Under The Weathers

I try to understand the sky, weather woman
says one thing, sky would do another.
Why worry about some umbrella, no one needs?
I walk through puddles, just to wash my feet.
I try to keep my cat away, from the rabbit.
I just cannot tell about the weather, I cry into my eggs
because, I can't afford any more roses.

poem by Is It Poetry
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I Have No Time, Can I Touch 'it' Just One Last Time..?

yes
so it is
It is so pink
how can i find my way in
it is only uncovered for its modesty
it beats within a hurried warmth inside you
inside i feel you try the boundaries
it is uncovered now today
it is so pink
it is so
hot
is it
you
pinker
winkers
richer....................................... ......................

poem by Is It Poetry
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Behind The Mirror

Behind the mirror,
sits to watch
the fawning boy a man.
A man she wants
that boy to be.
Behind round eyes
the man
'she' longs to see.
The mirror only shows
her why
it can not be.
Though He 'Said'
'You are beautiful'
The mirror in her hand
Her,
'Daddy said'
Come on hurry up child
or you will be late for school
again.

poem by Is It Poetry
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And I Danced In Freedom

Some times when i walk,
and i danced for freedom,
and some wonder i am old,
and weary born hearts gold.

Some will dance that dance,
and fall beside there brother,
Two can dance that dance,
one leaves to make amens.

Quite walks i quake each night,
and this is how youth grows, and
i danced with freedom into sleep.

poem by Is It Poetry
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It(is~a~storm Drain That Lives On Your Street~~

It is where the life is sucked from you
it is not a bordello dirty mind whom
sleeps in the mud from which
you came.
I speak of the babies ripped from the womb
shipped to the pet food companies
ground up and bought as food
for your pets.
Is it a wonder why your dog is always humping
your lost mind and the cat
shreds your bum.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Moon Johnny's Gun

Moon Johnny's gun -
Bound up brass, shots burst bright eye of yellow sun;
Moon coils heavy rope, that boils the living water.
Comets fly by moons cheek, with love in a white
hail of bullets; heavens hand props pale moon on
cotton clouds, as moon rises, and then rests in honor.
New moon colors the eye, Johnny sleeps under the sky.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Our Round Ball

Copies for the worker, always working.
Each round ball you never copy, comes around.
America which they can pull they push.
Africa the pharmaceutical the children's, candy ate.
China, and paid directly, organs playing monkeys make,
that nothing really is, entirely of.
Each damaged day unmade,
and wear the cloth and pray each night for day.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Poo Ting Noises

delirious poo ting noises
lips opposite from one another.
talking about bubbles, floating.
humor magical noises.
spice, appearing then leaving
quickly.
musical notes tuned, rubbed
by the silk between,
two pieces of soft rock.
to hear it/is to see it.
to smell the laughter,
is to be
in love, with your whispering,
happy poo ting, fruity flavors.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Sexy Is Sexy, ' Watching You

Walking down the great hall.
Twin curved round balls.
Well rounded calf muscle and strong thigh and tall.
The hiking of skirts not seen by all.
Pink lips they drink from pink clouds,
dark heavy skies and blue clouds.
Full is the rumble and throaty the roar,
coming in through the back door.
Coming back for more pie, as it pulls up fast one striped flag.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Some Children Say

Yours Is now a different world, some children say?
A world that lost it's way as thought advances?
May it never be, that we must give less thought,
to those with more in thought or how the thoughtless.
Why not let the children pray, where children play.
When you are old and Grey because of what you said,
and where then will you stay, from what you made?

poem by Is It Poetry
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