Mike's Poetry

Twisty Shake

This is the big day, I'm finally going to get my way; I'm going to walk the tightrope Without a safety net. I know this defies all hope But I'm doing it on a bet.

I climb the rungs to the top of the tower. I feel as though I have so much power. Nothing can hurt me. I look straight across the wire. I am not concerned with safety. I feel as though I could tame fire.

Not looking anywhere but ahead And not thinking that if I fall I would be dead I step out onto the wire. It is so easy I am relieved. I want to go higher. I tell my friends to join me but they are peeved.

They are upset with me But how can that be? I call to them and ask them why And they tell me that I am acting stupidly And they say that I am up too high. Oh, who needs them? The only important one is me.

I am halfway across to the other side But, as my friends watch horrified, I lose my balance. Down, down, down I fall until I finally hit the ground. There is complete silence. My friends come over and stand around.

I wake up. What an awful nightmare! I will never take drugs again, I resolve. My tightrope with death will never occur again. I will live a normal life once more! Yes, I can do it! The next day I got run over by a truck.

The End

This is the story of a boy who had to write poems for English

One day, the English teacher of Prune High School Decided that she must be cool And assigned her students to write poetry.

One of the students, whose name was Fred, When he heard the assignment he was filled with dread For he knew he could not write poetry.

He worried so much that on the way home He hit a rock and stubbed his toe All for the sake of poetry.

When he arrived at his house He was scared by a mouse All in the name of poetry.

He went to his room But tripped over a broom Because he had to write poetry.

So he sat down to write All the while turning white Because he could not write poetry.

His brain started to smoke And if you gave him a poke All he would say is "I can't write poetry."

So let this be a lesson To those of you who cook with Wesson If you are not poetic, don't write poetry!

The End

A Short Nonsense

There once was a dog named Fog And a cat named Dat. One foggy day as they strolled through town One guy pointed at them and said to the other "What is Dat?" And the other guy replied "Oh, that's fog."

When First You Meet and Told Buzz-Off

For when I saw her face among the crowd,
She who stood there not thinking of me;
I, a total stranger speaking very loud;
So that she could somehow notice me.
But who should now appear but someone,
Whom I had hoped would not show up but,
Here he is so now I feel I'm done.
Wait, now she hits him in his prodigious gut.
I may have a chance with her after all;
I saunter up to her and ask her name,
She says that rather she would see me fall,
Than to be with me; oh dear, what shame!
Women are as fickle as the sea,
But still 'tis fine to have them be with yea!

The Key

The battered key
Contorted, scarred
Rusty, wallowing in
Decay.

Used to turn many locks
In the old house
But not anymore
Not after the accident.

Dropped down a well
For nearly thirty years
Recently found
By a child.

When rescued, he
Displayed his treasure
For him, it made the
Experience worth it.

The Computer

Computer
Bulky, electronic
Computing the data
Making the world easier
Hopefully.

The Dead Raccoon

Not once did the car horn honk
Dreary day in the winter calls
Raccoon lies in stream of water
Dead.
Discovered by man and dog
Pondering the animal's fate
No obvious signs of what
Misfortune befell it.

Thoughts through time
Key lime pie
Disjointed musings from a
Sycophant.

There is a ghost
Who knows the most,
But where did his finger go?
How should I know?
Smell of death
Of mildew, of mold
Feels so cold to the touch;
Tale to be told is what?

Tasty graham crackers
And cookie batter
Sounds like the bees buzz-buzz;
Dead raccoon in the water runs
No more.

The Terrible Guns

The terrible guns, shooting too long Killing and maiming and breaking Up families by taking loved ones away.

Sad to say, those who may Will not stop the terrible guns from Firing, firing, firing.

If they don't stop, terror will reign Making a darker world. Pointless is the fight that the guns wage.

Who will save the children? For They are the future. Who will save the Elderly? For they are the past.

It is not right to wish to become A member of the killing race. Ethnic conflict, pointless and stupid

Must be stopped again.

Twin Peaks

T K W I N P E A P E A K S S T W I N T W I N P E A W I N P E A K K S T W I N P E A W I N P E A K S T K S T W I N P E A K S S T W I N P E A K S T T W I N P E A K S T W I N P E A K S T W I N P E A K

Van

Picking me up in a gray van
Making sure all has been remembered
Clothing, food, television, and
My things, of course.

Telling me stories of the past
That only I want to hear, now
Of the Burma Road, China, and the
Lost battalion.

Well-digging with big machinery
Fixing pumps with pride and quality
He has put in pumps at many places, some
Would surprise.

I watch him eat hard candy
Driving all the while
Telling his stories
As time rolls by.

Reminiscence.

The Woods

Sunlight streaming down
Among the branches in fall
Brown leaves on the ground.