Deep Poetry for Tuesday, June 21, 2011

A maiden call, a golden call, It was ever made to me. Thousands I made. None she made. Now she made. To my cap, a feather. She made it as official. I know that it is special. Message is nothing. Initiative is everything. Her act trickles my belly Sign in to see full entry.

I heard a joke That can make you choke I heard it in a dream that was not mine Will it make you smile? I know you cry for him But can you smile for me I heard a joke That can make you think I heard it from a man in fear Will it take away your sorrow? I know you feel ill I heard a joke That you won’t listen to I heard it from you Will lift your head and notice me? Sign in to see full entry.

You scheme in private And in public you shine Your falsehood veiled Your lies tucked away You show up on time And enthusiastically To the public’s marvel And to their approval You labor for the praise You drink in the applause Retiring to your lovely sins Your vileness enduring Your kindness legendary A Saint abroad you are But your atrocities at home Their vestiges chronicled No one vows for you Who is closer to you No one stands with you Who truly knows you Sign in to see full entry.