It Is The Literary Critics

She has won big poetry prizes and in important literary circles is well respected and known
And her reputation as a poet it has grown
One who writes in blank verse but on reading her in truth i can say
That she did not bring the joy of laughter to my day
Her poems those who advise us not to or to celebrate
Many of the literary critics do proclaim her to be a great
Her poems lacking in humor and to read seemed quite dry
Why critics applaud colorless writers one has to wonder why
In those the literary critics promote it does seem true to say
That it is not surprising that poetry is not popular today
The literary critics and literary dons of the unis from the people have taken it away
The works of contemporary colorful writers are left to decay
I find it hard to understand why she is considered to be a major poet
But then it is the literary critics who decide those who are worthy of literary note.

You May Think You Are

You may think you are unexpendable but so many thought this way
Who are now among the deceased but in truth one can say
That themselves they overvalued since life as usual does go on
And the World did not come to an end when the last breath of life from them had gone
If you feel you are better than others to yourself you only lie
Since you are just a mere mortal you too have been born to die
On this respect you are no different to the poorest of the town
Since the one who does reap all lives does not respect wealth or renown
The one known as the life's reaper does not differentiate
Between the lives of the forgotten and those we does Celebrate
We are born to life as mortals why even otherwise pretend
And every day from the beginning one day nearer to the end
You are not unexpendable though you well may feel this way
Since to the scythe of the life's reaper you too will fall one day.

I Am Of The Fields

I am of the fields where the rank rushes grow
And where the stream from the mountain to the big river flow
That flows to the bigger river to the ocean shore
In a babbling voice that is forever more
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways today i enjoy
Of Nature we learn something new every day
We never stop learning it does seem this way
In memory i can hear the male pink breasted chaffinch sing
On a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring
When the hawthorns are cloaked in their blooms of white to gray
In the calm of sundown on an evening in May
I am of the fields where the badger at night
Is searching for slugs in the faint nocturnal light.

In The Wealthy Cities

In the wealthy cities where the aspirational for success compete
From ill fitting shoes poor people walk on sore and blistered feet
Just to survive from day to day their challenge in life to meet
They have lost their dreams of greatness the poor homeless of the street

Some of them won't see tomorrow from their ghosts nowhere to hide
In the dark and dingy alley they will end life in suicide
Things may have been better for them if lady luck was on their side
In life you lose your will for living when you lose your sense of pride

Many of them were born into bad family circumstance
And of success in life does stand little chance
Following in the bad example of their parents who for drug taking have spent much time in jail
It is hard to succeed in life for those who are doomed to fail

In the big and wealthy city there too is poverty
For winners there are losers this is how life seems to be
Those who say we choose how we live in their words themselves deceive
I am one who on individual life destiny happen to believe

To every wealthy city there is a poorer side
In the dark and grimy alleys where poverty hide
Are the homeless and friendless in life doing it tough
The hungry and drug addicted who live and sleep rough.

Rocky

He puffs on his cigarette and blows out some smoke
Rocky he is quite a cocky young bloke
Small in physical stature but arrogant of mind
He believes he is god's gift to the female kind
Rocky the type to himself who would propose a toast
Of the young women he has made love to he likes for to boast
Not the humblest of people of him one can say
Though his sort not rare in the World of today
For one of his size he does talk rather loud
And of his sexual conquests he feels rather proud
He has a small man's complex and it is not a surprise
That he has a big ego for one of his size.
In his early twenties one who likes to brag
Dark haired rocky chews gum as he puffs on his fag.

The Young Women Of His Younger Years

Young in his memory they are living today
The young women of his younger years in the town far away
In his mental images of them young they do stay
Though where the deceased are some of them now lay
That time ticks on fast only true for to say
His first crush in life went to live in the U S of A
Though young in his memory today they remain
He realizes he may not recognize them if he see them again
He knew them before they had reached their physical prime
And faces can change over decades of time
A grandfather ten times divorced from his wife
In memory he often goes back the decades of his life
To the girls of his youth in the town far away
He often wonders about them where they might be today.

What His Dad Used To Say

His long deceased father's influence it is with him today
And he likes to repeat what his dad used to say
The racism of the father in the son does remain
The infleuence of our mentors until death we retain
Long after the life's breath from the father has gone
His racist ways and thinking in his aging son does live on
A chip off of the old block as some like to say
His dad talking to him from his grave today
In life most people mimic their childhood mentors is how it seems to be
Though long deceased the parental influence lives on in the offspring's memory
The long deceased dad was a racist as his son is today
And in his children and grandchildren his influence will stay
The children of racist parents are now the racist parents of the town
From generation to generation it is passed on down.