david lessard Poems

There are no roses in this garden blooming,
Their stalks have all withered and died;
They died the day that you left me,
and the feelings I had deep inside.
...

I wrote a hundred poems,
to the woman I loved.
Seventeen years later,
she told me that she'd
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such a waste, to write a poem,
try and submit it, then see it vanish;
I only wish that there was a place,
where the one's in charge, we'd banish.
...

In dreams
I reach
for things
beyond my grasp,
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Let it not be forgotten.
how much I've cried for you.
Let it always be remembered,
my love for you was true.
...

A poet's mind is seldom still,
It fluctuates with mood,
and suddenly the words pour out,
flowing freely,
...

Ma, everybody celebrates your day, the day of your birth,
The fireworks light up the night, every soul filled with mirth.
You were a Yankee Doodle Dandy, a yankee doodle dandy Gal,
The woman of the year, seventy-eight times in a row -
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Jazz on a summer's night,
Swinging sounds of joy,
the moon, bouncing in its flight.
...

The poet is a writer,
for want of better things to do-
He/she composes rhymes and prose,
and then sends them on to you.
...

The mist was in the meadows,
The sun was a rising light,
The roads were wet from rain,
that came down, during the night.
...