Most Liked Lyric Poems (681)

The jester is a clever one,
Though a fool, as some may say.
At your expense he has his fun,
With your mind he makes his play.

He will jibe and jape at you,
With his mocking, clever wit.
And he will run you through and through.
With his sword each nerve will hit.

Don't give him the satisfaction,
Of causing your rile to raise.
He'll only take counter-action,
Make another fire to blaze.

So take it on your funny bone,
Allow him to have his fun.
Then later get him all alone,
Shoot him with your widdle gun.

The third child born, the only girl,
A precious little thing.
And when she smiled the room lit up,
And caused the world to sing.

At two years old she'd just begun,
To run and feed herself.
Already curious about the books,
That sat upon my shelf.

Then tragedy unspeakable,
While fighting off the flu,
Immune system went haywire,
Her brainstem ravaged through.

She had to learn to walk and talk,
And use her hands again,
But doggedly she tried and tried,
I worried so back then.

Some gave up but not this one,
The bravest little girl.
She worked so hard and never quit,
To make it in this world.

Til finally she had come back,
Except one dragging foot.
The one worked fine but hard it was,
The other one to put.

She'd point down to her legs and scold,
The one that gave her trouble.
"Good foot, bad foot," she would say while,
Pointing one to other.

Then one day through my front door,
She walked so straight and tall.
And marched herself right up to me,
Without a limp at all.

Where I sat there upon the floor,
She shoved "bad foot" at me,
And wriggled it up in my face,
She grinned, said, "Pawpee, see?"

I cried then, and I'm crying now,
The tears of joy I shed.
For my precious little girl.
And those brave words she said.

As summer fades and autumn looms,
A feel of change so sweet.
A sleep before renewal as,
Leaves crunch beneath my feet.

I do not fear the change to come,
But welcome it complete.
So weary of the dog days now,
The dry, oppresive heat.

For each change of season brings,
A new world to enjoy.
The colors wild and beautiful,
For cam'ra to employ.

From photos I will paint the scenes,
Of autumn's lovely hues.
The reds and yellows, golds and browns,
That Mother Earth does use.

Imperfect as my art may be,
I do enjoy it so.
I do my best, it's all I can,
The wonders there to show.

A little bit of magic,
Coming from within,
You see it in a twinkle,
A wicked little grin.

The drab and witless masses,
Life sentences, so grim.
Drag themselves from day to day,
No vigor and no vim.

But living in the moment,
Makes life a thrilling ride.
Life begins anew with,
Each changing of the tide.

Don't let the daily grind you,
Down to a lifeless drone.
Just let your spirit lift you,
Your heart and flesh and bone.

When life is an adventure,
Each moment seems to spin.
You know who's in the moment,
The magic shows within.

Kinda thin and kinda scrawny,
As I'm approaching sixty-one.
But I used to be so brawny,
When I was taut and firm and young.

I'm not hoping for perfection,
And I know that I'm not a kid.
A step in the right direction,
Just to slow up the downhill skid.

So each day I'm exercising,
And I'm eating more healthily.
And it's really not surprising,
The changes I'm seeing in me.

I'm now feeling so much stronger,
And I'm sleeping all through the night.
My workouts are getting longer,
And my spirits have taken flight.

I know I can't be young again,
But I still can have my health,
More quality of life and then,
Know that is the only real wealth.

A damsel in distress is just,
A female friend in need.
I shouldn't but I felt I must,
Mount up my trusty steed.

I'd only met her once before,
We'd chatted and we'd talked.
Of course I wanted something more,
But that move had been balked.

Seems she'd been in an accident,
Her foot needed repair,
So to the hospital she went,
To seek a surgeon's care.

The scalpel and the needles too,
Had left her in such pain.
That it would be a month or two,
Ere she could walk again.

Her roommate and her teenaged son,
Had been no help at all.
Clean dishes they had left her none,
Cat litter in the hall.

So armed with lunch for two I went,
To lend a helping hand.
Don't mind the hours that I spent,
They're merely grains of sand.

With dishes done I warmed our meal,
We ate it, ev'ry bite.
She said my cooking was ideal,
My pride was shining bright.

The hallway too, we tackled then,
It was an awful mess.
I didn't mind, I'd do again,
To help to ease her stress.

I'm hoping her recovery,
Will be complete and swift.
She said next time she'll come to me,
That gave me quite a lift.

So now I wait for her to call,
To say she's coming here.
I'm hoping in my bed she'll fall,
A thought I hold so dear.

My rusting armor has its flaws,
My motives so impure.
That gratitude may give her cause,
My lonliness to cure.

I was in pain, so off I went,
To the clinic, myself I sent.
Trying to find my comfort zone,
I got a little prednisone.

I figured maybe in a week,
I'd find relief that I did seek.
Ah but, oh! to my delight,
A sweet surcease came overnight.

The miracles of medicine,
Made me myself now, once again.
And so to work now, I can go,
To try to earn myself some dough.

And if my labors cause me pain,
It's off to doctor's once again,
Because to suffer's not my style,
Not even by a country mile...

An ancient, aging Chippewa,
Who's sage words were passed to me,
Did speak of knowledge, used for good.
With his wisdom I agree.

He said it is a sacred thing,
To use knowledge in this way,
And that is what true elders do.
His words are true, I must say.

But now that I an elder am,
Wonder if I'll stand the test,
And use what little I have learned,
Make this world come out its best.

Yes, I will try to do this thing.
Heading out, I set my jaw.
Out in the world, his words to bring,
That sagacious Chippewa.

"KNOWLEDGE IS A BEAUTIFUL THING, BUT THE USE OF KNOWLEDGE IN A GOOD WAY IS WHAT MAKES FOR WISDOM. LEARNING HOW TO USE KNOWLEDGE IN A SACRED MANNER, THAT'S WISDOM TO ME, AND TO ME, THAT'S WHAT A TRUE ELDER IS."

Miss Ellie told this tale to me,
Which I now relate to you.
She was a caregiver, you see,
To a vet from World War two.

Seems he had been a flying ace,
O'er the North Atlantic Sea.
But now a sickbed was his place,
At the age of eighty-three.

To walk again was all he craved,
So she did for him her best.
His freedom of motion she saved,
Miss Ellie had passed the test.

His wife was quite a piece of work,
To resent was all she knew.
This woman really was a jerk!
Ellie loathed her through and through.

And then one night Ellie came to sit,
With him while his wife went out.
She saw his pain was quite a bit,
Which she then asked him about.

Obstructed bowel he'd had for days,
Which the wife chose to ignore.
Was toxic in the final phase,
Swiftly to and through death's door.

She wailed as that man was interred,
While the wife sat grimly smug.
So Ellie screamed in rage at her,
As the old man's grave was dug.

For six more years the wife lived on,
And then her day fin'lly came.
Good or bad, we're all death's pawn,
Cause we all end up the same.

So this past Memorial Day,
Ellie was so bold and brave.
Took off her shoes and danced away,
Upon that old bitches grave.

One can never quite predict,
In matters of the heart,
At what point one should full commit,
When does the loving start?

If you lay it out too soon,
You run an awful risk,
Of singing love's unhappy tune,
A sad and aching twist.

But then, if you drag your feet,
There is an outside chance,
That you'll lose your love so sweet,
And miss out on romance.

I've heard it said that timing is,
Nine tenths of ev'rything.
But what time's right, this I quiz,
When should the lovebird sing?

Guess the thing is just to know,
Your partner down so deep,
Wait for certain signs to show,
Til then your heart just keep.