Moon Is Like You
Moon will my beam cross over?
Moon how too know I am so lonely.
Moon know, why I do sit under you?
Moon You are so bright, I reach up,
into and touch yours is very heavenly.
Moon why do you blink? Moon so pink.
Moon like you, we are to much similar
and have only one way up into moon.
Moon our faces reflect out and within.
Moon they all do, moon when you do.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Pauls Little Frog
searching for wiggly button of glee from our mail
the tad pole for all under adult supper vision can
sextouple in size to flame thier popularity in times
of recession little help for the blind who can't ever
seem to find some room from a frog in their heart
to hop for a child who needs a friend every day.
st pete times 23~12~2008
for you paul r.thanks.c.e.mcl~d.a.c.
poem by Is It Poetry
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When Love Is Like Fire On Ice
When love Is like the fire on Ice, she needs;
She cools fire and ice is to burn again.
The hard frozen heart cools never a thought,
of one single flake that settles on the fire to melt.
Stiffer my resolve does grow to claims within,
when as sweat that never breaks, entreatingly.
As night ends the fire the heart consumes again
the tempest driven back and forth inside cool winds.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Ebbs The Tide
How long I wait
out there to see your long face
each day and each day I come back
treading water it coming, it going out
either way, 'I know it moves quickly,
and some times, 'I grow restless, floating.
Saying that I would recognize the swells
above the water as your line is
and because of mine there below
I am trapped as well, under water
Ebbs the tide and the water does it move.
poem by Is It Poetry
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In Any Langauge it is What
When with your pity, my family is well.
When I leave yours with such, it is not.
......................................... ...........
When shooting my family, it is good.
When I damage yours back, it is bad.
............................................. .......
...................................... ..............
When you hurt my family it is, fine.
When I leave yours alone, it is not.
poem by Is It Poetry
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i grow, i grow, 'While' i watch 'You
i grow, i grow, While i watch you,
and for all of this time,
you have been where, i grew,
most advanced in your care
as i watched you..
i can dance, i can dace,
and you watch me,
as i dance up and down
come and share
this last dance with me
as i dance this dance,
i hold on to you,
as you hold on to me
while they watch us,
both of us laughing as we
dance the rest of our life away.
poem by Is It Poetry
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My American Niece The Talker
She plays with her dolls hours on in
singing them songs that
never end.
Wishing on them when missing
their feet to go to a doctor to
get a sweet treat.
Ever moving she talks walks talks
television on she turns it off
yes she talks
Even after tiredness over takes her
eyes glazed over in rapture
she talks.
Time doesn't matter to the talker of dolls
every one learned to walk and talk.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Grace To Thee
Walking alone the beach I came across
this most amazing silver haired citizen I had
seen in a while.
The beach was long for miles he had
this great smile he stopped and young
friend to do to do looking at his right side
of chest tanned bronze it was gracefully gone
surgically removed swan song he still sang.
Walking away after brief exchange some of
these shoes of yours will never be filled.
poem by Is It Poetry
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From Your Lips Pour Honey
Musical talents your angel is wise
for the heavens with taste lent you
graceful thoughts never to hide
now playing them all.
Lips that he holds maybe another are
blessed with a finger to
trace them magic
flows.
No my poems arnt magic my words
will never loose you such as when
I hearinto you now.
Yet you do me great wrong thinking your
beauty of song sends no sliver of
light through my soul.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Apatch Apart Aplay Aday
when i got, it, i fought it,
i gave in to it, to her, any way.
she looks funny wearing it, i try to see it's
humor, it is blind to, it feels,
the heat when you look at it, how, is it?
i do not see what holds it on, determinations
grippes is chastity.
yet she holds it on, it is an every day battle,
a struggle, for
dear is life, if ever she, lets go of it,
she will have won, and it will have lost.
poem by Is It Poetry
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