Get cast in a movie playing a ghost
2.  Be ignored by all your family, friends, and those who know you
3. Put a sheet over your head, wander about, and moan a lot
4. Cover your face with flour, cold cream, or white makeup and say "BOO!"
5. Die, then come back from the dead ( but not as a vampire or zombie).
6. Haunt somebody
7. Haunt a house
8. I forget #8....  You forget so much when you have become a ghost

There once was an E.T. from Venus
whose body was shaped like a 2011 Ford Explorer.
He said to his friend,
"I like to pretend
I'm a Volkswagon. BEEP, BEEP!

Remembering you makes amnesia appealing.
There's no anesthetic for what I am feeling,
you high-heeled, cheating, cheap, double-dealing...
I'm rabid with rancor
doggone it.

You're only honest when you're not talking.
I'd rather get jiggy with Stephen Hawking
so don't come knocking if you need focking
Put THAT killer bee in your bonnet!

I wouldn't help you change a flat tire.
I wouldn't *** on you if you caught fire.
If you jumped off a building I'd wish it was higher.
Your photograph has my spit on it.

You're much less attractive than Nancy Grace
(who's an ugly slug with a monkey-**** face...)
I hope you're abducted to outer space!
I've got one more shot...
Do you wannit?

Do I feel angry and hostile?  You bet!
I've become bitter as bitter can get!
But, baby, you haven't heard anything yet...
Wait 'til I write my next sonnet!

I loathe them with all of my heart.

My girlfriend, a fashion designer,
is blessed with a lovely
  apartment in an expensive neighborborhood.
Each time we have ***
she always expects
me to give her money to help pay for the rent and Lord knows what else.

I'm seated across from my stomachache.
The diner mutates into a morgue.
The tables are gurneys with checkerboard shrouds.
Is this conversation  -  or autopsy?

I explore an intriguing potential corpse
-unflinching under my lancet eyes
-numb as my curious scalpel pries
as I try to dissect what this means to me.

It might mean a great deal
(perhaps too much).

With delicate pressure cracks appear
STOP!
Questions cause fragile things to break...

Relationships all die premature deaths.
I am maladroit when I handle hearts.
Then I wait for the last breath,
"Let's keep in touch,"
and watch as my wounded friend departs,
sanguine about the mess I've made
of my latest stab at intimacy
when I dropped my guard like a flensing blade
and opened myself up  as well.
Mistake!

Govinda came upon the Buddha seated 'neath a lotus.
"Hello, my friend," Govinda said.
The Buddha did not notice
for  he was busy meditating,
  closer to perfection.
Govinda found this irritating
  and took it as rejection.

Pirate maps might bear this caution;
"Here be Monsters" on an ocean.
Here I scribe an admonition
to persons sailing poetry:

"Here be sunken thoughts and feelings,
  broken hearts with razor edges.
Here be aching naked lovers'
   lives exposed for all to see.
Here be doldrums.  Here be tempests.
  Here be shattered dreamers' metrics.
   Here be shoals of hidden sorrows.
    Here be Sirens crying, "Help me!"
Here be tidal waves of sadness.
  Here be rotting shipwrecked hope.
Sail these pages at thy peril.
Steer towards creativity.

connubial bris
exhibitchtionist
Dickshun
comic bas-relief
Donald Chump
racial silhouetting
patriotwasm
Republicant
testickles

"She left me.
She's gone.
I'm lonely."
                      (Move on).
"She dumped me.
I'm blue.
How could she?"
                       (Poor you...).
"It's painful."
                       (Yeah, So...?)
"I'm hurting.
I'm low,
heartbroken...."
                       (Life's tough....)
"There's no hope."
                       ( ENOUGH!!!)

The day I broke my wing
was the day I learned to fall:
the most useless lesson of all.
Acrophobes  don't risk flight...
romantic masochists might.
Earthbound, still, I sing.
Gravity is a cruel king.

I would like to have a transparent head..
I would rather possess a cellophane brain
  Then you could easily read my mind
   As my thoughts go down the drain.
I believed I had a shatter-proof heart:
Tempered, layered, and double-thick.
The glass fell out when the frame came apart.
Love impacts like a fast-pitch brick.

The sky is falling!
Men are pregnant!
Mona Lisa is crying!
The mountain is on the way to Mohammed!
Congressmen have stopped lying!
Banks are giving away free money!
There's moss on a rolling stone!
Old dogs are learning a bunch of new tricks!
Hugh Hefner sleeps alone!
Hell has frozen
Pigs are flying!
The fat lady sang and took her bow!
The sun rose in the West yesterday!
I guess it's all over now.
Here comes a man on a pale grey horse
through the hole in the ozone layer...
These are things we expected of course.
Bow thy head in prayer.

