In a sea of mediocrity
there are exceptions on this earth,

where integrity, and personal values
show a legacy that has worth.

A struggling, single mother
continually does her best,

completing what's in front of her
like taking some weird test.

Wearing hats a plenty
She attempts to complete tasks,

from her pedestrian existence
before her boss has time to ask.

Being a minority
helped land her at this job,

neither does she sing for joy
nor have private time to sob.

If you kill the dead
they'll follow you home
no matter how large the moon
or small the fingertip.

Crop circles don't mean any thing
to the insect, regardless how intricate
the sign, I exist in God's delusion
and write poems about human petulance
in defiance of all the evidence that no one exists
but my choiceless thoughts,
I am dying into a Grand Canyon of words, what shade of India ink
shall I use to draw outside my lines
when I am breathless with awe and hopeless in the void?

You My Dears

You are poetic dear
I have to scientifically endear,
I do hope you all do hear

Albeit

I’d like to from you all individually hear...
The burst,
The tear,
The clouds,
the crowds
The thunder
the clap,
All are
and
shall be enlightened by poetry
Which undoubtedly you do bear
And
I dare say
I can ever at all compare...

She was my old flame
I can never remember her name;

she often tried to bite me,
at times it did excite me,

she was my old flame.

My gal Christine
she was pretty, slender, and mean;

she was such a vamp,
in fact was quite the tramp,

she was but a teen.

Then came Shirl
who really made my life twirl;

when she left me I got sad,
She treated me so bad,

thought she was the girl.

Then came Anne
I feared she might be a man;