POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

Many are they  Formed by clay Others by sand Molded with hand. Touch not, was the command Why not, we duly demand Forgetting our ultimate duty Is upholding alginate beauty. How sad! None ever had Successfully done that. It isn't easy but, This fine girl Has a story to tell. To avoid a lengthy reading vice, She poemed this advice. Dutiful or butiful The former is a delight The latter isn't right Twins are counted as ones Although born at once, Their destiny only comes by chance. Everyone is beautiful, Very few however, are dutiful. Digging for gold hidden  Where benignly forbidden Doesn't take courage  But desire for such voyage  Suitors of truth and falsehood Far and within the neighborhood Who in your despair strongly stood Behind you as pillar that never shook May be fished out by common hook Helpers may fade Lovers may jade Money may not be there to take Especially when duty is at stake But personality A twin of integrity Faith of persistence Dimpled smile of beauty And

Should I say breasted Swollen headed Rifty shouldered Or broad chested With the feet apart, fingers attached Reminiscing simulations of expected fallacies We still cannot promise  That which may only be a wish That by hook or crook We live not to miss One may hide his fear  Because people like him are rare Or when salvation is near But when a determined face  Is hidden behind a disposable mask, Then this is my take, "Lives are at stake For job security sake" Albeit: Positive mood and posture Creates a gigantean stature That holds onto a diminishing dream  And licks it like honey ice cream Therefore I am no moron In this metaphorical oxymoron; Of a naked dressed officer Wasting kiwi on black leather. But as we stand at our faith's peak It will take less than a week To prove we were never weak Courtesy only kept us meek But time on our side, shall speak And men shall find what they seek.

It is said  With no meaning absurd  The toad is the best  To tell the real feel of water And not by a finger test. We hear the quotation, Your life is in your own hand My infidel interpretation Is, can life be fetched like sand? Some are born of spirits Others by woman Many as offsprings Only one by a virgin I fell in the peasant's farmhouse To a woman who never wore blouse Had friends whose hair birthed lice And siblings who survived on lies Those on the other side  Thought a river was like poolside And had TV to view "by the fireside" To them, life began at twenty While mine was waiting till forty. Weeding, pruning and thinning out Consoling myself that time won't run out   Producing the golden tree That the lucky kid calls chocolate. Since age three I knew I was getting late But whose choice is it Being unworthy or dear To be born with silver wear Or be birthed a misfit Had we, those in my shoe We the unlucky ones Without any choice, not once Come across that magic