The bellowing of Walrues
Have long tusks and mustaches.
They live in the ocean.
With a festival of Squid and. Salmon

The Salmon's brain
Has particles Of iron
To take them home.
To the fresh water to spawn.

The Polar Bear live on a polar cap.
Wasted away ice sheets
Melting from the sun..
The biggest treat to Polar Bears.

Baleen Wales strain their food
From Sea water.
Toothed Wales have teeth
That hunt for their prey.

I am fading all away,
just a little at a time,
still spreading stories of my life,
with poetry and rhyme.

Imagination, took me paths
through many different lands,
I've made music with my words,
wrote them in longhand.

I took footpaths without traces
of passage there before,
explorations and expeditions
upon truly foreign shores.

I've ideas never thought before,
I bet you'll never see,
anything like them anywhere,
because they just occurred to me.

As if a book, you turned my pages,
I read your mind through all your ages.
I held your hand, we’d follow words,
and learned the flight of painted birds.

When nursery rhymes came to life,
we counted animals and farmer’s wife.
When you were sure you read alone,
and turned each page of stories known.

To learn you needed school lessons,
you read much more, in different sessions.
And counting grew as high as trees,
well beyond the A B Cs.

That's exactly what I am.
I feel
so deeply
and so frequently.
I write
and open my heart
to express
my emotions.
I explore
them
to the entire world.
I leave pieces of myself
all over the place.
I'm widely known
and understood
without even trying to be.
I've permitted myself
to expose
absolutely everything
even if it
makes me vulnerable.

My compass is getting pretty old now.
Sometimes I tap on the glass
to make sure of the reading.

The needle doesn’t get bothered
by how often I do this.

The bargain seems to be
even if I ask redundant questions
it will keep suggesting true north.

Can I share my opinion?
Tell the world how I do feel.
For the simple words I say,
Get turned into a meal.

Plain and simple as I tell it,
But twisted it becomes.
For can you hear the sound,
Of Social media toxic drums?

One woman missed the point
Another claims I'm wrong.
Yet it's them that's stressing,
Raring to lash their tongue.

And hate finds its own fanclub,
When it gets pushed around.
So much vitriol,
It shockingly astounds.

A STAR HAS FIVE ENDS.
A SQUARE HAS FOUR ENDS.
A TRIANGLE HAS THREE ENDS.
A LINE HAS TWO ENDS
BUT A CIRCLE OF OUR
FRIENDSHIP HAS NO END.

A STAR HAS FIVE ENDS.
A SQUARE HAS FOUR ENDS.
A TRIANGLE HAS THREE ENDS.
A LINE HAS TWO ENDS
BUT A CIRCLE OF OUR
FRIENDSHIP HAS NO END.

A STAR HAS FIVE ENDS.
A SQUARE HAS FOUR ENDS.
A TRIANGLE HAS THREE ENDS.
A LINE HAS TWO ENDS
BUT A CIRCLE OF OUR
FRIENDSHIP HAS NO END.

If only my bread was plain,
Not of tarnished grain.
Or that of a wonky gate.
My broken clock trait.

If only my path were smooth.
Not a pot ridden groove,
Or a rollercoaster ride,
Oh how I want to hide.

If only my being was garnished,
Not a coating so tarnished.
Or like a bug infested skin,
Fateful, as it wipes off my grin.

If only my mind was calm,
Not an annoying alarm.
Or a pulsing constant explosion,
Matching my bodily erosion.