Wordcarpenter Books
Zeus Pieces


Things you can do are in front of you,

Dreams to come are more than fun,

No limits to hold or bumps too bold,

Go forth and grind adventures to find.


Take the step to begin with pep,

Design your map and wear your cap,

The future is open to what you've spoken,

It starts with a plan and a belief you can.


You can hop or bop or pop to the top,

Play sports or dance or build or prance,

Have fun when doing and enjoy pursuing,

Done in the sun with thoughts you've won.


To seek and dare and reach with flare,

Be clear of cloud and proud and loud,

Stay straight with might and bright with light,

And test the rest and be your  best.


Your heart and soul towards your goal,

And meet new people and jump the steeple,

With friends that care with gifts so rare,

Together is better in weather or leather.


Learn and grow in leg and toe,

With posture and muster like brave George Custer,

Expand your mind in time and rhyme,

With stick or racquet with poise you whack it.


Be big and tall and seldom fall,

To sail and navigate and never hesitate,

With grasp so nimble and task so simple,

Be far from suspect to earn respect.


With eyes ahead with thighs not dead,

Hard work achieves marked target conceived,

With ribbons earned and cheating spurned,

A champion is born with praise adorned.


So climb a mountain and drink the fountain,

With confidence and pride and smooth in stride,

From boy to man indeed you can,

For life awaits you through gates of virtue.













Friends are cool ‘cause they mend the fool,

Free to play and see and say,

To ward off loneliness and guard from holiness,

They give and heal and live and feel.


We laugh and smile with gaffs and guile,

With trust and loyalty and dust of royalty,

Take care and question and make sure to mention,

Any disturbance and ills and turbulence and spills.


Listeners to confess and pilsners to express,

Imperfect they are and indirect they mar,

But better to bridge that fetter the ridge,

And skirt the meat and hurt the beat.


They open the door to tokens of roar,

And take your feet to make them sleek,

Preventing rust from gathering dust,

And keep you honest and meek and modest.


Direct and frank with respect and pulling rank,

Keep you in line and beep you in time,

Bitching or singing, enriching or stinging,

A thrust of humanity with the dust of vanity.


Keeping you humble and tweaking your stumble,

Hearing your notes and fearing your smotes,

Getting your vibe and fretting your bribe,

Balancing your extremes in a phalanx of mimes.


They give you goodness and sieve your moodiness,

In an eruption of sins and a disruption of grins,

Exchanging thoughts in ever-changing knots,

And comparing reactions and impairing retractions.


They keep you sane in a deep stew of pain,

Lifting you afloat by sifting your moat,

For stagnancy and blame in flagrancy and flame,

And to ensure nobility with cocksure mobility.


A friend maintains and mends and sustains,

With a glimpsing perspective to a limping defective,

A lifeline with rope crystalline with hope,

By spewing despair and eschewing the glare.


Can you do without and endure with doubt?

Or do you need the human touch to heed the true man much?

So welcome their shortcomings as seldom retort humming's,

To reveal our collective soul and heal your selective goal.



The puppy with a stick is spunky and quick,

Ready to run and heady for fun,

Crisp to catch and brisk to snatch,

And back with speed on track from deed.


With fever he wants so eager he taunts,

Tongue so floppy and long and sloppy,

Eyes on the stick and sized for the kick,

Fleet of jaw discrete with awe.


A jump with torque and pump with force,

With flair so spry through air so high,

Racing with pace and bracing with grace,

Loud with pleasure and proud with treasure.


With arm thrown hard to farm down far,

Grabbing the stick and snagging the trick,

Pleased even more to see him soar,

One more scoop he scores the loot.


Sprint and stop and squint and trot,

With some reward he comes toward you,

Pat his hot head and glad he's not dead,

Warm for more your arm now sore.


Taunting to play he wantes his way,

Enjoying the day and deploying to stay,

So you throw once more with arm so sore

And watched his gait as he squashed the bait.



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                     Glee you feel to see him deal,

                     To stoop and grab and loop and nab,

                     The branch now gooey and scratched and dewy,

                     Slippery to the touch all hickory and such.


                     Both dog and master avoid disaster,

                     With home and food and bone now due,

                     Muscles bent with dents, corpuscles spent and lent,

                     Retriever sneaking a peek then meat-eater sleeping deep.


                     Dreams of flight and gleams so bight,

                     Limbs are limber and slim and timbre,

                     The joy of playing and toying in clay,

                     Enriches your time and twitches with rhyme.
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