We are not professional.
We never get things right.
We take long walks after dark,
Whispering rhymes for most of the night.

We never took a degree
In therapy or law.

The past has vanished in silence
Never telling us what it saw.

We had a happy thought:
God’s happier than man. God doesn’t do
A thing. We think Oscar Wilde
Said it, so it must be true.

We understand we are God
Or, that is what we think.
Nothing really goes right with us.
We dream in bed, or on walks, or at the sink.

She has her job, and I, mine,
We have friends, or so we say.
I suddenly kissed her this morning.
Breakfast took all day.


  1. Anonymous said,

    June 11, 2013 at 2:51 pm

    The poem above got a (minus)-2.0 from the poetry assessor.

    Chosen at random, this Scarriet paragraph, however:

    “The interest of any exercise such as this must lie with how parts are integrated by the machinery of calculation; parts are paramount in any calculating process, parts which can never be quite integrated into the whole of a human judgment, and this is understood instinctively. Further, the miscalculation of a single part’s worth or lack thereof can impact the whole more than it should, and such is how the whole often betrays partial thinking.”

    received a (plus) 2.5 from the poetry assessor.

  2. Mr. T. said,

    June 16, 2013 at 2:29 am

    I pity the fool who writes a poem without there Jason hockey mask!

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