The poet is that kind old man You met while on the train The poet is that little kid Who’s eating grass again.
The poet is the waiter At that coffee shop you like. The poet is that triathlete, Riding on her bike.
The poet is your teacher, The poet’s your mate Steve, The poet is those singers At your door on Christmas Eve.
The poet’s Mrs Johnson Who lives just two doors down. The poet is that little girl Who never seems to frown.
The poet’s that man over there, The one wearing a turban. The poet’s that posh-looking type, Swirling down his bourbon.
The poet’s Daniel Radcliffe, And the poet’s Brian Cox. The poet’s Keira Knightley, The poet’s Megan Fox.
The poet is the President Of the USA The poet’s the Prime Minister, Of the old UK.
The poet’s black, the poet’s white And brown and red and blue. Your mum, your dad, your gran, your dog And maybe even you.
Poet’s Note – I came up with the idea for this poem at about midnight one night. It was inspire partly by a strange poem about an elephant from the 1970s childrens TV show “Bagpuss”, mostly in terms of structure.
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
The melody of the poet for the soul to please, with its chords of truth in spoken breeze. There can be no freedom which is attached by the ego’s ear, no serenade’s art and temporary clear. One must smite the
I am an American Poet coming from a long line of creatively challenged penman and women A Poet Prince relinquishing the earthly flow of jobs and declarations while punishing establishments organizations that diminish the fabulous flow. A lifeline for civilizations
A poet Is someone who just paints A rainbow of Eros In the raining skies of the lovers Beyond their horizon of lust, Below their zenith of thirst. And Someone Who lets them imagine The preponing of all seasons of
Of splendid thrones of gold or treasures manifold Of jewelled caskets or lavish banquets Of Emirs and rajahs Of Sultan and Shahs Of kings and queens Of rulers and emperors Of sparkling crowns or flowing gowns Of their subservient stewards
To put words down on paper, That can give a memory life. To recreate a moment passed, Long buried deep inside. To compose a verse so eloquent, It can cause a heart to break. And lead the reader to feel