And I Under The Moon

The jug and I under the moon
and my lips around the neck of the bottle of wine,
by the moon light is it full of the flowers dew,
I pour the scarcity of each dropp and it's association
against the bamboo and I watch to need the heron it's
crest off i see it go by as a dragons shadow independently.
Moving off, 'Therefore before the lifting of the glass,
I invite you because of our friendship,
revalations are made as to my shadow which then makes up
the moon myself and it's our three.
Is it not known my shadow follows each movement of my body
swaying as the leaves from which the rice it makes is simply.
Moon of moon shining down between shows us company
and my shadow because I am by you for wine maintained,
as to the spring flowing forth nothing is forever
and would be assisted wise are you adjusted too practice
each our lips the neck of the bottle of wine our pleasure.
As for me and as for you the moon I who am I have begun
babmboo in sleep before I go, the stand gently rising,
you dance and the shadow it moves strangely

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poem by Is It Poetry
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Eighth Wonder a Woman

Which you are, Pretty and Smart;
eighth wonder of you, this woman of women
where my secret, she lives full therein.
The world made you to establish her,
and must now take her notice with great pride.

Greatest of greatest savants,
established for they would adapt to this mother
of woman the woman they now know she is.

Hard working her model of great womanhood.

Softness of heart by those few and but;
when she tries to say more to them.

You are great, take them there and make vast
wide all the more deeper a pond, no a lake from
that river of such simple need, you understand it.

In charge from the beginning and

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poem by Is It Poetry
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She Walks Outside Away

Old,
old man walks up to a little\large girl, lolly pops.
Inside,
she walks inside
after the grandpa pa 'said' sympathetic attention,
natural spurts her growth.
Attention is paid to the mask and
grandpa pa, must ask.
Grand-daughter 'dear' it is hardly a mask.
Seen by 'I' many are 'cut's' and deep smiles and
the moon is pale and full, hardly alone, come here.
But Grandpa pa it is only one swimming pool
high are the sides, no one can see, inside.
With my 'trusting' friends from school.
A small swimming pool, why a worry my mask?
Thinking 'she'
who the old imbecile and must he think it is.
Fresh, clean and full and
with the articles of they attention to my, around it;
They a swimming pool my attention obtained.

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poem by Is It Poetry
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Death Married Death To Death

Death looks at the flower, and it screams,
I am wet, moist and beautiful, look at me.
Why do I stand here alone, come and beat me,
I will wait, I will wait you must come over here to speak.
Death hovers, smiling, winking and always talking,
and by you walking, knowing that, this time is yours
there is no rest, that death must ignore you as well.
Any thing that you touch will also never die, neglected.
Death is love, love is death, why are you both, here.
Death is your pet pink pig, two flying pearls,
slapping against deaths face.
Death is a dry cracked nipple, asleep, holding on until
the flesh falls off and the milk is yellow and dry..
Death is a bullet fixed, never moving, and why does the
world move you through it always with impertinence to show..
Death is a mysterious voice, so disturbing and your quite,
coming aligns along the border, sounding alarms to no one,
while you walk across the street knowing you never look
at death as it comes over to you while you talk to some
one else never paying attention and embarrassed death

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poem by Is It Poetry
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of Phobias

Are you that person whom when you walk,
to whom you talk and coming I am, independently?
Whereof the road where you are dark walking
and talking you passing by me in the park.
You by your thoughts then start changing.
And as for me, me for as when, you.
When you have occasion and strange is that,
what you feel a little slower you walk it is dark.
Worry naught of fear, fear of the darkness,
when as for you it is fear, fear of me, fear of the darkness.
Whether the night brings you fear of the darkness,
and fear of the darkness I am coming to soon, I am there waiting.
Someones fear, fear of it fixating upon you.
I whom always it is, must posses.
Someone shakes one finger deep under the wall.
Move the moon to one side, which do you wish it possesses?
You by my deepest, up to the neck darkest phobia.
Yonder over there and your neck it is tearing off the skin.
Lines inbetween which are felt when you cry out and the tears.
Just last night when you felt what you saw.

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poem by Is It Poetry
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