When I look in the mirror,
I'm never satisfied.

I hate my face, my skin, my size...
I hate my cheekbones, my hair, my eyes...

I hate my legs,  my thighs, my hips...
I hate my arms, my ears, lips...

I hate every bit of me that you touched
because they all remind me of you.

This here is a poem
About a boy and girl
How they met each other
And changed each other's world

It's a simple tale
One that stands up for the ages
When in love they fell
And turned each other's pages

Both of them grew up
On the same side of town
Though neither of them knew
The other was around

But as fate would show
To them his face that day
Peaking round the corner
To give itself away

In the middle of the soda shop
They caught each other's eye
Quickly looked away
As they both were kinda shy

That something quickly clicked
Deep inside their hearts
As whispers go the whisper said
This is where it starts

That was years ago
Give or take a few
Now the kids are grown
And their grandkids too

As they watch it all
From the rusty swing on the porch
Thinking of the day they met
That changed each other's world

I said, oh
you're in sales.
She responded:
Are you kidding!
I could sell ice to an Eskimo.

Oy vey I say,
you're pretty pretty
and that's a fact.
That will go a long way
towards your hitting the mark.

I hope you are able to stay honest,
give a sucker an even break.
Please feel welcome
and make yourself a tidy sum.

I myself was not cut out for sales,
my pitch wasn't good and all,
but I couldn't hide the products drawbacks.
I was all to willing to let you know
exactly what you were paying for.

"Here I am stuck in the empty waters, struggling to get out. The water so deep I can't feel the ground. I can't feel the ground. The darkness is in the air. It almost feels like I am drowning, there's no room to breathe I'm going under."

my father’s younger brother
was quite an interesting fellow
worked over time in different jobs
and on the sided wrote poems
stories  novels  texted songs

we lived about 150 miles apart
exchanged occasional mails and comments
on each other’s writings

then I received an email rather strange
stating that he had underestimated
his sickness but wished to have no visits
at the time

it seriously felt
    like something was not right

and two days later
    I was just about to call
a weeping aunt was on the phone
and told me of his death

from what she said
it was not nice

he died of  cancer of the pancreas
could hardly move in his last weeks
and only weighed one hundred pounds
down from 200   when he died
guess his demise was a relief for him
    as well as her

how sad that he  a man of letters
     who wrote thick novels and articulate verse
could not find words for his own pain

maybe  like many of his generation
he felt his sickness was  a shame
or he was furious at his body   or his fate
or did not want to burden others
or did not like them to be witness
to his waning health

I do not know

what I shall remember
is the loud silence
in his last mail

          * *

A furry angel watches me while I sleep
A furry angel hardly makes a peep
except an occasional purr or meow
The furry angel requires no vow
but likes food and love
In return she loves me much too
Welcome Picket the furry angel cat