Of great heart-ed generous folks like you
No poem has a second draft,
Till someone points out with intentions true

Yes I give due credit too.

That I am really not adept,
At the finesse of writing,
Imaginary and metaphorical poetry,
Is known to me

Why can't we call a spade,
a spade?
It’s bothering me.
Why should I say moon,
When I mean your face
And
Why should I condemn you,
Just to field a gloomy face.

Do tell me….

I commenced composing poems,
As early as eight years
When my first poem

The Truant,

Composed in a class,
Was taken away by my Principal

It was about an incident,
When schools kids went a riot....

I don't remember what I wrote
But ever since I have composed
Poetry of my own
And
as you must have noticed
No two poems of mine are alike,
They neither rhyme nor chime
But so many friends,
I can now claim as mine.

This too is hardly a piece
Yet I know you may like it.

There isn’t much going on tonight

that I find joyous in life

complexity surrounds my every thought

blocking my paths to problems resolve

There’s no fun in striving for success

when believing in fairness is dumb

never demonstrating justice  

with all the faith in the world uttered

I got a lot of work to do

here at Neopoet and school

I’m about to flip my lid releasing hot steam

trying to get A’s in these fall lessons

But then, it’s always that way

Oh! How can I forget your face
The tenderness, of your embrace
Your precious smile, that gentle kiss
These things, I know, I’ll always miss

The way you’d squeeze and hold me tight
While making love all through the night
And how you’d talk the whole day long
Or sing some sad old country song

The times we had, and we had some
But sadly now the time has come
Two people left with broken hearts
Because you can’t control your farts