One is the loneliest number

In the distance, by the lake's edge,
beneath the day's twilight, the water
echoes a calm feeling.
The cob and his pen float in rhythm,
unattached from the world,
as their plumes stay dry.

As I watch the vivid creatures waltz
with beauty and grace, my thoughts
recall a room full of lilies,
and the drama of a wedding dress.

In the morning, they rise into the silent air,
my inflamed heart, not able to test
their flight, soars to a distant time and place,
once more, pondering whether
this will be the last migration.

poem by Bill Kamen
Added by Poetry Lover
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Cold Beer, Women and Music

I like cold beer on a hot day
I like hot women on a cold day
I like music on a hot or cold day

I like to have cold beer in my pad
I like to have my women scantily clad
I like to have my music not bad

I like my cold beer enshrouded
I like my women endowed
I like my music loud

I like my cold beer in my right hand
I like my women tanned
I like my music close at hand

I like cold beer to unwind
I like women to dine
I like music to remind

[...] Read more

poem by Bill Kamen
Added by Poetry Lover
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