Poetry

Put a credit card in her handAnd she starts to lick her lipsWatch her eyes begin to bulgeAs she flicks her fingertips For she knows that she is itchingTo connect

WAR It results in lose-lose situationsThat are felt throughout all the nations.It causes ideologies to live in headsAnd makes strangers of people and their bedsInnocents are refugees, all in a

Virtue Virtue was chased down the avenue, Her garments billowing in the wind; Soft ankles could be seen. Her eyes reflected puzzled shock, As hard she sought to cover Her frightened face

I Am As Young As I Feel Like When I was eightyI was a spring chicken.Floated on air,Danced in my kitchen. When I was ninetyI thought it was time toStop

I’m so happy Bryson’s punch Is still around for lunch. The lime was a flavor That you could really savor It was so citrussy nice If you had it with

I’ve thought of things I cannot write.
They’re of a language yet unspoken.
I’ve soared above high peaks at night,
And shattered rings men thought
Could