The End of Verse?

========================================================
YOUR LOVE WILL ALWAYS BE IN MY HEART.
========================================================

I'll cling on to Your love
in My heart;

I won't let go of Your love
in My heart,

Your love will remain in My
heart forever;

I'll hold on to Your love
so tightly as though it was
made of gold,

Your love will always be My
treasure;

I'll seal up Your love
in My heart,

I'll cherish Your love in My
heart forever;

Your love will always be My
keepsake in My heart,

Not even death itself can
separate Your love in My
heart;

And I won't let Your love
wither or fade away in My
heart,

Your love will always linger
on and on in My heart;

Your love will always be in
My heart forever.


========================================================




Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
=========================

=================================
Where Is The Love.
=================================

Hatred had kill all of the
Passengers on flight
ninety three;

In the field just outside
of Shanksville Pennsyl-
vania,

An eleven year old little
girl kept on asking where
is the love;

She says with tears in
Her eyes Oh God where
is the love.

Hatred had kill Those
teenager Students at
Columbine high School in
Colorado,

An eleven year old little
girl kept on asking where
is the love;

She says with tears in
Her eyes Oh God where is
the love.

Hatred had kill Those hard
working People at the World
Trade Center in New York
City,

An eleven year old little
girl kept on asking where is
the love;

She says with tears in
Her eyes Oh God where is
the love.

Hatred had kill Those little
innocent Children at the
Alfred P. Murrah Federal
Building in Oklahoma City,

They were God's little Angels
here on earth;

An eleven year old little girl
kept on asking where is the
love,

She says with tears in Her
eyes Oh God where is the love.

Hatred had kill Those good
men and women working at the
Pentagon in Washington. DC;

An eleven year old little girl
kept on asking where is the
love,

She says with tears in Her
eyes Oh God where is the love.

==============================



Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
=======================

===========================================
Could It Be That God Loves Beauty.
===========================================

Could it be that God
loves beauty as
much as I do;

I love to watch that
sweet and lovely
gentle creature, of
that pretty butterfly
come alive;

As She is only a
year old barely
crawling around
here like a
helplessly little tiny
caterpillar,

Of trying to crawl
out of Her tiny
cocoon in the
Spring time;

Now the years has
been very graciously
to Her through the
years,

As She has just
turn eighteen years
old just recently; of
crawling out of Her
tiny cocoon in the
Spring time.

Could it be that God
loves beauty as
much as I do;

I love to watch that
sweet and lovely
gentle creature, of
that pretty butterfly
come alive in the
Spring time;

As She comes
crawling out of Her
tiny cocoon in the
Spring time,

Of spreading Her
little tiny wings and
flying around here
like an Angel on
earth;

And could it be that
God loves Her lovely
gracefulness, of Her
delicately femininity
Personality charm
as much as I do.

===========================================



Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
=======================

====================================
Your The Flower Of My Heart.
====================================

To Me Your the flower of My heart
that has bloom and blossom so
lovely; and its no wonder that the
humble bee keeps on buzzing
around Your sweet lovely heart.

To Me Your the flower of My heart
Your sweet lovely smile has bloom
and blossom so lovely and so
beautifully, and its no wonder that
the butterfly has found a new home
in Your sweet lovely heart.

To Me Your the flower of My heart
that has flourish so lovely and so
beautifully just like a sweet lovely
pretty little flower in the garden;
and its no wonder that the
humming bird keeps on singing
You a new song to Your sweet
lovely heart.

To Me Your the flower of My heart
and its no wonder that it brings joy
to My heart, to watch You bloom and
blossom into that sweet lovely pretty
little flower My dear.

