Michael Gale Poems

Bees, bees...Venue, please?

Should I call her Honey? ...Or will she think that too funny?
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As we defend for all, that is right...In the battled fight.

Sorry-are we for those done wrong...In innumerably words is sung, that one-sad song.
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These days that thunder on by...Leaves me saddened as I tend to die.

Whilst I lie in a state of still...Will thy will, be it's shrilly thrill?
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O' ye mermaids splashed across yon rocks...
For do they sing their song-Afar be the star'ved loches.

Minstrel ladies sing aloud...Sailor's ahoy-Bounding through.
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The pire of the flaming Hell...Can conspire to heat and swell.

It can over take a sinning man...It can literally kick that sinning man's own can.
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With large swiping mitts claws enacted...
Sharp white fangs, not retracted.

The huge Grizzly Bear on it's hind legs...
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You say that 'Vanity has no flooring under your feet? '...
You'd rather be snoring while entranced under a spell of defeat?

Your chair is basically made of guilt and sorrow? ...
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Love flown out the window of the heart...
Pained as painted from un elated one
who hath had to depart.
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