A poem’s a poem If it ends in a rhyme A poet’s a poet If he writes in spare time A poet grows famous
He gathered up used paper A broken mug and coffee pot A cracked plate, a crooked rake And a tomato that begun to rot He gathered these things thinking
My girl and me Could never be For were kept apart By the sea I built a boat
If red means anger And blue is sad White is pureness And yellow is glad What does orange mean
Life’s like a puzzle With pieces thrown all about You have to put it together Until the pieces run all out Sometimes it’s finished
I just witnessed a crime what do… Do I tell the cops what I had to… But I’m afraid if I do I’ll get… Since one had looked at me Oh well here it goes
Large heels Small meals The life of an actress Long scripts Thin hips
He moved so very quietly Peeking through the blades of gras… Of the tribe of lion hunters He was the very last He leapt from the bushes
I once met a man Who walked on his hands He’d sit on his head When too tired to stand He’d extend his leg
Stack your Problems Up real High Stack
I sat there on my couch all night And waited for one to come out These things are hard to catch you… If you move they scatter about Finally it poked out it’s nose
If I could invent one thing It would be a bubble blower I’d make myself a bubble friend And really get to know her I’d make myself some bubble boxers
The forest we know Once formed long ago From a man whos sorrows Brought tears that could grow He wandered earth
No I won’t allow you To write about me It’s a waste of time A waste of a tree I don’t care if I’m imagined
Make a cake Don’t make a sigh Make a friend Don’t make a lie Make a plan