====================================




Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
========================

=============================
She's Having All That Fun.
=============================

She went to the corner drug
store to purchase a box of
tampon;

As She red the instruction on
the box,

The instruction on the box of
the tampon told Her all what
She can do;

She can run, She can run;

She can play a game of
tennis,

She can play a game of
hop scotch all day long;

She's having all that fun
and it only cost Her a dollar
and a quarter with a coupon
to have all that fun,

And She does it all with a
smile on Her face;

She can play a game of
bowl,

She can even ride a bicycle
on a Sunday afternoon in a
park;

She can dance, She can roller
skate;

She can swim, She can ice
skate too;

She can toss and turn all
night through,

And She does it all with a
smile on Her face;

She's having all that fun
and it only cost Her a dollar
and a quarter with a coupon
to have all that fun,

She can sky dive with the
best of Them;

She can ride a horse to
town,

She can water ski off a lake
shore on a sunny Sunday
afternoon;

She can walk Her dog to the
park,

She can even sit down or
stand up or take a bow at
the end of the day;

And She does it all with a
smile on Her face.

=============================



Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
========================

===============================
I Go Banana Over You Babe.
===============================

You got the cutest buns babe
just like Sara Lee buns;

I go banana over You babe
Your Eyes is as blue as the
blue heavenly sky babe,

Your my cup of tea babe
Your hair is as golden
yellow as the sunlight babe;

Your so cool as a Cucumber
in mid July babe,

Your lips is as red as a bowl
of cherries babe;

And Your so fresh as a
tomato babe,

I go banana over You
babe;

There's nothing cheesy
about Your life style babe,

Your the cream of the
crop babe;

At times Your such a
peach to me babe,

Its no wonder that I go
banana over You babe;

You got the cutest buns babe
just like Sara Lee buns,

Your so sweet and lovely as
molasses babe;

But sometimes You can be as
cold as a fish babe,

So don't clam up on me babe;

Your so fragile as an egg
babe,

Your so squeezable as an
orange babe;

And its no wonder that I keep
on going banana over You
babe.

===============================



Do A web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
=======================

=============================
You Keep Me A Hopping.
=============================

You keep me a hopping on my
feet all day long like a Mexican
jumping bean;

And the birds thinks that I'm a
grasshopper the way I'm a
hopping around here like a
grasshopper all day long,

And I'm getting jumping
hopping mad as a mad dog in
love over You;

But it seems that You have
gotten everyone around here
a hopping over You at Your
finger tips,

From a Mexican jumping bean
to Charlie the tuna;

The Mexican jumping bean is
a hopping over the Kangaroo,

The Kangaroo is a hopping
over the Jack rabbit;

The Jack rabbit is a hopping
over the leaping Frog,

The leaping Frog is a hopping
over the grasshopper;

The grasshopper is a hopping
over little jimmy the Cricket,

Little jimmy the Cricket is a
hopping over the skipping
stone;

The skipping stone is a
hopping over Charlie the
tuna,

And Charlie the tuna is a
hopping over the waters;

So sorry Charlie you gotta
do one better then that,

Cause I just open up a brand
new can of worms;

Of skipping, jumping; leaping
and a hopping over heel in
love for my sweet little darling
dear.

===============================



Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
=======================

=======================
I'll Be Your Gopher.
=======================

You got Me going
for this and that;

You got Me to be
Your gopher,

I go for Your
sweet lovely smile;

I go for Your
sweet lovely kisses,

I go for Your
sweet smooth
talking ways;

You got Me going
for this and that,

You got Me to
be Your gopher;

You got Me
digging My way
into Your sweet
loving heart like
a gopher,

And I'll keep on
digging My way like
a gopher;

Until I have broken
through Your sweet
loving heart,

I'll be Your gopher
and I won't get tire
of being Your gopher;

I'll go for Your
sweet lovely smile,

I'll go for Your
sweet lovely kisses;

I'll go for Your
sweet smooth
talking ways,

I'll be Your gopher
that goes for all
of You.

