A tiresome day weeps

A tiresome day weeps for a lonely night,
a patched life, sweet and sour, seeks release,
exit denied, each new day is the old sight,
when will chaos end and dawn peace;

change as only constant, a lie, for all same,
same boredom, same drudgery, same pain,
joy a memory, still possible in life’s game,
the parched soiled sands seek pure rain;

but with rain comes thunder frightening,
what use invisible rainbows at night dancing,
can’t move in dark with spasms of lightning
as the torch, mud puddles in path prancing;

a lonely night calls for a cheerful and eager day,
a rainy holiday where in groups inside we stay.

Am I a James Bond

Am I a James bond?

shaken but not stirred,

or waving a magic wand;

like Harry Potter that erred; 

am I a Bruce Lee?

that with bare hands kill,

or a lifeless tree

that all day stand still;

I am not Alexander, 

that conquered the world,

nor am I a trifling Gander, 

you can have easily fooled;

I am a remnant of immortal thoughts and verses,

of Frost and Keats that won’t fill any purses.