Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.

a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.

"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.

By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.

My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.


As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
                    our love is immortal without a fullstop

-l.r

Gold and silver streaks of light across the night sky,
A city of stars, beneath her eyes they flash like neon lights,
Chocolate kisses and ice cream sundaes, tinkling ice,
Heart-shaped dimple, the curve of your cheek,

City of stars beneath her eyelids, flashing neon lights
Brick wall, bright sky, untied Timberlands, grip like a vise,
The heart-shaped dimple in the curve of your cheek,
Your breaths match perfectly with mine.

Brick wall and bright sky, Timberlands grip your feet like a vise,
Hiding in the back of the library, giggles and sighs,
Our breaths match, you’re perfect, are you mine?
Fingers slip through mine, soft fluttering eyelashes, a sign.

Hidden in the back of the library, giggling and a sigh,
Heads thrown back, hair twirling like kites in the breeze,
Fingers slip into mine, eyelashes softly flutter, give me a sign.
I can feel your heartbeat, we’re floating above the rest of the world.

Heads thrown back, hair twirling, flying kites in the breeze.
Chocolate, kisses, ice cream, Sundays with the sound of tinkling ice.
I can feel your heartbeat, we’re floating above the rest of the world,
Gold and silver streaks, together we light up the night sky.

I stood out in the middle of the flowing creek on a rock slicked with moss. My Timberlands soaked from walking in the water to the rock. My boots claimed to be waterproof and were waterproof in that once water works its way in, it does not come back out unless the boot is removed and shaken violently to poor the water out. But the boots could be dried out later in the sun so this did not worry nor bother me.

I studied the landscape and watched the clear brownish water weave its way thru the obstacles in its way as if there were nothing that could impede it. I listened to the wind blowing and felt the breeze cool my legs until they were dry and no longer wet. I watched the crawfish, some the size of a dime, others bigger than a dollar bill, swim their way against and with the stream from one rock to another. I saw frogs leaping on the shore, frightened by movement in the bush and the random noises that nature and man can make.

I steadied my balance, gripping the rock thru the moss the best I could with the worn soles of my boots and with my left hand I grabbed the fishing line on my rod and pulled out a good two feet and with my right I flung my rod backwards and snapped forward with my wrist casting out the line until it was a good thirty to forty feet in front of me before I snapped the reel closed and began reeling the line in. I started off slow and picked up the pace, feeling the lure do its little dance beneath the water and I continued altering speeds and slightly lifting the rod to mimic the bait to make it look and act alive so that some fish might go after it, get tempted, bite it good and clean, and get hooked.

It's been days since I've had a meal and I could feel the hunger pangs rumbling in my stomach and my mouth salivate as I thought about my attempted catch and how good it would taste and how good it would smell being cooked over the fire that was still burning nicely a little ways from shore at the small camp I had set up for the night.

My line was about fifteen feet in when I felt a tug on it and I stopped reeling and fingered the line just slightly waiting to feel the pressure of a bite. As I watched and imagined seeing thru the water I could see the fish circling the lure and I did my best to continue making the bait seem alive and to keep the interest of the fish. There was a right tug on the line and I snapped the rod back, feeling the hook catch in the mouth of the fish who immediately began to fight being caught and took my line out another ten feet before I locked the reel and began the struggle of pulling him in.

My rod bending in a strong arch, I continued to pull in the line slowly giving the fish time to wear himself out. I had now regained the ten feet that the fish took but there was still plenty of fight in him. I could tell he was a good fish and weighed near thirty pounds by the struggle in him.

Suddenly he broke the surface of the water and I saw him clearly. He was a carp with the dull light green scales etched neatly along his body. He was about three feet in length and had a body thick like a small tree. He would make an excellent meal if I could finish bringing him in.

We fought back and forth for a good forty five minutes with my pulling in and him finding every crevice in the creek to entangle himself and pull out more line despite the reel being locked. At one point I nearly lost him as he pulled me off the rock and into the water. I hit my back on the rock and out of shock let go of the rod and watched it begin to drift down stream as the fish pulled away with it still caught but I quickly gathered myself and lunged forward, grabbing the handle between my thumb, index and ******* long enough to pull it back and get a better hold. I cursed and spit and reeled in harder watching the line go taught and the rod bend in an almost perfect arch. I started walking towards the carp while reeling in, closing the space between us.

