Poetry is dead
said my old schoolmaster
Why don't you instead
learn to add numbers faster

Poems will not make you richer
They're a waste of precious time
said my science teacher
who didn't like it when words rhyme

I said you're both so right
while I knew it's me they hated
that's when I wrote till very late at night
and one more poem was created

Everyday is a precious gift
The greatest present we call life
Worth more than gold that you can lift
Better than any from your wife

A gift that is filled with surprises
with many truths and sometimes lies
From the first moment the sun rises
Right up until you close your eyes

But when tomorrow comes around
Something for you will be waiting
and another great gift will be found
because each day's worth celebrating

There will be good days, there will be bad days
that's why they call it life.
Some will have colours, some will have sad greys
painted with a knife.

Some will be balmy, some will be freezing
and many will be blue.
On some you'll be laughing, on some you'll be sneezing
worse than from a flu.

But then you'll feel better, sometimes so quickly
and ending all your worry
and once more feel healthy, no longer sickly
life really is a beautiful story

All the doer's and the thinkers
have a little snooze
all the gamblers and the drinkers
put down your chips and *****

All the poets and the dreamers
time for a little break
all the plotters and the schemers
there's no move you must make

All the saints and the sinners
don't get on your knees
because we are already winners
just let us nap now, please

She loved to play with food
and bicarbonate soda
experimenting with meat, she would
while talking just like Yoda

Adding strange things to her tucker
like oregano, dill and thyme
then laughing like she was Chewbacca
which helped these words to rhyme

and all her dishes were a show
theatrical like a play
She performed a long long time ago
in a kitchen far far away

The paper is my silver shield
The pen in hand my sword
Behold the truth that ink will yield
with strike of every word

and each emotion in me rhymes
with each my heart will sever
A poet dies a thousand times
A poem lives forever

Knowledge is power ?
you should have told me that before
It's taken me over an hour
to fix that generator on the floor