months of the year

a poem
she had blue skin
and so did he
he kept it hid
and so did she
they search for blue
their whole life through
then passed right by
and never knew

tell me I'm clever
tell me I'm kind
tell me I'm talented
tell me I'm cute
tell me I'm sensitive
graceful and wise
tell me I'm perfect -
but tell me the truth

if we meet and I say "hi"
that's a salutation.
if you ask me how I feel
that's a consideration.
if we stop and talk awhile
that's a conversation.
if we understand each other
that's communication.
if we argue, scream, and fight
that's an altercation.
if later we apologize
that's a reconciliation.
if we help each other home
that's cooperation.
and all these actions added up
make civilization.

there are no happy endings.
endings are the saddest part,
so just give me a happy middle
and a very happy start.

i'm making a list
i'm making a list of things I must say
for politeness,
and goodness and kindness and gentleness
sweetness and rightness:
hello
pardon me
how are you?
excuse me
bless you
may I?
thank you
goodbye
if you know some that I've forgot,
please stick them in your eye!

i didn't do it
that's a lie
i didn't do it
no, not i
i didn't do it
hear me cry
i didn't do it
hope to die
i didn't do it
i'm not that bad
but if i did...
would you be mad?

sweet marie, she loves just me
(she also loves Maurice McGhee)
no she don't, she loves just me
(she also loves Louise Dupree)
no she don't, she loves just me
(she also loves the willow tree)
no she don't, she loves just me!
(poor, poor fool, why can't you see
she can love others and still love thee.)

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
I know what you mean," said the little old man.”

How many slices in a bread?
Depends how thin you cut it.
How much good inside a day?
Depends how good you live 'em.
How much love inside a friend?
Depends how much you give 'em.

there is a voice inside of you
that whispers all day long,
"I feel this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong."
no teacher, preacher, parent, friend
or wise man can decide
what's right for you--just listen to
the voice that speaks inside.

"Just watch for the birdie!"
he said with a smile
"Just stare up towards me
and wait for a while!
Just look," he attempted:
"just look at me, Sam."
I cried with confusion and fury: 'I am!'

I will not wish the time away,
but when it's time to go
I hope I wake upon that day,
and never get to know.
I hope the sky is brightest blue;
I hope I've hopes to meet -
and every word I hear is true,
and every sound is sweet.
I hope I leave a thousand lives
improved, and saved from strife -
and so I hope the end arrives
amidst the joy of life.

"i know" my father said and sighed,
"it's just a piece of art
it's rough, okay, but talent tried
still takes a lot of heart.
"of course, it comes as no surprise,"
he smiled and sadly said
"it's easier to criticise,
than see the worth instead.
just disregard your scorn, and then
step-back, and see it new."
he held it up. "now look again."
i did. i always do.