Not a poem I wrote but one I like so much that I thought it deserved recognition.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

A Ballad

"Oh the procrastination"
I sit several rows
behind you. The bows
in your hair sit like flowers
after a morning shower.

The teacher dismisses the class
and then I walk up to the lass.
I open my mouth to talk
hoping I'll catch her before she begins to walk.

My mind goes blank trying to think of lines to weave.
Just when they intertwine, out the door she leaves.
Dumbfounded, I try to think of what to do.
So don't waste your time, or time will waste you.

An Old English Poem

"The Gas Station Robbery"
I dived down to dodge
the shot that sang out with surprising resonation.
I lay on the ground listening to her footsteps.
There was a commotion coming from the corner.
And I watched as he reached around the register to retrieve the money.
The commotion turned out to be a woman collecting
the change that had fallen from her coin purse.
The robber reeled about and redirected her gun at her.
Bang! the bullet shot at the breathless woman.
The bottled beverages billowed out
and the liquid landed only inches from her leg.
With that the thief fled through the door and was never seen again.

Cinquain

"The Mourning Husband"
Haunted
by her visage.
Will I ever be free?
rid of her I am, closure I
have not.

"Fish"
Swimming
effortlessly
in its glass box called home.
Does it worry about anything?
Doubtful.

Haikus

"The Gift"
To my love I give
the most precious thing I have,
the key to my heart.

"Fire"
The ambers burn hot
as the smoke rises from the ashes
to be respired.

"Sunset"
The summer sun sets
displaying the amber hues
that beguile my soul.