Phoebe and her brother and sisters loved to play, like capricious wind;
And many robust children lived nearby, like green nature, an old friend.
The Clarks lived in town, like turquoise neptune, in caramel sun orbit;
And also relied upon retiring early, to enable early rising. Dewy carpets!
Father worked daily in the factory, while Mother was a proficient artist,
Who created magic, colorful abstracts; like darkest nights of stardust!
Flawed, russet sky wept freely all night, to the dismay of fallen flowers;
......
Willie Winkie lived in a land of magic, in the region called Butterfly Haven;
For Willie was a diminutive elf, like the violet blossoms, of purple fixation.
Willie and his beloved wife, Elvira, lived highly organized, pleasant lives;
For magic impels ways and customs to differ, like buds, as spring arrives.
Everyone called Willie Winkie, 'Wee,' since most elves were notably bigger;
But, he was Director of Dreams, scattering joys of plum night, with vigor.
Violence was completely unheard of, inside their peace loving community,
......
Isabel was the youngest of four children, dwelling in a large old house,
Nestled under the burgeoning oak trees, in green spring, of no doubts.
Isabel's parents were devout churchgoers, insisting upon going weekly;
But, Isabel often preferred playing, like dawn, pink sun, shining meekly.
Theirs was a tight knit community, the kind everyone wants to live in;
Like orange butterflies, calling on red flowers, of golden days in a spin.
Isabel and funny friends flew blue kites, under floating clouds of fluff,
......
The elderly Elmer Brown dwelled alone, like a solitary tree on a hill,
Loving quiet, glazed life still, in burgundy, sunset moments of until.
A widower, Elmer Brown had generations of offspring, living far away,
Feeling fresh, foreign breezes, in fruitful terrains, younger than today.
Though retired, Elmer had his hobbies, which gave much satisfaction;
Like a storm of sudden, scathing terror, afore a red hot sun reaction.
Elmer's friends told tales, of truth and fiction; like dream chronicles.
......
I had always adored purple lilacs, and never could get enough,
As wildflowers bloom abundantly, although times may get rough.
They had graced a backyard garden, that I'd known in childhood,
On a tree lined street of birdsong, in a fine old neighborhood.
Now I had lilacs of my own, my life full of sights and scents.
Which delighted passersby, and had prompted countless comments.
My heart was in my gardening, which had come to be my passion,
......
(couplets)
Paris When it’s Late at Night
Can give a person awful fright
The gargoyles of Notre Dame
Roam the street in Satan’s name
From Paris sewers come the rats
......
O tax-taker, sir (and madam, too)
I’m taxed to the hilt; what shall I do?
There’s income tax and sales tax, and levy on property,
fees from the electric company and from Xfinity.
I cannot make a move, I fear,
without encountering a tax that's there.
Chorus
Whate’er you make we soon will take.
This will be done in a lambful shake.
......
Centuries after the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
and Sa’di’s Rose Garden, the Gulistan,
a mythical plant from the Middle Ages
has been reincarnated by political sages.
Up there in the Zieba tree, far away from the crowd,
joined with a media consumed by powers endowed,
politicians sit bare of breast in lotus pose stances
inside an immense nest among the lower branches.
......
The elderly Elmer Brown dwelled alone, like a solitary tree on a hill,
Loving quiet, glazed life still, in burgundy, sunset moments of until.
A widower, Elmer Brown had generations of offspring, living far away,
Feeling fresh, foreign breezes, in fruitful terrains, younger than today.
Though retired, Elmer had his hobbies, which gave much satisfaction;
Like a storm of sudden, scathing terror, afore a red hot sun reaction.
Elmer's friends told tales, of truth and fiction; like dream chronicles.
......
Isabel was the youngest of four children, dwelling in a large old house,
Nestled under the burgeoning oak trees, in green spring, of no doubts.
Isabel's parents were devout churchgoers, insisting upon going weekly;
But, Isabel often preferred playing, like dawn, pink sun, shining meekly.
Theirs was a tight knit community, the kind everyone wants to live in;
Like orange butterflies, calling on red flowers, of golden days in a spin.
Isabel and funny friends flew blue kites, under floating clouds of fluff,
......