Do game
Seek 
Blame
On those
Slaughterers
Who knows

Are fish
Swimmers
Who wish
Baiters
Were served up
By piscine waiters

Flies 
Are clever
None tries
To upend
A swat
Nor offend

Humans only
Transcend
Their baloney
To pretend
Who knows why
Life without end

He didn’t
Write this
Because
He was a 
Songbird
Though
He could
Speak
Their
Language

Rather
He 
Would
Speak to
You
Forget
Age
Even culture
Hoping
You might listen

To the
Words
Embedded
In reality
But
Versed
In 
Fantasy
Expressed
Eternally

A stack
Of antique 
Books
While
Really 
A pile 
Of three
Or four
Opens
The 
Desire to
Expand
Their
Connections
Publisher
Editor
Leastly
Readership
But
Your luck is
To time travel
In your
Leisure time

Who invented
The clock
It  made time
Real
Beyond what we feel
Added rhyme
A little schlock
Now we’re demented

The bald tailed
Squirrel yesterday
Almost fell
Off the chair
The young
Squirrel today
Could only say
TGIF


What do 
You mean
Young squirrel
Did yesterday’s squirrel
Die as a TGIF?
The Young squirrel
Avered, yes
Thank God It’s Furry

Before I die
I would love
To listen in
Sequence
To the finale
Of each Mozart
Symphony
For there I espy
Cooings of a dove
While I spin
In a peasant dance
A hot tamale
To be my part
For eternity

Time is money
Ain't that funny
Your nose is runny
The streets sunny
You shop
Then stop
You are lost
Due to cost
But continue
Only you
Need to buy
Regard the sky
And say 
Oh okay
When the sum
Has become
An hour lost
Temporal cost
Time ain't cheap
Devoted to sleep
For seconds
A woke joke beckons


 

Please note that all poems and posts on this site are copyrighted by the author.  To request rights kindly contact tmshorewick@gmail.com

Carafe of vintage
Is empty
But the image
Of flies a plenty
Halts me
To plea
Do I allow
Besotted glee
And follow
The winged spree
To eternal destiny
Or rinse the glass
Save fly's mortal ass?







But the image
Of flies a plenty
Halts me
To plea
Do I allow
Besotted glee
And follow
The winged spree
To eternal destiny
Or rinse the glass
Save my mortal ass?

Did dinosaurs sing
Imagine such a thing
Their basso threw
And seismically blew
Away any feather
In warning weather

But every bird
Is heard
Despite its flock
Perched on rock
Fully plumed
Its future assumed

Until change
Nothing strange
Their ova
Become a nova
And revolution
Becomes evolution