Mike Berriman Poems

Pride we carry, one and all
Remember this frailty before our fall
Idolatry of self, a deadly sin
Destroys humility of that within
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Of all the birds that I hold dear
Our butcher bird calls when he is near
His woodnote pierces our early dawn
To this honeyed sound I am drawn.
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A baby boomer of advancing years
I tackle the net, my nemesis my fears
On line shopping, the love of many
So easy to shop, to spend that penny.
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Once time was a friend
It waited for me, silently
Hanging there in the air, still and serene
Idle summer days with no ending
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This is a battle for young and old ears
A loosely held secret of some 100 years
The battle of Beersheba won with bayonet and horse
And the skill of our riders, our most precious resource.
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A bag of ears and a box of toes
Dry ear wax and hair from nose
Both of these with voice of yell
Stir them hard and make a spell.
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I'm cussing and griping the older I get
Won't live forever and that's a sure bet
Now that my youth has all passed me by
Am I in limbo, do I laugh, should I cry.
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I my minds eye I see you still
Those days have ebbed and turned to years
My dreams of you will always thrill
It is regret that drives my fears
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Quick wake up it's half past six
Do what you need and grab your sticks
Still want to go I ask the question
Don't you she counters it was your suggestion
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What is convention but a list of staid rules
Lines on paper composed by old fools
Customs and laws to guide and direct
To want and must do, will the lines intersect.
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