I destroy homes.
I tear families apart.
I'm more costly than diamonds,more precious than gold.
The sorrow I bring is a sight to behold.
If you need me,remember I'm easily found.
I live all around you.
I live with the rich,I live with the poor,down the street & maybe next door.
I'm made in a lab,but not like you think.
I can be made under your kitchen sink.
I have many names but there's one you know best,my name is Crystal Meth.
My power is awesome,try me you'll see.
But if you do you may never break free.
Just try me once & I may let you go.
But try me twice & I'll own your soul.
When I possess you you'll steal & you'll lie.
You do what you have to-just to get high.
The crimes you'll commit for my narcotic charms,will be worth the pleasure you'll feel in your arms (your lungs & your nose).
You'll lie to your mother,you'll steal from your dad.
When you see their tears - you should be sad.-
But you'll forget your morals & how you were raised.
I'll be your conscience.
I'll teach you my ways.
I turn people from God & separate friends.
I'll take everything from you.
Your looks & your pride.
I'll be with you always-right by your side.
You'll give up everything,your family,your home.
Your friends,your money,then you'll be alone.
I'll take & take,till you have nothing more to give.
When I'm finished with you,you'll be lucky to live.
If you try me be warned-this is no game.
If given the chance I'll drive you insane.
I'll ravish your body.
I'll control your mind.
I'll own you completely.
Your soul will be mine.
The nightmares I'll give you.
The voices you'll hear from inside your head.
The sweats,the shakes,the visions you'll see.
I want you to know these are all gifts from me.
You'll regret that you tried me,they always do.
But you came to me - Not I to You!
You knew this would happen,many times you were told.
But you challenged my power & chose to be bold.
You could have said no & walked away.
If you could have that day over what would you say?
I'll be your master & you my slave.
I'll even go with you to your Grave.
Come take my hand,let me lead you to hell.

I sit in the sun room, I am shaded for the sun
is only newly risen, low slung, just above the horizon,
behind me, over my shoulder, early morn warm

Slivers of sun rays yellow highlight the wild green lawn,
freshly nourished by torrential rains of the prior eve

The wind gusts are residuals, memoirs of the hurricane
that came for a peripheral visit, your unwanted cousin Earl,
in town for the day, too bad your schedule
is fully booked, but he keeps raining on you,
staying on the phone for so long, that the goodbye,
go away, hang up relief is palpable

The oak trees are top heavy with leaves frothy like a new cappuccino,
the leaves resist the sun silvers, guard the grasses
from browning out, by knocking the rookie rays to and fro,
just for now, just for a few minutes more,
it is advantage trees, for they stand taller in the sky
than the youthful teenage yellow ball

I sit in the sun room buffered from nature's battles external,
by white lace curtains which are the hallmark
of all that is fine in Western Civilization,

and my thoughts drift to suicide.

I have sat in the sun room of my mind, unprotected.
with front row seats, first hand witness to a battle unceasing

Such that my investigations, my travails along the boundary line
between internal madness and infernal relief from mental pain
so crippling, is such that you recall begging for cancer or Aids

Such that my investigations, my travails along the sanity boundary
are substantive, modestly put, not inconsiderable

Point your finger at me, demanding like every
needy neurotic moderne, reassurance total,
proof negative in this instance, of relevant expertise!

Tell us you bona fides, what is your knowing in these matters?

Show us the wrist scars, evidential,
prove to us your "hands on" experiential!

True, true, I am without demonstrable proofs
of the first hand, my resume is absent of
razors and pills, poisons and daredevil spills,
guns, knives, utensils purposed for taking lives

Here are my truths, here are my sums;

If the numerator is the minutes spent resisting the promised relief
of the East River currents from the crushing loneliness that
consumed my every waking second of every night of my years of despair
                           divided by
a denominator that is my unitary, solitary name,
then my fraction, my remainder, is greater than one,
the one step away from supposed salvation...

Yet, here I am sitting in the sun room buffered from
nature's battles by white lace curtains which are the hallmark
of all that is fine in Western Civilization

I am a survivor of mine own World War III,
carnaged battlefields, where white lace curtains,
were not buffers but dividers tween mis en scenes,
variegated veins of colored nightmares, reenactments of
death heroics worthy of Shakespeare

Did I lack for courage?
Was my fear/despair ratio insufficient?

