July 26, 2011

Life is Life


Life is life, even though it’s tough,
You gotta live with it, even though it’s rough.

It’s a gift, given to us from up above,
So don’t use it for hatred, but use it for love.

Life is the most precious, and valuable gift of all,
So don’t throw it away, by jumping of a wall.

I know it myself, life can be hard,
So if your looking for help, just speak to God.

Life’s of too great value to be thrown away,
So thank God for letting you live – every, single day.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl,
No matter how you kill yourself, you’ve got a date with Lucifer.

You never know when your life will come to an end,
So live your life happily, get a family, and a best friend.

Would you rather have lovely granddaughters, and grandsons? ,
Or kill yourself now, and burn in hell when Dooms day comes.

Live everyday as if it would be your last,
Be kind, happy, and have a blast.

Life is life



This Is Not A Confessionam Poem
  

  This is not a confessional poem
I confess that I have written this
Not a romantic poem
Under the watch of the archangel of Blake’s vision
A l=a=n=g=u=a=g=e= p=o=e=m=
A loaf Of poem a gallon Of words a pint Of letters
A so-so go for broke poem
So so son and so said
An acrostic poem
None near Aim to be called
Mindfully toward the Eternity of the thing
An epitaph poem
He lays David E. Patton
Never one to believe in heaven
So when he dies he did spy

A free verse poem
A sonnet poem
A know it all poem for the masses
This is not a minute poem
A didactic poem
A tongue poem
A villanelle poem
A sestina poem
An epic poem
A quinzaine poem
A rondelet poem
This is not a rondel poem
A cascade poem
A trijan refrain poem
A tanka poem
A taridet poem
A quatrain poem
If I lie this is not a list poem
To pin upon the sky
Set before the poet’s eye
I confess that I have written this
But this is not written to deceived anything but what is desired by the greediness of the eyes
This is not the growth of breath focused on the words with their mindful meaning stalled by the stack of sounds held in the syllables
This is not a sijo poem from the land of the morning calm
I confess that I know not what this is but all that it is not of what it would be forgot in the mispronounced want of the bony wants of the skin bag of my self
This is not the not of a poem trying to be born from the keyboard’s click and the memory of my hands
This is not an every man poem to understand it dose not caters to the common man
This is not a poem about Gods caught up in my mentioning of them they have taken their holy toys and gone home till the kingdom will come only the prelists priests are left to protest their secret order for getting into a heaven where nothing changes nothing like the rot of earth that feed upon the rotting of the living
This is not a this is not poem all that I have said can be washed away with the rain of your brain this poem can not save can not heal can not trill you into action
This is not a solitary crowed poem a cut-up poem feeding off itself
I have written it but it will not tell me what kind of poem it seem to be
This is not a poem to make you rough or pure or proud or increate your intellect to beguile the world with its new found wisdom
This is not a poem to set you free from the common drudgery of your day to day life it can not fend or feed you with the not of its substance can not set you to dance naked beneath the full moon can not fill you up with the pleasure of the pen
This is not a poem that seeks to befriend it has no mouth to consume you no hands to caress you no tongue to lick the words from your tears
This is not a haiku poem
A testimonial poem
A neither Ballard nor ballade
A limerick an ode nor sonnet
A terza rima
A villanelle a terzanelle or pantoum
This poem can not go on forever it finds its not end in your mind the time is spent and I believe that this is not the end of this poem

David E. Patton