PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And the boys of delightfully produced misappropriation do ask,

Me to listen, to leave.

And I am afraid I am reduced to this.

To listen to the gloss and glib,

And take their challenge and refuse the rib.



For I am misplaced but cautious to the eddy,

But still I listen and leave if not for a chuckle,

With myself and a glad few who be ready,

To kkeep upon the plod and tight buckle



It is to the great merit I have crumpled,

To the beauty,

The love,

If sop is also a four lettered word,

But hungry and homeless they still shelter,

In a bustop or savannah,

Or for some a city subway.



It is Christ's Mass again and Peter is no longer a rock,

He has become a corrupt, greedy instituition,

That destroys landscapes for their picture.



It is not to the man I am relating,

Just the pretense the Order be faking,

And I look to the sky and see the stars,

But a big plastic moon shines back.