Poems

© 2017 by P Michael Biggs

The heart of a poem is it rhymes

And that is good sometimes

It can tell of a crime

And where and what time

A good poem often rhymes

Poems don’t always make sense

You’ll often find intrigue and pretense

Heroes, damsels, danger and suspense

And occasionally a word like thence or whence

Poems can enlarge the soul

That is usually the goal

They often console

Like a warm soup bowl

Poems do indeed enlarge the soul

Poems are the stuff of life

They tell of troubles and strife

They can rhyme and roam

They often speak of home

Yes, poems are the stuff of life

Larry Dean McClean

© 2017 by P Michael Biggs

Listen to my tale of Larry Dean McClean

His clothes were clean

He always wore jeans

You would like Larry Dean McClean

Larry Dean McClean’s mind was keen

He was real proud of his genes

He never touched caffeine

He ate a healthy cuisine

He tried to live a life that was clean

Larry Dean McClean liked Irene

She was a beauty from Eugene

She had a sister named Jeanine

And another called Laureen

But Larry Dean McClean liked Irene

Irene’s eyes were moss green

And they never needed murine

She ate a lot of protein

She loved lima beans

Irene was Larry Dean McClean’s queen

In this poem there is nothing obscene

Larry Dean McClean never falls in a ravine

He’s not mean, he doesn’t eat sardines

Larry Dean McClean, he was just clean

The Cage

© 2017 by P Michael Biggs

Got time for a new idea in blogging?  

I have a triplet of posts that I want you to read. 

The first one is a poem/prose from my blog site The Cage.

And then, from Morning Notes 

you’ll find this – The Cage – a post offering 

hope and encouragement.

And finally, from Internet Church – we find 

When the Cage Door Opens – 

offering hope from God’s word.  

I liked this idea, thanks to Seth Godin’s book 

What to Do When It’s Your Turn.  

The basic idea is Seth’s, but wrapped in my words, 

and inspiration from The Bible.

I hope you read all three.  I especially hope you share 

at least one of them with someone 

who might feel caught in some kind of trap 

and need to find an escape.  Enjoy.

It was a trap, that old cage

A trap that soon became a stage

Some called that trap old age

And they pranced and danced upon that stage

I’m 22, I’ll act my age

I’m 42, I love my age

I’m 72, I’m trapped in my cage

I can’t do what I want as a person of my age

My cage keeps me safe

It keeps me in

Yet it keeps everything else out

Without a doubt

Before my cage I had freedom

I made choices

It protected me, no doubt

And kept everything else out

Even my freedom to go and be

To adventure, dream and see

That was before I entered my cage

I long for the days when I could choose

Free from this cage of safety and security

I could roam, climb, dream, lose

In whatever pursuits I dared to choose

So, I live out my days in a cage of my choosing

I whisper my musings

And what I’ve lost and am losing

Not much is amusing in this cage of my choosing

Mostly I miss my right to be choosing

The life I might find amusing