I slept with your words last night
and had dreams of something echoing.
Your words are easy.

is a splash of ivory flesh on damp grass
at the cave mouth;
a breathing epitome
  wrapped in endless dreams of his own perfection.
She washes him with her creamy eye
as stars wink with delight at her romancing.
When he tosses, turns, stretches in fuller display
she pulls a cloud across her face
embarrassed by her desire
yet peeks anyhow
feeling lonely and too far away.
He is lost
  to the invisible arms of Hypnos
  who loves him as well.

I'd like to @$&? your %#&$@!?@**
(if you would permit...)
Then you could *%#+! my &@$!?
Maybe it would fit.

Lamb of God, my ears are thirsting for the healing Word.
Patient listening carefully Thy voice is not yet heard
amidst the world's cacaphony
and all competing dins.
Sacred Heart of Jesus, mercy, please forgive my sins.

is playing head games with a Buddhist;
making the Buddhist boiling mad;
getting under the Buddhist's skin
until the Buddhist swears like a trucker...
Or you could watch a funny movie.

Govinda called upon the Buddha.
Seated 'neath a lotus, Buddha, busy meditating,
Buddha seeking for perfection, Buddha, busy, did not notice.
Govinda found this alienating yet shrugged off the rejection.
"Very well, my cherished friend, I'll call on you tomorrow,"
Govinda said, "when you suspend your flight from human sorrow."

Govinda tried the after-day as Buddha exercised
both mentally and physically.
Govinda realized they would not have a lot to say.
Govinda, tired, departed confused and heavy-hearted.

And thus it went week after week.
One time alone did Buddha speak;
"Perhaps before next month is through
  I'll carve some spare time out for you..."

Govinda's love began to fray as Buddha walked the 8-fold way.

Govinda seated by the Ganges watched the water flow.
The river ran along.
The ripples sang a song.
Govinda came to know that stones will turn to sand,
closest friendships dry.

Govinda raised his hand and waved the past goodbye.
He watched the herons fly, memories in his eye.

Poked in the eye with pointed words,
stabbed in the heart with sharp words,
it hurt.
I know.
I see the injury.
I feel the pain.
I drink a tall, warm glass of
your tears.

Lately I've been thinkin'
that you've
overstayed
your welcome
and I'd be
a whole lot better
if you moved outta my head.

What a wonderful world this world would be
if everybody was more like me!

Please feel free to download my collection at:
http:/wwwscriptorpress.com/raibooks/kingdomofclowns.html

I hope you will enjoy it and comment!

Tell me I am everything you ever wanted
...Some archetypal epitome
...an ideal.
Tell me of your love for me in extravagant language
...Make me blush.
Cause me to shiver with delight.
Tell me I am your proverbial world, moon, and stars...

Lie to me.
Tell me you like me.

Here we are on the bleak edge of town
Where even despondency feels disappointing,
Where the lowest go to get let down
In the manic-depressive cafe.
Each of us sips from a broken dream
Brimful of emptied expectation.
We take it cold.
...with curdled cream.
We drink it hopeless grey;
Grey as the cloud looming over tomorrow
Sour as all of us come here today
Nibbling last night's helping of sorrow
And picking at yesterday's pain.
Window seats never admit any sun...
We stare at constantly overcast lives
And sitting around us it seems everyone
Has eyes that are going to rain.
There are desperately anguished storms in each face
Building to breaking point soon to burst
Our emotional levees and flood this place
When we lose our grip on sane.

The werewolf cried electric tears
for he was too tall for the carnival ride.
As all of the vampires were having fun
the werewolf howled and cried.
The carnival by the light of the moon
looked like candy electrified.
The werewolf bought fried dough
  and balloons
  but was otherwise denied.

A dusty solitary moth darting through his darkest night
  Finds himself attracted, helpless, to the candlelight.
He's lured to the burning flame.
He resents it all the same
And whips his wings to extinguish it in a futile fiery game.
He gets so close he starts to burn.
My name is Moth.
I never learn.

Wait.
And wait.
And wait a month and then another month...
His Royal Importance will deign to see you now
...for a brief moment or two
....And you will politely listen to him go on and on about himself
     feigning interest
     'til you are dismissed
      grateful for the audience before His Wonderfulness.

His Imperial Pretentiousness is available to put you in your place...
to make you feel small
and unnecessary
and superfluous
and taken for granted.

Make your humblest obeisance before him when entering his August Presence.    
Kiss his ring as if it were his busy  behind,
wondering all the while why you remain so stupidly devoted.

Guard me during slumber
'neath an agel's wings.
Let not dreams bring troubled things.
Bless my rest, O King of Kings
that when I wake I shall renew
my dedication unto you.
I shall be kinder come the morrow.
I shall alleviate other's sorrow.
Guard me through my sleeping hours
  with Thy watchful eye.
Touch my soul with benediction
  as on the bed I lie.
Come morning I shall plan
  to be a better, gentle man.
  
