at my lips this evening
to ask if there was some mistake.
You kissed me off
in the current that made struggle.
I did the dogpaddle
and called for survival.
My wife so religious
called for a revival.
Well I drank my last Bud
and waded in a puddle.
My life is a picture so clear
yet so subtle.

poem by John Shea
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Her garden

I grew a great sunflower that the birds and the bees did love.
It wilted and died in a great flood.
I cried naught for the plant.
But for the wildlife it did feed.
So I saved but one seed.
That is the service we give those we love.
A hope and a prayer.
From God up above.
Love is Rachel ann Butlers garden.

poem by John Shea
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Holiday meals

Here's a poem that will get your goat
But my goat ate my poem.
I'll get him for that
He ate all that i wrote.
I wrote such wounderous words
And all he does is burp
It's absurd.
Now all I can do
Is not let him get my goat
The words that I wrote
Were hastey and few
The goat that I had made such a great stew.

poem by John Shea
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To Submit

To submit a new poem
I must create a new poem
Everyone tries to be the best
You are the best
It's a poerty forum
Not in jest
But for the flow

My life is full of your prose
The truth that arose in our life
The friends we made in our life
So it was a chosen poem
To break up the strife
Not in jest
But for the flow.

poem by John Shea
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Ghosts

I feel them in the winter time,
When life is cold, and time goes slow.

We shiver with cold like a silver dime,
Dropped in the cold,
To a soul floating in time.

With coin in hand,
we look for fortune anew,
But the things that we find are never so blue
as the rush of cold wind when the coinholder seeks you

poem by John Shea
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Late night pizza

I am in a dream catching crabs last night,
They crawled on the macadam
And under a car
Into a brown paper bag filled with irate dreams.
My hopes and my dreams.
I caught crabs that turned into bacon
My mind was awake
But my body asleep.
Why do we dream?
Then do reflect
On what might have happened
To this old redneck.

poem by John Shea
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