Randy McClave Poems

When I had money to give or to send
I became my sons very best friend,
He called and he visited me all of the time
Which cost me every bill, quarter and dime,
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I asked Robert Burns
What inside his soul yearns,
He looked at me and then he spoke
But, then I awoke.
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She laid sick in her bed
Sometimes motionless as if she were dead,
She hates being there confined
That is not how her life is defined.
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Of the traits that might I pass down to my children or child
I hope one is not to grow up being wild,
Nor do I want them to drink or to ever smoke
I would hate for them to become a drunk, or to choke.
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Happy Mother's Day, Mother
Unlike you there is no other,
You gave me life and a home and a yard
And all that I gave you, was a card.
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Did you want to see me broken
Then at my condition people would stare,
And they would say that I fell into ruins
Just because, you were not there.
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Even if your dead and gone,
Life goes on,
Life is like a spinning top
It will wobble, but it won't stop.
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We always have dishes to wash
And also a house to clean,
In the bin they'll be trash to squash
That is just our normal routine.
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You have borrowed her shoes and her dress
Everything that she owns you want to possess,
You have cried and cried until you can't cry anymore
Now you are wearing everything that she once wore.
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Hello my sexy Lass,
I want to do you doggy-style in your ass,
Upon my bed, or on the green, green grass
Where men before were not allowed to trespass.
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