Lemons may be bitter and cause one's lips to pucker,
Just squeeze one in your water and have it with your supper.

Bite into one and you will find yourself waiting for a moment of bliss.
Just as one does when one is waiting for a kiss.

If selected by a lemon lover, they may do with me as they please,
If I could only be a lemon, I would mot mind a squeeze.

I could be a lemon pie, or be squeezed onto lemon chicken,
But I'd like to be squeezed by you... while my bitter heart is still tickin.'

Poems For The Joy of It


Paint yourself a birthday cake,
One with lots of candles.
and if you make it with ice cream,
it will never melt!

When it's time to blow the candles out,
You will have to huff and puff,
but not matter how hard you try,
You won't have any luck.

But make a wish anyway,
And be sure to close your eyes,
For it's the only way to
Make painted candles go out!

Have a pleasant birthday party,
I'm sad I could not make it
(But my love is in these gifts)
All thought they were not wrapped so good,
I sealed them with a kiss!

Happy Birthday Lisa, From Frank, John and Whover

Poems for the Joy of It, JGP


Cowboy Up

Cowboys don't cry when their hearts are broken,
No tears in his coffee cup, no sad words spoken.
He knows he can always rope and brand another filly,
To cry about his broken heart is just too dog-gone silly!

Should you ever ride with him, rounding up the strays,
Making camp and and ending, yet another long hard day...
Never ask em, "What that you?  I thought I heard a whimper or a sigh."
He will just declare, "Must have been some lonesome coyote's cry."

You will have to get him really drunk to get to know the facts,
He will only dream of some way to get that woman back.
He will just take the pain, as if his heart was branded,
And always feel like some old bull, that somehow, just got stranded.

It's mighty tough when a cowboy's down, it's like riding without his saddle.
If he can just find a woman like her... one that he can straddle!
Like his silver spurs, his worn down rope, he cannot give her up....
For it takes a woman, just like her, to get a cowboy to cowboy up.


To Marty, for your next birthday.




Timeless are the sands I view
Worn down by waves and made anew,
Erasing effort made each day,'reclaiming all that stands in the way,
Amazing is this sight I see,
These endless waves that beacon me!

To build a castle made of silt,
Takes lots of love so they will not tilt,
They are built in vain as they are built in haste,
Tying to beat nature's rhythmic pace!

No match am I to the sea,
But as I build it please me,
What they sea may give I shall employ,
as pebbles wear down my castles of joy!

John Gregory Peters 1992


0n a full moon night,
     When no clouds are near,
          I search for a face
                In the moon I hold dear.

Each time there is a new look,
     Which seems never to repest
          Then the moon brings me my joy,
                when the cycle is complete.

In each smile a faint grin,
     That I may choose to find,        
           I search for a new look
                that may perhaps be kind.

As it hangs there aloft,
     in the darkness of space,
          I wonder if there are others
                gazing at my moons face.

This great clock of nature
     Times that all exist,
           From the ebb of the tides
               to a lovers first kiss.

Now, conquered by man,
      Who h as spoiled it's beauty,
           yet still the mon glows bright,
                 to continue with it's duty.

Should others gaze up,
    At my moons mystical face,
         and seal a lover's kiss,
                with a passionate embrace.

Let my moon be their beacon,
     It's spell, all should emoloy,
           Never question it's power
                  for it has brought me my joy



Joy's Eagles

The eagles joy is the same as mine,
As they soar in the air above mankind!
Just to view the sighs I choose to see,
Searching for things that may please me.

To be one with the forces of nature,
and be guided by a spirit much greater...
When I cry out in shrieks of joy,
Will those below wish my wings were their toy?

In my search for prey or in the wind for pleasure,
My frights will be swift and each one I will treasure.
Come night, I will rest and wait for tomorrow,
to soar again above the earthbound sorrow.

In my fights, perhaps, you have spotted me,
and wished my place you would rather be.
Myy spirit is with these birds of joy,
Who use the wind as only a toy.

I a that eagle.... only in my poems,
On earth I must dwell and call it my home,
It is when i see these birds of splendor
My thoughts of flight entice me to surrender.

The earthbound ways a human must be
Only eagles in flight can ever be free.
But when I pass on, and I am laid to rest,'
My spirit will be found in an eagles nest.

John G. Peters, 1992


Lips and Kisses

Lips and Kisses
                                      by John G. Peters

I found lips an kisses when I came home
Some were on the mirror,
                              and some were on the phone;
One was even on the microwave... which made me think
Should I warm this one up? (It was already Hot Pink!)

I searched the whole house, looking for more
None were on the ceiling,
                                 and none were on the floor.
I dashed into the bedroom hoping to find another...
There upon the mirror were lips that could smother.

I had to figure out who was going through this phase,
More lips than I could count left me in a tender daze!
If I were to get this one wrong, I'd never get the candy.
So many sweet lips, 
        .............I just knew that they must belong to Sandy!

Poems for the Joy of It    JGP92