Brian Mayo Poems

A man with a gun whispers
in a field of wildflower and tall grass.
I listen,
like skipping stones by moonlight.
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I'd like to tell everyone about
the great poem I'm going to be writing
very soon.
It's really going to be terrific.
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Here's a poem for you to steal
Just take it; don't be shy
I'm sure the man who wrote it has
An adequate supply.
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“You’ll never be a poet, sir! ”
I’ve heard the others cry.
As if the thought had not occurred…
It has, I can’t deny.
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My father was a poet and my mother was depressed
The bed that she got pregnant on was quickly repossessed
Now homeless, she gave birth to me on cold November ground
And there she left me lay because I only weighed a pound
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Hi,

I've been asked to provide some clear, easy-to-understand tips on writing poetry- -tips that anyone can use to start producing first-rate poems in as little as five minutes. Ready? Let's go!
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I once wrote a poem so transparent
That no one who read it could see
The masterpiece clearly inherent
But visible only to me.
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One day,
I asked my mother why
she hated poetry
and she quite suddenly stopped
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All them little Christians
In their little Christian cars
Headin' up to heaven
Gonna live among the stars.
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