Remove the world from your mind.
Remove the suffering from your mind.

I tried to save you many times before
Witnessed others try to save you too
Finally I realize that the only person
Able to save you from your demons is you

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

To serve Queen till death
a bee had stung my arm
and died

Tis nature, is it not?

A brilliant blue sea,
Sits idly, happy as can be.
It’s crystal view,
Sparkles as if brand new,
The cool calm water,
Hides a truth you knew.

The murky green ocean,
Resting a malicious devotion.
A shrouded blanket,
Covering it’s true intent,
For storms are brewing,
Which you couldn’t predict.

The grey clouds mirror the grey sea.
Their sadness shared as one,
Their hatred crashes together.
The land below bends to it’s will,
A painful joy of endless thrill.

Black waves crash upon the sea wall,
The oceans wrath revealed to all.
A dark bile brewed in ocean deep,
It’s hidden price, one too steep.
The coast now wrapped tight,
Trapped under the water’s blight.

Podés querer el alba
cuando quieras
he conservado intacto
tu paisaje
podés querer el alba
cuando ames
venir a reclamarte
como eras

aunque ya no seas vos
aunque mi amor te espere
quemándose en tu azar
y tu sueño sea eso
y mucho más

esta noche otra noche
aquí estarás
y cuando gima el tiempo
giratorio
en esta paz ahora
dirás
quiero esta paz

ahora podés venir a reclamarte
penetrar en tu noche
de alegre angustia
reconocer tu tibio
corazón sin excusas
los cuadros
las paredes
saberte aquí

he conservado intacto
tu paisaje
pero no sé hasta dónde
está intacto sin vos
podés querer el alba
cuando quieras
venir a reclamarte
como eras
aunque el pasado sea
despiadado
y hostil

aunque contigo traigas
dolor y otros milagros
aunque seas otro rostro
de tu cielo hacia mí.

What if we silent sit in an empty room
and speak without an uttered word?
What if unconscious poems well up
in us, no trying need there be? What
if strands of grass grow and flowers
bloom while azure skies and white
clouds blow by without a sound be
heard? And what if a kiss for one is
a kiss for all and our hearts and souls
are one without us ever knowing?

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

This broken crayon
Still draws.

Succeeding with flaws.

Terrible foibles
Kept under wraps
Moderation of over indulgence.

Fickle human
Tricking you all
With niceties
And courtesy.

Under skin
Screaming within
On the exterior
Work place superior.

You have to guess
As I won't tell
And if you guess correctly
I'll change the subject.

Just another
Just like you
Dealing with life
Learning to shuffle.

Sometimes the loneliness sneaks in where it came from I do not know but sneak in it did to fill my heart and soul with sadness. just sometimes I wish it left me alone

sometimes its ok to spend the night so i can hold you near all night

I really dont know
How i feel at all, but i
Want to feel loved please.

we’re all victims of something
even if it’s just mosquitoes

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I think the sun has grown jealous
Of my friendship with the moon
I prefer dusk to dawn
And midnight instead of noon

There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

Coal fire dire
the neanderthal evolve
carbon aDmIsSiOnS
realize Ozone depletions
the rat's race for outer space.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

So many things happened
So many years ago.
You hitch-hiked to have tea with Mammy;
But not me.

You scaled the Mount to succeed;
Without me.

We slid the Fiat into a Rambler,
Before your big night.
The front got bent out of shape,
But we still went,
Drinking whiskey from the bottle.
Nothing stopped us. We couldn't bother.

We stayed at Sean's,
Or various friends,
At Inns, or canvas tents;
All were means to our ends.

It was fifty years ago...
Half a century of years;
Decades of joyous laughter,
With shared tears...
And decades more to come.

"I'm not a poet. I don't feel like one.
I like writting. That's all."

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

A heart that doesn't beat love
Is nothing
but a woeful hut.

He was smooth but not understanding
He was charming but not loyal
He was beautiful but a manipulator    
I knew this would come to and end
I knew I was a fool
He was secure but brought my insecurity
He was strong inside but not loving
He was my first but never mine

Even when
All is said and done,
And I have become
A guardian angel
Over my past self,
Even then,
I have failed.

Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.