When there is something you will kick yourself if missed,The urge to know what’s going on will then enlist.When that becomes a habit, which can last for years,You call it curiosity, not angst or fears.The more this act is done, the more it is ingrained;And it becomes compulsion, constancy retained.The
I keep insisting we have missed the boat;And on this subject matter you may quote.It’s Fathers Day—the dismal date we’ve set,It’s just about as poor as one could get.With football, basketball, and hockey gone,There isn’t much left to put interest on;Not something that won’t cost an arm and leg,Of something
Too many of us do not use their intellectTo formulate, absorb, or grasp what’s happening.It seems their instant likes and dislikes will affectThe way they choose to think about most everything.But, here, be honest…this will also include you.A basic fact, we all are hit with the same stick.So we believe
The Spring we long to see each year is here at last;And with it comes the wish we make that it could last.The brilliant blossoming and blooming has begun;Our Nature’s world is now commencing on its run.But it is hard to take this in with just a shrug;Inevitably it gives
Imposing it was not—a tiny speck of land,An old volcano at one end, but nothing grand,Why do we need this place, you do not understand,But all those thoughts did vanish when we hit the sand.The pre-invasion fury also made you thinkThat this would be a cake-walk, just another linkIn the
Accomplishment is noted, recognized, and cheered;It’s how we choose our heroes, adulation speared.It normally means something good, no matter what;What has been tried has been successful, like as not.Accomplishment in life has been the middle nameOf anyone who has achieved some sort of fame.But that is for the famous only,
How well do you recall your Grade School days?It can be fun and games in many ways.But everything you had to learn was new;You weren’t all that concerned with what you knew.At times, you made good grades so to impress;Parental pressure, too, you must confess.The social side was soon reason
We think back on our lives, to sumWhat we believe we have become.But then a succinct thought appearsHow that same question’s seen in years.At twenty, “Look out, World,” we blared,While deep inside a little scared.We’re finding life lives not by text,We really don’t know what comes next.At forty, Wow!, where
April is national poetry month, and applications are open for the next Aurora Poet Laureate and the first Aurora Youth Poet Laureate. Established in 2020, the Aurora Poet Laureate celebrates the heritage, uniqueness, diversity, and achievements of the City of Aurora through the art and appreciation of poetry. Selected for
Hello, I’m Mother Nature—Hear me out!You need to know this, and without a doubt.I know you know the Seasons, know them all…You name them Winter, Spring, then Summer, Fall.I like those names myself—they’re easy names.But there are times I dislike many claims.You blame Me for whatever you think wrong;For things
This guy can hit the ball, I know;Hit anything you care to throw.He hits to any field, and long;And if you shade him, you’ll be wrong.When he’s at bat, your nerves are frayed,And, if the score is tight, afraid.He is one dude who makes you tense,Because there’s pressure you can
The Spring we long to see each year is here at last;And with it comes the wish we make that it could last.The brilliant blossoming and blooming has begun;Our Nature’s world is now commencing on its run.But it is hard to take this in with just a shrug;Inevitably it gives
The first pitch well may be a strike, that’s true.The second pitch may then become Strike Two.But these two pitches don’t decide your fate.No matter how you count, it’s not too late.But now there is the danger, facing haste.Please pardon when I say it—haste makes waste!The “cool and calculating” adage
This new commercial bombshell promising this feat,Removing wrinkles from old age—that standard beat.That may sound good, but pardon when I question why;For old age is a privilege, youth cannot apply.Why do away with wrinkles, why the ego-burn?It seems to me that wrinkles are but what you earn.Besides that, they have
It is not easy, not by far,To be the person you think you areThe person you think people see,May not be whom you want to be,That person you may not yet know—For, first , these others have to go;So life becomes enigma-prone,Which one is there when you’re alone?Come on, ‘fess
What is artificial about intelligence?If anything can think abstractly, that is real.To think and learn beyond instruction, in any sense,Is downright thinking on its own, like touch and feel.Of course, the term intelligence may not be fair;Outside of greed and instinct what is it that we do?The ones responsible for
There are those people upon whom the sun will shine,Regardless of the circumstance, or so it seems.From your standpoint, their problems always come out fine,While yours, too often, seems to wallow in your dreams.That this is supposition doesn’t mean a thing;As far as you’re concerned, it has to be a
Why did I let myself get in this mess?I didn’t have to be here, did I? No!There isn’t time to rue it now, I guess.I’ve got to find a place where I can go. I know I should be running, but…run where?I must be looking for a place to hide.I
How do you identify with God?Now does that question seem a little odd?After all, God’s far beyond our ken;A deity above the likes of men.If God should ask “Explain yourself!, could you?How else is God supposed to see you through?Oh, I apologize, but I forgot—God can’t read minds until you
And wrote in life as showing great intelligenceAmuses me. Most everyone in those days ledTheir lives dependent on the use of common sense.Moreover, putting the right word with the right phraseCan be a learned trait, a trait gained more from thoughtThan inspiration. Then, the art of writing playsA most decisive
