In Pakistan

You read it in the paper,
You might see it every day.
But do you ever really think
about what's happeneing over there?
Imagine living in that country.
Imagine being there for real.
Imagine looking out your window,
to see smoke rising everywhere.

Imagine watching friends or family,
perish across the street.
Imagine being traumatized
by bombings every week.

Do you ever stop to think,
what's really going on?
Why bombers fire, blast and burn,
homes that people live in.

Maybe we'll never know,
maybe someone will make a study.
Maybe we were never meant to know,
why they destroy families.

Flibbertigibbet

I bent down to grab my bumbershoot,
when, past my ear, flew a leather boot.
I turned around, and was quite stricken,
There was an argle-bargle in the kitchen.

I poked my head inside to see,
the beginnings of a catastrophe.
My contankerous cat was hissing with fright,
as my discombobulated dog ran out of sight!

This probably came about by Billy,
my fatuous dog, tripping over a furphy.
Or something along that line,
it's flibbertigibbet, no worry of mine.

River in the Rainforest

A river in a rainforest,

is quite like a wild rabbit.

Chased almost always,

it runs away out of habbit.



It dances through the forest,

running swiftly through the trees.

Leaping from rock to rock,

weaving anywhere with ease.



It's always moving forward,

until it reaches a cliff.

Where it slows down sometimes to a stop,

but it will get back up in a jiff.

Carpe Diem

Carpe diem, or seize the day.

They both mean the same thing.

To wake up and know, how you succeed

could change with anything.



How you seize the day could depend

on what you bring with you.

Be it smarts, joy, strength, beauty

or your cousin from Peru.



It could depend on how you act,

your thoughts or attitude.

It could depend on what you see,

or if you feel the need to be rude.



How would I seize the day, you ask?

My answer may seem too free.

But I would merely embrace the day

that God has placed in front of me.

Butterfly

In a forest, south of Durham

in South Carolina, it's spring.

In the forest, there's a small meadow,

that's just filled with living things.



There are flowers of all kinds, bluebells,

tulips and pansies are just a few.

But of all, there is one flower different,

it's shaped like a bell but not blue.



The flower heads are pink to start,

then with yellow stripes they blend.

Inside the heads are pollen holders,

golden stamens they extend.


The scent of nectar, being carried

on the wind, is very sweet.

Especially for those who fly

on dainty wings with little feet.


It lands so lightly on the flower,

it just barely ever sways.

It perches in a quaint position,

only beauty it can display.

My Verse

My verse is always changing,
it will never lie.
It will always keep on moving,
every day until I die.
It's as unique as I am,
there are none the same.
Its rhymes and lines will always match,
every letter of my name.
I'm never happy with my verse,
I want it better then it can be.
But unfortunatly, I know too well,
it can only be as good as me.

This is a poem I wrote, no, whipped up in a matter of minutes, after watching the clip. (both clips really) My poem might seem to say, that I'm not happy with it itself. But what I'm never satisfied with is my life. The things I'm doing, the things I hope for, dream for, imagine and live for. Poetry is only limited by the author.

Limerick on a Stick

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There once was a cat from calcutta,
who liked to eat green butta'.
Oh, what a loss!
When he found, it was moss!
That cat is now nothing but splatta'.
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This was a limerick I wrote a few years ago.
Limericks have to be my favourite kind of poem.
Short and sweet, or funny in this case.