Michael Troy Buffo
Born in Vallejo and residing in American Canyon, California, I began writing poetry when I was 13 years old. Sadly, my first poem (about the genocide of Native Americans) , was lost within months of writing it. When I turned 16, my mother gave me a journal to write my poetry in - I still have it. Some of my poetry, I have put to music and some I have abandoned. Certainly, I have poetry that I deem unpublishable which, perhaps, no one will ever see. My poetry tends to originate under one of three circumstances: Elation, Depression or extreme boredom. Most of my recent writing has not been prose, but rather political and social commentary and letters to editorial columns under the ... more »
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Michael Troy Buffo Poems
A Picture Of Love
If I could possibly paint a picture Of the love that I have for you, It would contain the most brilliant colors And the most gentle, changing hues
(Note to the reader: This is by far my least favorite poem! -But one that everyone seems to read first! The prose is overly simplistic and bland. If you want a real love poem, read 'A Picture of Love' and 'In The Waters of Life! ' Please don't judge my ability by this lame scrawling!) Your name is sweet music That rings in my ears
Here under the stars Where both of us lay With you in my arms Where I want you to stay
The Writings of A Frustrated Poet
(Another of my earliest works) The longest poem without inspiration Is like a laborer without persperation
The Inner City Folk Song
The black men hate the white men The white men hate the black South African Appartheid The Rodney King attack
(Yet another early work - one month shy of 17) When death is coming up your walk, And you're unaware of his escence,
The Inevitable Conclusion
Fluorocarbons, chemicals, nuclear waste, War, starvation, genocide, and the ever bitter taste Of false religion, rampant plagues, And decisions made in haste,
The Death Within
Loneliness brings The death within And as the bottle empties, The nightmares begin.
Just A Few Nasty Things
Screw this and the hell with that Kick the dog and fling the cat Throw rocks through windows and shoot at cars Flip off the cops and start fights in bars
London's Lovely Linda
Oh, London’s lovely Linda, I’m a giver, not a lender And I want to give you everything I’ve got. You see, my luscious Linda,
Divided And Conquered!
(Hey, Poemhunter.com! Stop Censoring This Poem!) America, honey? Wake up, baby—I think you're having a bad dream.... Sweetheart? Come on, darling. The new day's almost here... America? ... It's time to wake up...
A Call For The Wild
The corporate ladder has many rungs But the scream of freedom fills my lungs; To leave this world of dog eat dog And hike through a misty mountain fog.
Are You Ready To Go?
A man passes on, And you mourn anon, Yet I sneak in quite sly. I pick him up
His life on stage was peace of mind, A blessing now you seldom find If you ask him what's his cause He'll tell you it's to cause applause
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
A Picture Of Love
If I could possibly paint a picture
Of the love that I have for you,
It would contain the most brilliant colors
And the most gentle, changing hues
It would be of a sunrise
Coming out of the east,
With an intensity unmatched
By man or beast
It would sing of the Bond
That we share, you and I,
With the distant clouds jealous
Of our clear, azure sky
There would be blues, rich and deep
For the sincerest vows we each shall keep
The canvas shows through with virtuous white
For the peaceful way we’ll sleep at night
And it should have the...