We cry
whimper and pout,
when we do
without.
Not getting
our way,
every day.
In the time
we whine;
the service
is slow,
let’s take it
to go.
Grumbling,
“hurry up,
dude!”
How many
die, for
lack
of
food?
Tag Archive: Bad Poetry
These ideas
form, feeding
the head;
whispers clearly,
locales, unseen-
known well,
wondering, where?
how?
Arriving-
searching, seeking
certain-
they come,
from
Above.
Faces pressed,
peering through
window panes,
each night-
light alluring,
doors, open-
moths,
to
the
bar.
Estoy hablando
contigo.
Siéntate conmigo.
Probemos y compartamos algo
de poesía.
Perdona mi español.
Sólo quiero conocerte.
Four-Calendar Café 