You Sir, have downgraded me

By calling me a peach
But I beseech you
Most folks love to call me
An apple or a rose
As at supersonic speed,
Poetry I compose.

None the less,
As I love to eat a peach,
I shall have a bite
Out of your hand
As it I do reach

Thanks my friend
We are at your beck and call,
You are a soldier,
A warrior after all…

How delighted am I to know
My works enlighten
The heart and souls of warriors
I know..,

They feel once after a war
When they come home,
Not divested but deprived
Of a vocation of their own

But I am sure
That no nation does the bravery
And self-less sacrifice
Of warriors disown.

Great are such soldiers and men
They never die
But fade away
Sadly but not in vain

What evil has brought
Upon docile mankind
The onslaught of tsunamis,
Tornados and hurricanes
And
What not

If heavens take mercy
And
Man holds man’s hand,
To include woman
And
Apply intelligence as they did,
By shutting out power
As a pre-emptive remedy,
Such natural disasters can be fought
Though the damage they render
Can’t be set nought

Hope all my friends
And
Poets of Neopoet are well
And
About their own individual experiences
They will soon tell.

Perhaps now I have grown
The sideburns
longer than before
Or
Perhaps my eyes
have now spectacled

But the real inborn seed
That has been supplanted,
Has been by thee,

A change of heart
That has been obviously noticed,
By everyone including me

The narcissist in me shears,
As Jess my dear
In your own fashion,
Convert hatred to love,
As can be seen
From the depths of my heart

The good wishes
you can’t ever fathom
It’s only the cane
That straightens.

We Soar
Well can't help it
Old habits die hard,
In any case
I’m no cricketer,
So what with the hat-trick

I Now See
The smoke gets in your eyes
as its early morning
waiting for tea
as wifey sleeps
Or
Moms not awake
and
They forbid you to tea make

So with your hands you shake
as puffs you blow

I see in the distant
the sea tides upturn
and
Your inner chest does smoke burn
perhaps cigarettes are a gift
God given
when coffee can be served in lieu
but bitter truth can be mistaken
heaven sent this poets salaams
as urchins close in
Begging alms

A lady poet was recently asked
How she managed
To be able to publish her book of poetry

She replied
When I was ten,
getting bored,
My mom asked me not to idle.

Then what should I do she asked,
Write a poem
Thereafter,
she never stopped
And
Today five decades later
she has published her book of poems
And
Her mom is her Publisher,
Editor
and
Reader.

Best of luck to you,
You all are future potential
Poets here...

Kondomising the human mind
just a great idea
I hadn't conceived yet

But all I would perhaps to do
Reading Ur kondumised poetry,
Is to ask Raj to stop short of coc...
And delete con.

Wonderful poetry exotic and ecstatic
As one would feel in a kondome
Inside a master sized Kondum
Which both may perhaps don?

I may have confused the issue
Notwithstanding I did love the kondumisation
Of natural street love.
Which must have cummed?
Into finale of kosummationn

Cat You Are
That silver lining
We see around a cloud,
So many of us would like to catch it
At least me,

I Have no doubt
But the lining is so silvery,
My eyes can't
at that distance see
But surely do come by
And
Elevate me
To a slightly higher storey

Very few people here appreciate beauty
And
I am so glad you do,
Life is a series of such small strings
and
The discernible eyes can only view,
What is beauty?
and
What love is?
How so ever captured temporarily
By those few, like you.