Children's Rhymes

By what sends
the white kids
I ain't sent:
I know I can't
be President.
What don't bug
them white kids
sure bugs me:
We know everybody
ain't free.

The Victims

When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and
took it in silence, all those years and then
kicked you out, suddenly, and her
kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we
grinned inside, the way people grinned when
Nixon's helicopter lifted off the South
Lawn for the last time. We were tickled
to think of your office taken away,
your secretaries taken away,
your lunches with three double bourbons,

Snow

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.


Then we were on the roof of the lake.

Crowded Tub

There are too many kids in this tub
There are too many elbows to scrub
I just washed a behind that I'm sure wasn't mine
There are too many kids in this tub.

Happiness (Reconsidered)

Happiness
Is a clean bill of health from the doctor,
And the kids shouldn't move back home for
more than a year,
And not being audited, overdrawn, in Wilkes-Barre,
in a lawsuit or in traction.

Happiness
Is falling asleep without Valium,
And having two breasts to put in my brassiere,

Children Of The Street

In their faces a colourless gaping of life's adversity:
the hopeless grief of a hellish existence;
Malnourished, starving, filth and olfactory horrors;  
Their humiliating nothingness clothed in rags;  
Usually barefooted with low self-esteem;  
Begging, and rummaging through garbage for
thrown-away foods to assuage pangs of hunger;
Oftentimes feeling cold that comes from being sickly;
Sleeping or indulging in cheap cocktails of toxic
sedatives at the dark corners of the street:

Why Am I Not Good Enough?

1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are

3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.

4. Don't forget to style your hair in elegant curls. You can't let everyone at school see how your hair frizzes up.

My English Sucks …..[english ('poor') : Almost Medium Length; Education And Life; Ph- Inspired]

When I were schooled english wernt my thing.
My scores in English lurning no bells done ring.
Yea I grajaded but ain't english smart ….no lie!
Come end a school year the teach said 'By Bri.'

Was same in bilogy, math, jografy all that stuff.
I done did my best and guess my best were enough.
I did done grate at ball games and in trak run the mile.
I was a THREEletter man and made them girls smile.

Rock 'N' Roll Band

If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
We'd travel all over the land.
We'd play and we'd sing and wear spangly things.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
And we were up there on the stand,
The people would here us and love us and cheer us.
Hurray for that rock 'n' roll band.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
Then we'd have a million fans.

Gee, You're So Beautiful That It's Starting To Rain

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:
Playing with Gentle Glass Things
A

Jest 'Fore Christmas

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake -
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;

Seasons Of Life

How like the seasons is our life,
We face the sunshine, storms and strife;
As seasons come, so they must go,
We are enjoined within that flow.

In spring we start our journey new,
When flowers bloom and skies are blue;
The trees are budding, birds will sing,
With youth in bloom, it's always spring.

For Selma

In places like
Selma, Alabama,
Kids say,
In places like
Chicago and New York...
In places like
Chicago and New York
Kids say,
In places like
London and Paris...

Humility

Snow, falling thick and white, along the village street,
People struggling through the drifts, their shopping to complete,
Kids dragging sledges, excitement fills their minds,
Rolling a giant snowball, great, cos this is snow that binds.

Trees looking decorated up, with icicles that glint,
Branches weighed down with snow, which holds a golden tint,
That bright red sun that's setting, way out towards the west,
A wonderful rich vision, ordered at our Lord's behest.

Butterflies Around

Painted with natural brush,
Butterflies around plants and bush
I run after them to catch live,
Kids insisting for catch not one but five,

Stayed almost with colourful life,
Spacious bungalow with beautiful wife,
Lavish parties with friends around,
Joy and happiness always found,

*did You Pay To Them To Click On You? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

My home based on love, patients
honesty, and sincerity, made my whole

slowly, slowly as snail reach my goal
your name made by cheating
tomorrow soon it will fall,

within an hour you will reach by your army
you will be on top of all, poetry kids killedby you
click and click shot, and shot with no rule

The Soldier Fights

the soldier fights for the hippys rights to protest against that soldier
the soldier fights for the politions rights to send that soldier to war
the soldier fights for buisness mans rights to make money
the soldier fights for the policemans rights to arrest that soldier
the soldier fights for school kids right to know about past soldiers
the soldier fights to so that you may all sleep at night
the soldier fights for religion so that you may all belive what you wish
And yet the soldier fights on
the soldier fights for his flag, for his country, for his life

Turnabout

Have eyed dire a life packed with storms.
Wildly, money whisked in air-vast sums,
Pains my home with intense heart drums.

All but tears, my wife flooding alone.
To my kids, I’m of tramp-trash tone.
Love to light them ought to be shown.

To discard not my heart-dear ones,
Must stamp a stop to gambling runs,

An Ending

Early March.
The cold beach deserted. My kids
home in a bare house, bundled up
and listening to rock music
pirated from England. My wife
waiting for me in a bar, alone
for an hour over her sherry, and none
of us knows why I have to pace
back and forth on this flat
and birdless stretch of gleaming sand

' A Grown-Up Child

A poet is a grown-up child, anyhow,
He couldn’t compose, otherwise…
A poet is an adorer of queerness,
A bit - willful, a bit - precise…

“Hunting is a game of chance, ”
We’ve forgotten that well-known phrase,
And we must remember that kids
Are forbidden to play such games.