Some forty white horses went walking when wet
While waiting for waters to wane
The rain kept on running and, running, the rain
A-ran down, ruining horses’ fete.
Though bothered, bay brayers the rain best abide
And bid the bully a bonjour
But, cant’ring, the crew cursed the clouds’ grey color
And concluded they’d just come inside.
When heav’nly song does ring upon
A poet’s lonely ear
The difficulty’s translating
What earthly methods hear
For ever song has come on high
From heaven’s very light
But little was it listened to
‘Til man gained deeper sight
It touches all, but some hear not
The cooing reds and blues
From skies of morning, day, and night
In all their heav’nly hues
Translating words from stars and sun
We’ll oft have a mistake
So all we can give is the best
Our simple minds can make
How does one change the world?
Not with a pointed gun
It comes without warning
And strikes in the dark
This vilest of humanly woes
Finding times of mourning
It looks for its mark
And into their heart sinks its toes
They say that laws won’t stop the lawless
Then throw up their hands
They say no nation’s ways are flawless
And ignore demands
They soon forget of tragedies
And get back to their work
Of cutting checks to companies
Who in the lobbies lurk
Ghosts and shadows creep the halls
Never allowing themselves seen
They pass through the very walls
Reminding us of what had been
High and low do clouds float by
Large and small they are
Wond’ring what they are do I
They fly so very far
This one is a wooden ship
This, a sneaking cat
Then they toss and turn and whip
Into this or that
I so wonder why they seem
To show us heav’nly arts
Maybe when the people dream
The clouds reflect their hearts
Metal rain
It comes as hellfire upon the innocent
It does not stop for umbrellas or a peeking Sun
It cannot be stopped by such simple means
Metal rain
It cracks as thunder, never expected
It falls on young, old, black, white, brown
It cares not who is under it
Metal rain
It comes quick but leaves marks
It cannot be dried up by sunlight
And it washes down the drains in red
A lost weary man
Without family or friends
Did lie down at last
Out on a walk, a Picker-pock
Was searching high and low
For mischief he did alway seek
When out about he’d go.
This day was different; Picker-pock
Was extra vertenly;
And found he him some tricks to make
Right by the Fritten tree.
Without a thought, the vainly wot
Did snick around the tree
And find him there a gristled pear
He ‘ssumed was meant for he.
Alas, ’twas poisoned, and our Pock
Did choke upon its seeds
But spat in time for saving breaths
Among the groundly weeds.
And Picker-pock, no lesson learnt,
Went home that fruited day,
Back to his mischieved life he went,
Tho pears a’now gave away.
A Poem A Day 