Randy McClave Poems

Writing poetry is like drinking wine
It must first mature over time,
Sit down as though you're ready to dine
Should it be free verse, or should it all rhyme.
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She told me that she wasn't skinny
So, she wouldn't be wearing a bikini,
When we took our vacation at the beach
Upon her body, my eyes or no others could feast.
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Yellow lives matter I do believe
As I now look upon my yard,
When I inhale nature I sneeze, then I breathe;
Because none of God's plants here are barred.
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He is not my father-in-law anymore
But, when I need help, he's knocking at my door,
He is always there with his helping hands
Happily proving to me where his morality stands.
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I am a Christian
So, I believe in human rights,
And not ever in gun rights.
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I am happy for your cheer
I am joyous for my tear,
Your future has now been activated
Today, you have graduated.
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Poor Adam Lyal is deceased
His last rights were given by a priest,
No longer has his jail door clanged
This morning, Adam Lyal was hanged.
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He never saw a gun pull back it's own hammer
He said that without hesitation, or a stammer,
Nor has he ever seen a gun pull back its own trigger
He spoke that with determination and proof and vigor.
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I looked upon his saddened face
Held together with dreams and grace,
No father figure to stand there with
Was needing or wanting a father, just a myth.
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We dig and dig and turn up the soil
Until we find both coal and oil,
Then it is loaded onto trucks and into tankers
Many will become richer than God, or bankers.
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