Not Your Token Love PoemThis isn’t your token love poem. This isn’t your grandma’s poetry. This isn’t Bill Shakespeare’s:Not Your Token Love Poem
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate; Rough winds do shake the buds of May, And summer’s lease has all too short a date...
This is real poetry.
I love those eyes Those big, beautiful, blue eyes That smile for miles And leave me forever floored.
Those arms and hands They look like twigs, but do work I couldn’t
Even imagine doing. Slashing at c
Street SleeperYesterday I saw a homeless man, a street sleeper, sleeping amid the bottles and cans, broken grass and rats, trash and filth, covered in nothing but an old blanket and some plastic garbage bags.Street Sleeper
I thought to myself, how can I help him, when I don’t know how?
I placed a crumpled 5 dollar bill into his outstretched hand, wrinkled and dirty and shrunken like him.
He may die on this very street, in that very spot- tonight.
But he will live on
forever in my Poem.
Blue In GreenThese grimy streets are coved with filth and smashed glass glinting in the moonlight. Vagrants and sad bums sleep in alleyways and on benches, weather-beaten and worn. A lonely man sits onBlue In Green
the curb, drinking a can of Pabst Blue
Ribbon Beer and soaking up the aura of this nocturnal city. Waiting… hoping… sitting…
Tuesday night at the Blue Note Jazz Club in the primeval heart of the city. Mr. Fabulous wails on his horn, Little Willie smashes away on his drum- pounding like the beat
of one communal heart. Three people sit &
| i like to think i am a poet, but in reality, im sure that isnt the case. poetry is my life. i eat and breathe poetry. i have tried my had at short stories and other fiction, and have had a little success, however, i just feel more comfortable as a bard. i hope you like what i have. |