He was now five feet in front of me and the fight was leaving his body because the line lessened and the arch lessened and I could see him clearly in the murky water laying almost calm, giving in to his fate.

Three feet.

Two feet

Almost there.

Suddenly he leaped again out of the water and twisted and thrusted himself about strong enough so that the hook ripped clear thru his mouth and out. He splashed back in the water and was gone before my hook landed back in the water.

He had got away and I would not be having him for dinner tonight.

I was never good at writing love poems untill I met you

we all have this one person you would do anything for, like anything
you could die for that other human without hesitation, without doubt

they know each other for almost a year now and a lot had changed
she fell in love with her that year and it killed you inside, everything
she wanted to give up on her so many times, it was so so hopless
and I knew, I knew you loved me, I knew you were in love with me

maybe she was just afraid to let someone in, to let someone love her
it was the darkness that was always haunting her, the demons inside
I remember the first time the razors kissed my veins, it was a thursday
I remember the blood and the crying, the shame and the crying, crying

it were the wodka and punk rock music the piercings and tattoos
the time of high wasted jeans and timberlands, red lipstick and eyeliner
the stories the kids told on the street were probably made up, fake
even the broken childeren needed a laugh once in a while, fake
nobody thought that we also deserved to be happy, just for once..

we could blame it on the internet or television, the time we live in
blame our parents for not loving us the way they should love us
the pills we ate every night just to find a way to escape this **** hole

this girl always made feel a little bit more alive but now she's gone
she's gone and I know she is coming back soon but she feels gone
like that part of me that was made for her is gone, I feel alone again
music is filling the hole what is left crying in my heart, my soul

and if I begged you would you stop this, the feeling of loneliness
can you stop me from hurting myself, stop me from being worthless
happy endings are made for happy people, I am not getting one, ever

I always was a sucker for attention and cheap love, dont blame me

love poems aren't a thing for me.

In dark and dreary Georgia swampland , in the midnight hour with the light of the Moon as your only friend .. Yellow and red eyes glow in the shadows , cottonmouths and gators slowly cross the waters ...
Bullfrogs sing in the Cattails , Horned Owls screech across the timberlands .. Bobcats scream , sound just like a woman late at night ,
they'll catch you off guard every time , make your beard turn white from fright ..Mosquitos are relentless , the humidity hell , blood ******* leeches , brown bats and rabid foxes .. Wild hogs work the bogs left and right , don't ever get caught by a razorback without a good plan or corner a '****' by accident , kick a Snapper thinking it's just a rock , or pick up a Rattlesnake looking for a walkin' stick .. Rumors of black panthers and 'shine wild men ', Confederate soldier ghost and quicksand .. Always lay a trail from where you started are you'll spend all night in haunted , Georgia swamp country ...

I love the way I wear Timberlands and Docs like I'm an original, and I think that they make me seem edgy.
I love the way I hum tunelessly on the bus and mouth lyrics instead of singing them because I can't sing.
I love how free I feel when it's cold, and how I run down the centre of my road when it's dark and spin around with my arms out like angel wings.
I love the way I notice my own little habits and wish that someone would notice them too, then give me a cup tea and let me snuggle whilst wearing a big jumper.
I love the way I think that love can fix people, even though I know it breaks us.
I love the way I refuse to talk about feelings, and yet they are always there, churning on the tip of my ******* molten chaos.
I love the way I hate myself 80% of the time and love myself for the other 20%
And I love the way I find loopholes and beauty and wish for everyone else because I want people to be happy more than I want to be.
I love how I'm not perfect or skinny or pretty and I love how I'll never be loved, but I love so, so much how, even though I've had so many impediments, I've kept going, and I love how, still, through all this; I can learn to love myself.

~for VB~

<>

“A child said What is the grass?
fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child?
I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition,
out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners,
that we may see and remark,
and say Whose?”

Song of Myself (1892 version) BY WALT WHITMAN

                                                §§§

­there is special delight for the city dweller,
when the first clean flushing of brightest spring green
disrupts the unending graying city ribs of worn concrete,
the alternating lifelessness of blasé brick, pretending
off-beige, ***** pale blue, a sooty furnace red,
well done,  a good pretense that they are, of color.

