I will not bore you
With a daily diary
About me and
Have at least some substance
to my poetry
Realize you don't care about my daily
chores changing diapers
Crashed love letters, written to Her or
Him, or whom, most often made up
I will send poetry to the recipients
love life is personal
Wife, children and those I care for
and frankly that includes many of you
Won't send a Penny card Father's day
Don't know if mail is delivered in Hell
Cards are faked emotions anyway
Walmart or dollar store
Real emotions are two fist-ed blowouts
And the kissing done while making up
Growing old is a pain often shared
Fellow poets know about this
I notice good poets no longer are working
Lost in the spam of self need
More those just lost
Think I well start a Memorial of lost poets
Who do you know no longer with us?
I recall the Mom, Shirley, who loved Lola
And please list all the merits with love notes
For poetry is not only about ourselves
Reality it is about those we really share and love
Mom was proud her son served his country
When her own life was nothing but abuse
So many proud poets are looking down
I await the day of the Gathering of poets in heaven
So soon then I pray I be a amongst them
Billions of stars paint the skies
And I be the Earth far below the heavens of Angels
Sure enough in the end it is all about me
Poetry is just my way to be amongst them
And wait for the gathering of poets