These are questions for which the answers matter only to me,
tho the questions are fair ones, my unsolicited voyeur,
they are not the ones for which I herein write,
for they no longer have relevance, meaning or validity,
for yours truly

I write poetry by command, by request, good or bad,
this one is a bequest to myself, and also a sidecar for an old friend,
who asked in passing to write what I know of suicide,
unaware that the damage of hurricanes is not always
visible to the naked heart

These hands, that type these words are the resume of a life
resumed,
life line remains scarred, but after an inter-mission, after an inter-diction, an inter-re-invention
in a play where I was an actor who could not speak
but knew every line, I am now the approving audience too...

But I speak now and I say this:
There are natural toxins in us all,
if you wish to understand the whys, the reasons,
of the nearness of taking/giving away what belongs to you,
do your own sums, admit your own truths
query not the lives of others, approach the mirror...

If you want to understand suicide,
no need to phone a friend, ask the expert,
ask yourself, parse the curtains of the
sun room and admit, that you do understand,
that you once swung one leg over the roof,
gauged the currents speed and direction,
went deep sea fishing without rod or reel
and you recall it all too well, for you did the math
and here I am, tho the tug ne'er fully disappears,
here I am, here I am writing to you,
as I sit in the sun room.

Memorial Day, 2011

Hello Poetry


Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.

And here you are.

Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.

The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.

So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
---------------------------------------------------------


Who's Who In Poetry
(Revised)


T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.

Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.

All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!

World:

cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.

Poets!

Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.

With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with tart empathy!

For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.

When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was, yet is,
because of you, in poetry.

I have nightmares every night.
I feel like I have become numb to the notion of fear.
The demons don't frighten me;
The ghouls don't startle me;
Death doesn't shake me.

But yet, I find myself now awake with tears streaming down my face.
I woke from the dream that frightens me most.
The dream that is a true reality that I live every single day.
I dreamed that I saw my love from a distance;
And that he would not knowledge my existence.
No grins peeking from the side of ones mouth,;
Not even a wonder form ones eyes.

You sat there as I stared at you
Silently begging for you to see me and end the pain.

I live my greatest fear every day.
The cold shoulder you give
Sends the dagger deeper into my heart.

Sometimes I’m fine with my life
With my world
Happy content at where I am at
Then out of the blue
A flashback hits me unexpectedly
I could be doing something simple
Like getting ready for work
Or preparing for a day out
Or even just going to bed
When WHAM…It hits me out of the blue
My world suddenly starts to crumble
The memories sharp and so clear
The violence the hate
The beatings the rapes
It’s like a dagger to my heart
All the memories and pain
It just rips my world apart
I have never claimed to be a saint
I can never be perfect in mine own eyes
I am who I am a victim of circumstance
One thing that has helped me through these bad dreams
These nightmares of pain
Is being here with my friends on the best site I’ve ever been
Thanks from my heart for just being my friend
©KG 2013

there's a scar on my bottom lip
bruises on my memory i just can't talk about...
there's too many freckles to count
constellations of moles -
nightmares gnawing on my sleep
sheep that turn to wolves
who walk behind me
whispering "look up, talk fast"...
my hips are soft
cheated by Gli Amanti's arrows
I believe in love
but I can't swing the burden

self loathing
sleepless nights
slowly decomposing
a cigarette ignites

tossing and turning
restless dreams
hearts yearning
splitting at the seams

happiness wasn't her only loss
metal pressed against pale skin
glides smoothly across
lets nightmares begin

and now she is left
entirely alone
and the voices enter her mind and begin to roam
and  moan, and groan

You rested your palm open like the desert
while
we spoke in darkness

I closed my eyes to feel you
growing in that corner of my chest

and I wished I could have touched you
right there
but your voice acted as hands
and took off my skin

and there beneath my humanity
was oil
growing my spine crooked


"Angel don't go", the moon spoke.

darkness crept in like fog
killing everything with its shadow

please understand
I am no angel

I am death's daughter
I am the thing you feared most as a child
I am
all your nightmares
because I am all of mine

The reaper is here to steal the harvest


please don't grow here darling patron,
haunting outlet


Hide,
because I'm hiding

hide from me

I sit on my grave alone
hearing the wreckage of my carnage screaming from
behind
pieces of my childhood in my branch hands


I watch you
behind my body


your eyes reflect like mirrors
and I see

I am the prison gate