Luck
Sometimes I am lucky,
Everything going my way
Other times my soul feels like
It’s being sucked away
Butterflies in the sky
Then stormy weather, don’t know why
World is changing, all around
As fallen soldiers hit the ground
Making things all tangled up,
Like drinking poison from a cup
God please help me, hear me pray
Or save me once, just once today
Make some bodies come to life,
Save an innocent person’s life
Life is precious, not to waste
But some devils just need one taste,
Of blood so sweet,
So please let’s find a place to meet
If you save my life, I’ll be kind,
So save my superstitious mind
A Poem I’ll Write Someday.
Some time,
Somewhere,
Something,
Someday,
A poem I’ll write someday.
A magical,
Beautiful,
Miraculous thing.
A poem I’ll write someday.
Maybe ‘bout some guy’s
Toupee.
A poem I’ll write someday.
Not now,
Later.
Never in the decade.
A poem I’ll write someday.
Water
I am from waves crashing against the shoreline,
Clouds floating with the breeze.
You drink me, use me every day,
I’m used to water your leaves.
I flow down mountains low and high,
Fill zig-zagging streams.
Some laugh, some cry, some smile with pride,
For I’m their hero, their savior.
To some, all I am is tainted waste,
Not good to use or drink.
Their sad faces stare at me,
Reflected on my surface.
I can only do so much,
Try to help but fail.
I save some lives but not enough,
When people die, we have to be tough.
Slowly I flow through the canyons,
Threatening, any second to dry.
Birds drink me with their beaks,
I give them the energy to fly.
Many thrive around me,
I’m the center of them all.
What will become without me?
Will humans still be here at all?
Blackbird Pie
Fields of people,
Each one a flower.
Looking for a chance,
To escape.
From this green field,
Looks good to you,
But a jail for all within.
Leaves and seeds,
Blow past from the east.
Birds come in,
From the west.
For years the flowers
Come and go.
Life and death,
Just part of the flow.
No one escapes from the
Grassy field.
Guarded day and night,
By soaring birds.
Shadows in the dusk,
Always back at dawn.
In uniforms,
A blackbird’s best,
Letting no one through.
These black shadows,
Flying high,
Mockery to all below.
Blackbirds let
No one through.
Even when,
The sun’s
Baking hot,
Like the fires in their eyes,
When they’re ripped from
Their kith and kin,
Not knowing when
They’ll see them again.
To perfect the
Dish
Made for generations.
To make
America
“Great.”
This is the
Blackbird pie.