Poems



Some of them rhyme,
They flow and glide,
A point in fact,
They seem to ease one’s troubled mind.

Some of them don’t,
“Opened versed”,
Which in many cases,
I would venture,
Work just as well,
Bringing a big wide smile,
Or a chuckle,
Or just a
simple
nod.

Some are short.
To the
point.

Some of them are extremely long and go on and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on and on and on and
so on.

And
Some
Take a shape
As you read them
Pleasing one’s eye pallet.
Nice!
Yes?

Some can be read,
(Over and over again)
They make no sense.
No matter how many times one reads them,
One is left wondering,
What is this supposed to mean?

When his frozen star flower currently of the
Strong tissues that wave,
Are in screaming lit buildings,
They will float past the rumpled fat taster,
And seeing her,
Will often cry out,
“Gentle boxer with the beer harness!
Why must we go puffy down…?”

What?

And then there’s this one…
Which,
If you managed to read it all the way through,
You can’t help but notice that,
In the middle it just simply…
Ends.


Curtis Gould

Very enjoyable read. Hope that we shall see more of your work.

Thanks. I am just trying to figure out this site. Take care,Curtis.