All My Money's on Her

All my money's on that pretty lady
All my money's on her.
I know I'll down and die, not maybe,
If I don't lie with her.

All my money's on my little baby
All my money's on her.
All my money's on that lady's baby,
All my money, yes sir!

All my money's on my baby's baby.
All my money's on them.
My baby will be like her,
 . . . not maybe,
And I'll lie with my baby again, . . ..

                                                                       for M.Potter, Sr.

My Curse

All these words are silhouettes,
Of sounds that you just spoke.
My greatest curse would be to hedge my bets,
And become astonished by my work.

with M__ M__, 12/4/10   33, 34, 34-2,  35

The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

All the Rhymes

The rhymes she mouthes to me,
Ripple through my being.
I wonder at what I've heard,
Crippled without a meaning.

All the rhymes I write for her,
Are conversant, moody, or sweet.
She likes when I serve her dirty,
And takes limericks, with her tea.

Reprise

Upon the demise of a future robotic:
Publish a reprise of, "Love nurtures Erotic"
Let's plan ahead, and think outside boxes,
Start dreaming in bed, and planning like foxes!

Let's Find

Let's let our limbs entwine,
In delightful mutual service.

I'll delight you with pure lines, 

You delight me with your curves! 

Take what you want, fruit from my bowl, 

A moment's hesitation is hell for your soul!

[photo: Kat Kuriacu]

My Mother, My Father

My father was a wolfhound, my mother a full blood terrier.
How far he used to run for love, yet bound on home to marry her.
I am my father's son, I know I'm a dog like him,
Though taken up with poetry, I write with paper and pen.

                                                                                                      M. Potter, Sr.