Amen. Alleluia. Amen.

I hope if you read this you're over 18...
I've written a poem you may find obscene.
I'm going to be ***** and graphic a while...
Some readers will shudder, yet others will smile
'cause this poem is nasty, off-color and vile.
This is one of my uncensored full-frontal verses
full of expletives, swear words, gratuitous curses
where I'm *****-mouthed, explicit, filthy, blue, crude...
so don't be offended.
I've warned you...
It's lewd.
You might want to stop if you're not in the mood.
At least I'm not sitting in front of you ****.
You can't  see the pierced parts or what is tattooed.
This is strict ADULTS ONLY.
It's all about ***.
It's poetic *******.
****.
Triple X.
Enough with the foreplay... Here goes... Wish me luck:
Boobie. ****. Winkie. *****. ****. Phooey!
If that isn't bad enough, let me be blunt;
Dinky and ******* and backside and cootchie!
C'est tout.   C'est fini.
That' pretty much it...

If you weren't amused why should I give a hoot?

A silver Mylar balloon
escaped the prison
of some child's grip
to float past my window
and upwards toward
destruction.
That's life.

God took mud or dust from earth.
Such was the stuff of original birth:
By the breath of His Spirit He giveth.

God assumed flesh and entered in
that a new nativity might begin...
By the death of His Son we liveth.

The verbiose virtuoso of verse
clutters the page with poetic pap,
penning endless meandering murk
that amounts to a pile of crap.

One ought admire the noble eagle
with cruel beak
and vicious talon,
whose piercing unrelenting gaze
never fails to locate meat;
whose feathered blades
  are shaped to slice
  through wind
  of carve a breeze
  with gliding grace
  -unless of course
   one is the hare.
You are the hare.
Your hare tongue begs
your hopping gods
for luck
and strength of leg
plus hiding place.

Lord,
  let me choke on a chocolate bar
  or drown in an ocean of honey
  that those who grieve my loss may say,
  "His passing was tragic  -  but funny."
Then lay me out in a caramel coffin
  with a marshmallow pillow 'neath my head.
   Dress me in garments of butterscotch
    and I shall eat sugar the days I am dead.
Tuck some toffees into my pocket
   plus a few peppermints (for my breath...).
Put a raisinette rosary in my fingers.
I'll sleep in a sweet diabetic death.
When I draw near to the pearly gates,
St. Pete, greet me with Hershey in hand.
Give me my harp and halo of licorice.
I'll enter the promised Candyland.

I politely say,
"No thanks."
I've grown tired of endless angst,
trapped as I am in these
"golden years."
Cowboy up, my dears.
Really, love,
It's not so bad...
Just thank God
you're not your Dad.

Crocodilian jaws,
reptilian claws,
an Everglades heart
and swamp-gas ****.
A bayou brain
that's not quite sane.
Mud for blood.
A rhyme of slime.
Moss in my eye.
Goodbye!

I see myself best with my inner eye.
I'm constantly thinking...
   trying to improve myself.
Perhaps when I think more of others
   I will become a thoughtful person
   and look towards helping others.
Naval-gazing is SO tedious.
Nobody is perfect.

Your reflex-affectionate-meaningless-word
is better left unsaid-unheard
  by one like me who is easily
  Rope-a-doped into a fantasy.

These are our evenings of new frontiers
when we converge like galaxies
  attracted by mutual gravity.
I warm your surface.
You shine on me.
I stretch my starlight along your glow.
You spread your lustrous nebulous hair
  across the pillowed horizon of night,
  our energies pulsate everywhere.
We  travel exceeding the speed of desire,
  affection conquering yawning  space.
We fall from orbit into embrace
  both bursting , making  one glorious fire.
We collapse towards sleep; two meteors
  now sharing the same cratered linen shore
  and I bathe in your radiant slumbering face
  having learned what celestial bodies are for.
These evenings our spiral cluster arms twine.
My stars are yours.
Your stars are mine:
An  astro-phenomenal binary pair
  of systems engaged in a life-affair.

Not to see you again would be tough to bear
but I would understand
cruel as my words were
inexplicable as my words were
unforgivable as my words were.
To see you again would be uncomfortable.
When will I see you again?

I love you enough...
I truly do.
On a ten-point love scale I'm feeling 2
(which for me is impressive and quite a bit...)
That's the most I can offer.
So
Just deal with it.
I love you.
I love you
up to a point beyond which I am unable to go).
It's tough to express this
and harder to show
my non-darling sweetie.
My non-turtle dove
my heart overflows with conditional love
which is cautiously partial and maybe sincere
-my nearly beloved...
You're my Demi-dear.
I find you are likable.
You strike me as cool....
I'm not touchy/freely with words as a rule.
I will love you a long time
until I move on.
But for now I DO LOVE YOU!
I swear I do (insert name).