=======================



Do A Web Search On:
Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
charlesthepoet2003
======================

Enter Your Comment If poetry reading is indeed on the decline, you Newsweek, must take a share of the blame. You never give poetry any notice, aside from the excellent piece on Kay Ryan. I can count on one hand the number of reviews of poetry books I've seen over the many years I've subscribed to Newsweek. Give more notice to the art and maybe more people will pay attention. Kathryn S. Byer, NC Poet Laureate

To confess, I am a forty year old obscure Asian American experimental poet called Bhanu Kapil (BK...Beaky...don't know how to explain the Roberts.) And I don't know what came over me when I read this article about how poetry is dead. It turned me into an instant poetry machine. In ancient India, there were competitions where the king would give his court a line, the end line, and the poets, who were also musicians, would try to come up with the poem, which was also a song, that might "meet" that line. Perhaps we should do that in this country. Probably we already do and I just haven't been to Wisconsin yet. In my case, although I write books that my neighbors, here in Colorado, can't read all the way through, I have a secret longing to write demented rhyming poetry off the cuff. That is why I wrote my poems straight into the Newsweek comment box. Hmmm. In the unlikely event that anyone is reading this, you should come to the Summer Writing Porgram at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, this summer (as opposed to next Winter, when you would be confused and much too late.) It is a month long festival of writing of all kinds, with poetry at its heart, I guess. What is a heart? You would be writing in a lineage of intensity and pleasure. It gave me pleasure, for example, to write these Hallmark/slightly disgusting couplets. I'm particularly fond of the chicken stanza. Poetry is just a way to be completely alive, instead of, like, two eighths alive. Something opens up, and you step in, and it zips up behind you, like the sky.

My name isn't Beaky
It's a pseudonym

This I am neither a her
Nor a him

I like being Beaky
It resembles a hawk

Or my Aunty Matilda
Who used to eat chalk

I think it was rickets
Or maybe the flu

If I am not Beaky:
Then who are YOU?

To continue, I want to consume lemon tarts
But not fast, so as to avoid Les Fartes.

I want to lie down in the sun and drink
Orange Squash until, at the brink,

Of Satisfaction, I find that, after all,
I'd be happy with something really quite small

Like a segment of satsuma, or a grape,
Or a nibble of a chicken, just at its nape,

Though that's horrid and eating should really
Be fun. And the texture...not mealy.

This is a poem written by chance
On a boat headed for Northern France

(Where the croissants are,
And of course Le Bar)

And I hope that it makes you feel hungry and glad
And not, like most poetry, pathetically sad

Or elated, or calm, or as if you could jump
Into a lake with a splash or a schlump.

Is schlump a word? Hmm, to re-think...
Maybe poetry deserves more than a blink.

I want to eat eggs on toast, and a cow,
Not a cow but a bat (sauteed!): but how?

I want to travel to Istanbul
And eat puffed pastries until I am full

I blame Flarg and Conceptualism for poetry's decline :(

lll

pillow and more.

I think I'll keep
you

tomorrow and today
and this minute

I'll think a naked sketch
of you under my gaze

as it grazes on your back
along your spine

recites a contour
and a song without lyrics

I will sleep
near the source where
I

know you stay.

pillow.


I think I'll keep
you

tomorrow and today
and this minute

I'll think a naked sketch
of you under my gaze

as it grazes on your back
along your spine

recites a contour
and a song without lyrics

I will sleep
near the source where
I

know you stay.

A best seller of modern American poetry sold at a bookshop is about two to four copies a month! A good seller is one a month. This is done without benefit of the poet being present on site after a reading/reception. Poets sell their books best during the course of a open reading/reception. The late Chicano poet from Michigan, Trinidad Sanchez Jr., sold over five thousand copies of his Why Am I So Brown? almost out of his tote bag at ten dollars a copy of his perfect bound book to mainly working class Mexican Americans and other Latinos in the Midwest and Southwest over a eight year stretch. It was written in both English and Spanish and had a few illustrations, did that help its sales? But Trinidad made it a weekly practice to take his poems and go to where the listeners/readers were available.

If poetry is so dead then why do Ihave to spend several hours every day updating my resource guide, ChicagoPoetry.com, just to keep up with it all? I think the author of this article has never heard of a poetry "reading"