Bri Mar Poems

Some people live to create havoc,
There aims are causing scandals,
Among this group of degenerates are,
Those I'll call graveyard vandals.
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I caught a burglar in my home,
He was armed with a knife,
When I asked him why he just replied,
You'd better not give me strife
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In a time of recession whilst poverty is rife,
As ordinary people struggle to get by,
Winter will take just more than one life,
For want of heating people will die.
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My wife said she was going out to shop,
I knew she'd be gone for hours,
So I cleaned the house from bottom to top,
Then went out and bought her some flowers.
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The good Lords commandments have been cast to the side,
If you commit murder there's no need to hide,
We no longer heed the words of our God,
With self-interest society has become overawed.
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What's in a title you may well ask,
Think carefully before you name,
A nom de plume is akin to a mask,
It can be beautiful but it can also maim.
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Are you disillusioned and fed up with your life,
Do you feel it's no longer worth living?
We're all partly responsible for our own strife,
There are times it can be so unforgiving.
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I weigh myself every day,
But it's all to no avail,
Despite countless diets I can say,
I was always doomed to fail.
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The Twenty Fifth of January 1759,
A talent was born who'll forever shine,
Though his life would be full of twists and turns,
There'd be no better writer than our own Robert Burns.
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When Madiba met God he said I’m overawed,
Your creations are flawed but what I find odd,
Is, your problems you keep out of sight.
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