I had a little sapling, which I planted in the ground,

And busied about it, trying not to make a sound,

I sprinkled it with water and let it feel the sun,

And saw that it’s growing had definitely begun,

I had a team of gardeners to tend to its needs,

Experts in its watering and experts in its feeds,

Together we protected the very little tree,

Holding it up until it could stand and it could see,

That its trunk was solid and its branches many, wide,

Clothed with leaves of wisdom shielding every wooden side,

We tended to its every whim and fed it letters so,

That after twelve years nurture, we could slowly let go,

And watch with wonder as a sapling it is no more,

But a tree full of knowledge with its own armor for,

Living in the world’s big forest with the wind and bee,

Knowing it’s rooted firm, but independent and free.

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End Of School

Farewell to the old school,

Of teachers plentiful,

Teachers who do not reach,

Teachers who cannot teach,

Teachers who cannot beat,

Teachers who can’t compete,

With the knowledge master,

Personal and faster,

That’s replaced them complete,

Stolen their classroom seat,

New school age begun,

Where computer has won,

So that teacher must learn,

It is end of school turn,

For the teacher.

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Father Of The Bride

You don’t like the circus at all,

But are told to perform for rule,

Not trained to jump through burning ring,

They wait for you to do something,

You flounder bleeding red not blue,

Oh the perfect jester is you,

To entertain the circus guest,

As long as the act is not messed,

But you don’t like the circus at all,

And do not mistake you for a fool,

You leave and bring the tent right down,

They’ll have to find another clown.

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Remembrance Day

Space vacated,

Holes created,

Rain tears with blood,

For earth and mud,

Families broke,

Grief, blackness soak,

New ghosts not old,

So young and bold,

Lift up dead hand,

And carry Land,

With price so high,

So we can try,

To live in peace.

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Behind Smiles, hidden,

Are hardships unbidden.


Blue skies are blinding,

Seeing and finding,

What is tucked away,

Not for display,

The ugly, the pain,

Call it human stain.


Hidden until,

Against your will,

It is in your face,

And with smile in place,

You get to see,


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The New Old

It is old and battered and warped as well,

What tales my long serving table could tell,

But its looks that count and it’s past its date,

It can’t be kept in its decaying state,

But why I ask must we discard the old,

Because they don’t fit into ideal mold?

Why not embrace the wrinkles, defects too,

And boycott the empty shiny and new.


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Turn It Off

The canned music boomed out so loud,

To the open air car park crowd,

And even when the shops had shut,

The music played, no pause, no cut,

Middle of night, the notes still rang,

For dancing rats and owls that sang,

When war broke out, the music sound,

Filled the air for all those around,

End of the world, the music played,

No audience, but it still stayed,

Outliving the shoppers and shop,

Nobody left to make it stop.

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