They shall bind your hands and feet, wrap you in a winding sheet,
stretch you out in endless rest, place a bible on your chest,
stick you in a wooden box, dig a grave from dirt and rocks,
drop your coffin in the hole and mutter prayers for your poor soul.
Once the last"Amen" is prayed then shall come the sound of *****.
Cemetery men shall toil to cover your remains with soil.
All you were shall be decay beginning on your dying day.
You shall rot beneath a stone.
Worms shall chew your flesh from bone
as slimy maggots drink your eyes and your tongue grows thick
                                            with flies.
The acids in your bloated belly shall melt you into putrid jelly.
Then a million spider eggs shall fill your brain with crawling legs.
You shall choke on silent screams.

Go to sleep now....pleasant dreams.

The King of Shards and Metal Shaving,
His consort; Queen of Flaking Rust,
and the Prince of Powdered Pulverized Stone
reign over nothing but dust.

All they fear is a sudden gust
- a brazen wind or rebel breeze
that dares expose landscapes of chalky bone:
skeleton-subjects who once bent knees,
millions who bowed to their Majesties
  proclaiming idiot-edicts, raving,
"This is Holy War!"  "Righteous!"  "Just!"
Now they are bleached remains past saving.

Blood was the wasted acid engraving
tributes in sand to names-unknown.
And none now hear the royal decrees
from each clown on each crumbling tin-foil throne.

The King of Gasping, Dying Moan,
The Queen of  Last Convulsive Breath,
and the Prince of the Final Beat of the Heart
rule in their realm of death.

The writer makes his rueful confession:
he turned an acquaintance into an obsession,
objectifying and fantasizing...
lying, denying, poorly disguising
the gaping wounds is his head and heart.
This is agony.
Is this Art?

Two thousand and seven.  Late September....
The spaceships came when I was in bed...
There still is a lot I cannot remember.  Perhaps they implanted a chip in my head.
But I seem to recall dancing lights on the wall all around my posters of
Beyoncé, a low-frequency sound and a pulsating pound as I was engulfed by a magnetic ray.
I was paralyzed in my Flintstones pajamas.
It lifted then floated me towards the stars and the orbital base of an alien race on their mischievous mission from Mars.
I found myself in a sterile room...
I was strapped face down on a metal tray...
The aliens entered in tinfoil dashikis...
(They either were mimes or had nothing to say).
Each one looked like a tiny Cher: plastic faces minus the hair.
With never so much as a "how are you, Joe?" they slashed my pajamas with their laser tool, whereupon, using probes that were beeping below
they began to do things that weren't cool
and I felt for the first time shame and disgrace for my ***-tattoo of ****
Cheney's face.
I thought, "Am I dreaming?  Am I still asleep?" As over and over they
Beep-beep-beep.
Why such interest?  Why invest in this vigorous quest up my lower intestine?  Did they hope to study or maybe inspect some
mysterious feature while beeping my ******?
I strained in the straps but I couldn't get loose as the weird little beepers
beep-beeped my caboose.
With continuous beeping filling my ear the bleeping E.Ts went on beeping my rear...callously...clinically beeping me numb.
They treated me like I was some bleeping ***!
Though frightened, exhausted, indignant and weak, very bravely I then turned the other cheek.
I'd been violated.  My sprit broke...the **** of an intergalactic joke.
Dishonored,, betrayed, invaded and duped...
Disgusted, embarrassed, and BOY WAS I POOPED!
Yet oddly I wanted a smoke.
With all their tests run, at last they were done and they left the "lab" en masses having thoroughly beep-beeped my &@$!
I woke up okay in my bed the next day but my ***** did not feel quite right.
I've been in treatment for several years now.
My therapist thinks I'm uptight
but I've learned to live with my dignity stolen and a pro to-illogical rare
semi-colon.
I'm happy I wasn't abducted to Venus where aliens commonly bing-bing
your nose and ears.

Winds on the ocean,
snails' slow advance,
carpenter ants,
migrating birds,
lips forming words,
ships on the sea,
humanity.
Love is the magnet that draws us towards God.
Hatred is Satan's cattle ****.
Move with devotion.

Watch it rain.
Let it rain.
Wonder when the rain will stop.
Wait for the rain to stop.
Get wet.
**** and moan and ***** and complain
  about rain.

This poem is not inspired by you.
This is not dedicated to you.
This poem is not about you.
I have not been thinking of you.

This flesh would fly,
this crawling creature climb
  if not for unseen strings
  (tethered as we are by time)
  and want of wings.
So it is we knot a noose
  in rotten rope
On blended bough
  we hang our hope.
Heaven seems much nearer now.
This soul could soar.
The staring eye in silent sky
   watches dreams die.
Falling's what the flight is for.