Happiness, Requiem

Happiness to a broken heart,
Is like water to a tree.
So be careful from the start,
Lest all happiness should flee.

Little things somehow add up,
To something big someday.
So make sure to fill her cup,
With affectionate displays.

Don't be a fool, it just won't do,
To set her needs aside.
She needs to hear it, just like you,
About that love you have inside.

Happiness can only come,
If you open wide your door,
The little things, that seem to some,
Will add up more and more.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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A Dream Of Home

This is where I want to be,
where everybody smiles at me.
This stretch of water that winds away,
from west to east and I will say,

If you like fishing this is the place,
to cast your line and slow your pace.
To take in the valley sun,
catching blue -gills by the ton

There's rio-grande perch and bass all around,
sunfish and bluegills and I've even found,
carp and garr all sorts of stuff,
even a big old copperhead in the rough.

I know I am dreaming, but soon I won't be,
and my little stream will be reality,
in McAllen, Texas, it waits patiently,
for me to return, fishing's for me.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Why Do We Need Rules For Poetry?

Why do we need rules for poetry?
Let's make a Haiku with ten lines and one hundred syllables.
Let's make a limerick with ten lines, and not rhyme it.
Let's just do whatever the hell we want to do.
After all it's yourself that you want to express,
Do whatever the hell you want to.
You don't have to listen to anyone.
You don't have to follow rules.
After all you say it's acceptable now.
This is modern poetry,
I am not governed by archaic rules, put forth,
By men and women thousands of miles away,
Or in some foreign country.
I am me, I will do as I wish, and no rules apply to me.
Why do we need rules for poetry?
Beats me.

poem by Juan Olivarez
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But, I Can't Stop Fishing! ! !

But, I can't stop fishing,
I told my new wife.
It's an integral part,
Of all young men's lifes.

But she laid down the law,
It was fishing or her.
Get rid of the tackle,
The rods and the lures.

She wanted no part,
Of those smelly fish.
To tell you the truth,
She was really a...pain.

Well I don't know what happened,
But after a while,
She just let it go,
Like a bright eyed little child.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Guitar Man

They call me the guitar man.
Cause I can really bend those strings.
I no longer play in a band,
But I can make my guitar sing.

There ain't nothing I can't play,
I carry music in my soul.
I play better than yesterday,
I can play some solid gold.

My acoustic Alvarez,
Can either sing or cry.
I thank the Lord, that he has blessed,
My guitar and me from on high.

If you're ever down in Texas,
Come and see this guitar man.
I don't look at all like Elvis,
But I do the best I can.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Number Eight Hook

This little fish hook, is a number eight,
Tiny as it is I will attest.
It's put many fish on my dinner plate,
For catching perch it is the best.
I wouldn't exchange it for all the rest.

With a piece of night crawler, wiggling around,
This tiny hook is my weapon of choice.
The fish are ecstatic, at what they have found,
And all of a sudden, they just loose their poise.
The silent assassin strikes without noise.

Little red number eight, I depend upon,
To get me fish, with constant ease.
My secret weapon when all else goes wrong,
For a wonderful supper, or catch and release.
Little red number eight, knows just how to please.

9/5/10 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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Night Crawlers

Night Crawlers wiggling in my hand,
They are the best bait in all the land.
Night Crawlers, six and a half inch long,
From the heart of Texas, you can't go wrong.

Night Crawlers a sure fire guarantee,
You'll catch your limit under that tree.
Night Crawlers they are just so fine,
Just hook them up on your fishing line.

Night Crawlers for catfish, are just the best,
Head and shoulders above the rest.
Night Crawlers, number one you must rate,
A whole lot better, than that ole stink bait.

Night Crawlers, a good and slimey treat,
Whatever you use, they got it beat.
Night Crawlers on the job, and you can't miss,
I think I'll give mine, a big wet kiss.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Butterfly Weed

Oh lady bug, you've done a good deed.
Setting your table on the butterfly weed,
You're the custodian of all you survey,
On butterfly weed, till the end of the day.

Oh beautiful monarch, where do you feed,
I see you too love the butterfly weed.
You and the ladybug would be poor indeed,
If it was'nt for the butterfly weed.

Oh hummingbird whose throat seems to bleed,
What do you here on the butterfly weed?
All hummingbirds, good advice heed,
We love the orange butterfly weed.

God's smallest creatures, go by one creed,
To congregate on the butterfly weed.
Let the south wind blow, and spread your seed,
So that there will be millions of the butterfly weed.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Hidden Pond

There's a little ribbon snake,
Swimming in the hidden pond.
To him it's one of the Great Lakes,
Of his watery home he is so fond.

He's swimming towards a lilly pad,
Where sits a sleeping leopard frog.
Dozing on her spongy bed,
In the early morning fog.

Dragonflys buzz all around,
In the early morning light.
They never get close to the ground,
Once their gossamer wings take flight.

Crickets chirp, and minnows swim,
The hidden pond is full of life.
Long legged spiders skip and skim,
Perch cut the water like a knife.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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What Is War

The little boy on his fathers lap
asked with expression sore
I know i am small but i want to be told
daddy what is war?

war my son is where people die,
where old men suffer and women sigh,
where children hunger, where babies cry,
where trees won't grow please don't ask why.

The little boy got down and said,
why does it happen it sounds so bad?
Iv'e never seen a war before,
please daddy tell me more.

My son you are small but must be told,
a war is destruction it hurts us all,
war is the reason fields can't be sown,
war is the reason your brother's gone.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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