Here's a poem for you to read

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Cold mountain rapture

As i sit and look at the mounting high,
soon to be covered with its snowy peaks deep,
i weakly smile as i look at my redrum up on
my shelf on my wall, waiting to be drank when no
ones about at all, soon the snow will fall silent
and true, covering that mountain, changing its hue,
when it comes i may go camping before the snow
falls, then drink my fill of my redrum, thinking
with an awkward smile at it all, to sit by my camp
fire and watch the snow fall, falling into a deep
sleep with my redrum drank and all gone.
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flys on my wall
.
Ow fly fly upon my wall
how you annoy me, i cant seem to sleep at all,
i know you just want to play tag and think
it funny of me to try and catch you and all,
your so quick and fragile and small,
you also seem to like my sweet coffee and all,
hmmm i stop to ponder this all, so you want
to play tag and drink your fill of what is mine
so small you all are, let me help you,
i give you your own cup with sugared water
and all that good stuff, slowly but surely
it seems your friends cousins and nephews drink
their fill, never to drink again something so sweet
that you drown in it all, and slowly i watch you
dwindle to where you are not many at all.
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I really like your poetry. I especially like the piece entitled "firebirds."

This was an English assignment in which we had to describe ourselves in ryming couplets and Iambic pectamiter as well as the third person like in Chaucer's prologue of "The Canterbury Tales":

Then there was this tall young fellow,

with a heart of gold but a belly yellow.

His name he did not really like,

So he had many aliases, none named Mike.

Such a kind sould with dark secrets to hide.

He had strict rules to which he abide.

Always the helpful sort,

Yet often quick with retort.

He was intelligent and wise,

Even though it did not go with his guise.

Had never dressed very nice.

Often he dressed plain as rice.

Yet his personality was lively.

He appered very tall and gangley.

He very much liked to tinker and fiddle,

And often at times spoke in riddle.

The truth he was good at telling,

Just not in a way of understanding.

If you knew what he ment when he said,

"I'm sick," you would know he ment his head.

This is one of his better mysteries.

"I shall not soak in miseries.

In the palce named for a tree,

I feel joyous and free.

I can often be found,

Next a cousin of the hound.

Where there's a happy face,

I know I've found my place."*

At least he never had to wait by a phone,

He knew he was curesed to be forever alone.

But you know how that line goes.

The one Agent Maulder allways throws.


* You would have no way of producing a correct answeer to this riddle. The answer is the game and card shop called "Mr. Nice Guys" that has a big neon smilly face in the front window. It's next to the Fox's Pizza Den in a near by town called "Oakmont"

KtMcS. Just wanted to let you know (and you are probably already aware of this), but be careful of original works you place on the net. If you think there is anyone out there that might want to "steal" them.

This is why I never put my poetry online (which I hate because I would love to have some people read it), but without a copyright, they can take it and publish it under their name legally.

Bump

Copyright is automatic. If you can prove (by previous exhibition of any kind) your ownership it is legal.

IN PRAISE OF APPLES

"An apple a day,"
The prescription goes,
"Keeps the doctor away.",
And so transfers the evil
To doctors.
Simpleminded,
But it works.
The love from Mother Earth
Manifests in apples.
They cure multitudes of maladies,
Suffuse the flesh
With clarity and strength,
Sharpen the mind
To mow down moments
With precision.
They cured Adam of God.