Michael Shepherd Poems

God knows...
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Yes, we get blasé and dismissive on this site –
reading in the reams of Poemhunter posts
‘yet another poem of teenage angst’,
we say, scanning the raw wounds
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and they behave like children –
always themselves, and always natural,
all they do is natural;
they seem to be as expert untaught children;
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I sing of punctuation....'What? ', you say,
'I've never heard a sonnet on that theme! ';
and thus this modest goddess, clothed in grace,
performs her holy task; unheard, unseen,
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wanksta

a one-line poem in itself;
a sociological truffle
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It's said in Indian circles that the years of retirement
are the time when men choose the occupation
of their next life. So I'm sitting here on a fine Sunday
in a quiet London suburb, the very day when the geraniums
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imagine angels.

imagine a bolt of lightning
out of the blue so blue
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Oh it's so difficult
to love the frugal

the heart
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'You're the most ept, ert, choate and dolent person I know -
how do you manage it? '

'Excuse me...? ? '
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The fun thing about being dead
is the haunting. Revenge. It's Payback Time Whoo Hoo.
I'm updating my Visiting Book,
adding some, crossing off a few
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