My Kinda Poetry



  My Kinda Poetry

  Poetic Gems from the Overactive

  Imagination of Marvin K. Perkins

  Copyright 2013 by Marvin K. Perkins

  A Father

  How do I raise this child to be a man, a father said

  of his son he held in his arms, so tiny small and frail.

  How can I tell him what must be done, teach him right

  from wrong and how to be kind, loving and strong.

  Show him how to take his place in this hard cruel world

  and always do his best to be the best he can be and strive to

  be at all times an asset to the society into which he was born.

  Respect women and the laws of the land, be helpful always to

  his fellow man, and treat them as he himself would like to be treated.

  A father 's job is a hard one and the raising of a man is never easy,

  but it is necessary and well worth all the hard laborious work.

  Those Days

  Under a wispy gray cloud I found myself praying it would not rain again.

  I had not recovered from the last torrential downpour that damn near swept me away.

  Why can't the sun shine, for I miss its bright beaming rays, and the warmth on my face..

  The spring flowers that it brings, the summers full of laughter.

  Those days will return again,

  I've got to have faith.

  They will return.

  The Idea

  I chased an idea, it eluded me for the longest time,

  running quickly, darting in and out of my mind.

  It was slippery and slick, like a greased pig,

  it continued to escape my grasp.

  Being determined, and not easily dissuaded,

  I persisted in my endeavor.

  The idea was big and bright, and new,

  and needed to be shared with the entire world.

  But after all my chasing, alas the world

  did not want to hear my thoughts.

  How sad.

  Showtime

  I hear the applause, I take my farewell bow

  as the curtain closes on the final act.

  The crowd is silent, the seats are empty now.

  I am left alone with only thoughts and memories of the play.

  And I die a little inside until the next time the curtain rises

  and I live once again.

  It's showtime!.

  A Message to My Grand Daughter

  My grand daughter, what will become of you

  in this crazy world in which we live?

  These troubled times of war and economic .

  uncertainties that plaque humanity.

  Will you be up to the challenge to face them head on

  and emerge a conquering hero or end up defeated and broken?

  I think you will be victorious, if you remember you don't

  have all the answers, though in your teenage mind you feel that you do.

  Listen and learn from those who have traveled the road before you.

  Respect those who have given you respect and repay kindness with.

  kindness as you continue on this wonderful journey we call life.

  My Mind

  If I ever lose my mind I know exactly where it is.

  It'll be in the very place where I left it the last time

  I remember that I had it.

  That's the reason I have this string tied around my finger

  to remind me of something.

  What the hell that is I don't remember but maybe I will

  when I find my mind that is when I find it.

  The Night

  In the cool evening mist she came to me

  glistening sensuously wet without a word,

  without a sound.

  Smelling of jasmine and mint, freshly squeezed

  like a ripe fruit ready for peeling.

  We glowed red hot with passion as our bodies

  met exploding in spent energy,

  as we melted into each others arms,

  and into the night.

  All in the Name of Having a Good Time

  Saturday morning and I’m coming down.

  From another Friday night on the town.

  We raised the glasses high and gave a cheer

  as we drank and toast another round of beer.

  We staggered and puked, and stank, passed out on the floor.

  Got up and drank another, and did it all once more.

  Wallowed in self-pity, scorn and degradation.

  Under the guise of celebration.

  We got in our cars and drove home without a thought

  of the terrible tragedies and mayhem we could have wrought.

  When will we learn before we get behind the wheel,

  the nameless souls and innocence we might kill,

  all in the name of having a good time.

  Such is the Way of Our World

  Life’s ripples like a stone skipping across a pond.

  Caress softly the great beyond

  Disappearing into its emptiness.

  Sun up, sun down, that great radiant ball in the sky clocking time.

  Until our days are no more

  and we melt into nothingness.

  We die, a child is born, humanity completes the circle

  Such is the way of our world.

  But the Undertaker

  The institution of revolution, the coup for fools.

  Misguided by ideology, the masses think with their asses

  not with their heads.

  The mentality of generality, the mob rules the streets

  hoping to cheat

  their destiny.

  Murder in bleeding blood shot eyes, they terrorize full of hate.

  Pushing their demented will on the innocent

  to the brink of hell’s gate.

  Death flows from the spring from which life once begun.

  The neck stretched tight by the noose after the trap is sprung.

  And when it is all said and done

  No one is the winner

  But the undertaker..

 

  Weapon of Mass Destruction

  The End