George otto Becker
Born in Robstown Texas.
Grew up to 13 in San Antonio.
moved to Houston lived there every since.
In my life I wish to thank my ninth grade English teacher Mrs. Lindemann who believed in me. more »
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George otto Becker Poems
Oh silent wanderer tell me what you see. How I question the looks in your eyes. For your looks are the only thing I can't read.
Will it ever end, this eternal cylce that tears us from our insides. Life in the 90's it is very hard to say. Learn, Learn, Learn is what they say. And it will all go your way.
The lady so real. Who gave you her life. She worked so hard for you and into the night. You needed her car and all of her dime. As you worked and lived you never had time.
Simply for you
It all begins with you. A thought inside my heart too. I spent all my time to write poems which were due.
A poem for you.
It is for me to write. On such a beautiful night. I hope My words don't send you to smite.
The master walks. With all of his talk. His lies and his mind in a box.
Beauty With Me
Your world is with me. My heart's filled with glee. Your pretty smile so warm and sweet.
Within your heart your pen does write. Upon your pages your feelings fight. With your hearts emblazened and your candlelight.
Beautiful my destiny
Underneath the green mountains of Monterrey. Upon the land her hair did wave. She lived, laughed, and played. Her Beauty was born unknown to me.
My Pizza Man
Amongst my castle in which my wallet built. My credit rating and my golf membership. My mercedes and the dogs I own. Even my neighbors flock to my home.
Into the night I do write. With my words you I excite. When you read your heart has might.
A Poets dream
Alone I sit upon my chair. Blankly at my pen I do stare. On the paper my words are there.
How are we alone?
Beneath the earthen sky we were known. Amongst all the animals we do roam. The critters skitter along the shores where waters do foam.
The man of Vanity
Alongside this one days I spent. His mind about himself and the folks he misled. The lies he spoke and the fools who fled.
Comments about George otto Becker
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Oh silent wanderer tell me what you see.
How I question the looks in your eyes.
For your looks are the only thing I can't read.
I know who you are in almost every way,
But behind your eyes is where the real mystery lays.
Why must I know?
Why do they haunt me so?
Into your sparkling eyes I gaze.
Silent wanderer where does your heart blaze?
Your lips tell me sweet things, and my ears are filled with joy.
I can stare inside forever and always seek more.
Everything that I see is looking back at me, and yet my mind is still tore.