it's art that finds
the kind of friend
that can depend
upon the trend
within the heart
that surely binds
however far apart
so now it's time
to post a lot
like in the past
when pens were hot
and poems came fast
although they might not rhyme
as after all
it's not beyond the blind
to understand a mime
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Aut insanit homo, aut versus facit
About Me
- Esav Benyamin
- URBAN POET is a place for my poetry and other bitter comments on the human experience, with occasional contributions from friends.
9 comments:
very nice...I enjoy your words and how you write...i enjoy writing myself..good job
Check it out. I done it!
not bad. nice to have the old rhythm going.
Nice to see you are back in action
giving us mere mortals satisfaction
by writing your poems
and delivering them right here in our homes
Dirk
talent flies around the world
whoever comments first
can you imagine Homer's daughter
learned to speak with stylus
in her fingers curled?
until we write
our words are cursed
to fly away on empty air ...
Homer's daughter, Homer's son
and all the generations
speak their lines, write their words
then pass, like last year's fashion.
The Weatherman Said
Blustery, bombastic, selling for all they're worth,
the weathermen proclaim "it's raining outside."
Not only is it raining, it may continue to rain
for ten minutes or so, dampening the earth,
cooling the day, slowing the pace as umbrellas rise
and puddles appear around which pedestrians walk
and which cars spear viciously raising curtains of water
as they speed by, secure in their containment.
"It's raining outside", and dry inside
we watch the windows, wavy and curtained
with flowing raindrops. "Don't go out, dear,"
we quietly caution. "It will stop in a minute.
The weatherman said so."
O.K. Now who's silent?
This poem was written by an imposter. Not grim enough.
i'm grim!
i'm grim!
don't listen to him!
he's just kidding
he's my brother
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