what once we knew

 

where no one with good sense would want to go
you'll find the ones who could not master ire
folk of unclear immoderate desire

the day that passes best is not so slow
that we can't recognise the worthy squire
where no one with good sense would want to go

all of the rivers might soon cease to flow
but still there will be voices in the choir
to tell the tale of those who'd yet aspire
where no one with good sense would want to go

term papers

 

we climb the hill of text line after line
the wasted words and obvious pretense
of thoughtful sitting on the highest fence
such nonsense as no edit can refine
letters and words in curly piles entwine
the hours pass and piles become more dense
with lack of thought and lack of any sense
the reader has to fuss and then repine
of any thought of bringing to the light
young minds to share the sacred joy of thought
such things even the gods may not decree
you settle for them getting some things right
and hoping next semester won't be fraught
with all the horrid errors you can see

cheap truths

 

a single message printed on a rag
that's all it takes to move some folk to act
no matter what the case or what the fact
they'll simply rally when you wave the flag
you don't expect your cause to fail or sag
but you'd think that some matters deserve tact
instead the message is blunt and compact
although the symbol's just a hanging dag
you have to jump and shout and simply howl
or else you're taken for some kind of knave
worth less than nothing on the open mart
so you avoid the shunning and the scowl
and take your feelings right down to the grave
while many bruises are left on your heart