I am among thousands whose as a child my breath
gave way, taken by gasp, when first made
entrance to the green diamond sparkle oasis of
Yankee Stadium, hid by the urban dreariness of The Bronx,
near sixty years vision sustained with perfect clarity on
retina-implanted, a shock, an earthly con-trast.

today, an old-timer, a first timer, I’m gifted Whitman’s Song of Myself,
from a friend and poet, who lives hardy by a Port,
another islander like myself, surrounded by wet roads and
pathways to the Northern Pacific, amongst timberlands of
forested and natured grass, a differing kind of stadium,
both of us silently saying, thanks Lord, for lending us yours.

even temporarily, this day, your emeralding grass handkerchief,
equates our dispositions, so differently identical,
your name, our initials, in opposing corners, embroidered,
your grass tapestry upon this troubled earth, a scented, joint, poetic
remembrance, that though it’s but words that bind us, we! we know!
the songs we sing of ourselves, we sing in synchrony harmony.

                                                   §§§§§


Wed. May 13, 2020
Manhattan Island,
by the East River

By Mr. Erik Young...

Born on January 15, 1929...Dr. King truly shined,
He was noble and he thought global,
In fact, Dr. King worked so well...That in 1964 he earned the Noble Peace Prize, but in the world
PEACE was on the demise.
Only fire hoses, police billy clubs, shotguns and bombs seemed to be on the rise,
So Dr. King fought to correct inequality, not only racism and segregation but also poverty...
Along with flawed Voting Laws, Dr. King deserves Major KUDOS and applause,
He was the bomb because he was bold enough to oppose the Vietnam War,
Causing many in the U.S. to call King a traitor, an ungrateful agitator
who was only a trouble creator...
But King believed in a "Holy Power" greater
Than the FBI, CIA, or "powers that be" in the USA..
He was aware of the cruel games the world might play,
And we're not only talking about James Earl Ray,
April 4, 1968 was the fateful, foul date
Where the empthasis we see was on Menphis, Tennesee,
But you see the whole world felt this extraordinary error
And now today, we have the nrve to say we live in terror.

For some members of the world community, terrorism is nothing new,
If you think the U.S. has immunity from terroism then your thoughts are untrue,
Dr. King fought to teach us that we all must follow the rules,
If not then we will all "perish together as fools,"
And we say Dr. King fought because he was on the frontline...Consistently 24/7 all the time,
Staring victorious(ly), violent mobs in the face,
looking "Kingly and Calmy,"
Practicing nonviolently, civil disobedience like Mohatma Ghandi,
But don't think for a minute that King was weak, timid nor soft,
He didn't need a hoodie, sagging jeans, hip-hop, lots of $$$$, **** or guns to go off,
In fact, King did not need a pair of Jordan's or Timberlands
Because Freedom, Justice & Equality fueled his adrenaline
To fight for the rights of all and not just a few,
Before you recite 'I have a Dream" you better decide what you want your dream to do.

i hope i don't miss
your ******, cavalier with the paint stains on the rooftop,
your out-of-place beard hairs that i'd pluck with my teeth,
your chipped tooth that you had fixed a few times then gave up on,
your eyelashes that outdid mine every day,
your timberlands,

the way you were my best friend,
my lover,
my everything.

i hope i don't miss you forever.

We know yoga pants were created to be worn during yoga, but so what?  
Blackberry smartphones were created as a business tool, so what?
Timberlands were created to be used as safety working boots, so what?
We know Qwerty keyboard was created 2 elimn8 typin lyk dis, so wat?
Facebook was created to Connect people not Disconnect people from the world, but so what?

We would **** use a knife as a screwdriver if we want to; and take that ****** same knife and make a sandwhich...
We make things work, we make a plan..
We do what we want with what we want where we want to.

So what if we are a little different?
So what if we don't do the same things?
So what if the hair we wear is not ours?
So what if our skin colour is a bit darker
Or soo what if we decide to bleach our skin?

So what if our clothes are a bit much revealing and leave a little to imagination;
Or so what if we walk naked down the road?
So what?...

So what if we party too much
Or drink too much?
So what if i have many ****** partners?
So what if our generation has lost repect?
So what if our generation has no morals?
So what if kids are mothering babies
And boys running from fathering responsibilities?

So what if we lost sight of what's important?
So what if all we care about is a big *****, perfect skin, eyebrows on fleek and attention?
So what if we do strange things to put bread on the table?
So what if the only key to our hearts is money?  
So what?...

We may be a lost generation,
But this is our generation... So what?

But what then would happen if we were to wake up only to realize its too late for our next generations?

What then?...