John Lyday Poems

A dog named Pups and a cat named Kitty,
together they roam the city.
But it’s not really a city, is it?
Two blocks of main street is all they visit.
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A lithesome youth takes to the field.
A stouter heart no man could wield.
Alone he stands against a host.
In front, a single guard they post,
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I visited a garden,
smothered in frost and snow,
limbs draped with icicles,
leaves with frozen glow.
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America has traded in his Mercedes
For a beat up, General Motors car.
It has a fender and door of different colors.
It leaks water, burns oil and won’t go far.
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I sift meticulously amidst the clutter
of my rational thought and irrational flutter,
where my hidden fissures of knowledge wind.
Some words organize and flow off the tongue.
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Do not leave me because I lost the knack.
I’ll learn the tricks of foreplay that are subtle.
Give me just one more chance in the sack.
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I listen to the gurgle of my coffee maker,
knowing that my morning will soon end.
Daylight is temptation to stop sleeping.
Night and day soon begin to blend.
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My pencil does not fit the sharpener.
Although I can expose a little lead,
the tip is flat and wears out quickly.
A dull tip pencil can describe my head.
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rickety man, rickety house
quickly ran, saw a mouse

stately woman, in stick hut
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Three times the whistle blew
past sirens of fire trucks and cops.
Passenger or freight-no clue.
An animal on the track.
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