some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.

Venting.
They never see the hollow me..
deleted twitter, but i want you guys to follow me..
Usually up late,
worrying about my luck, wait..
there's a starving child somewhere..
meanwhile i just ate..

******, *** my phone bills high, And my ex girl is taken...
meanwhile a small girl in Nepal still feels her world shakin...

Going 80 on the freeway, i just wanna bowl now..
While the folk down in Philly prayed the train would slow down...

Bothered by the shade of a new building...
while people in Haiti are still building..
still building...
while i buy building blocks for my nephew, hes 1.
while the people down in Baltimore burning buildings for fun...
really?
burning building for fun?
Whys the CVS big, but the school with no funds?
but they say the solution is, taking the guns...
they took the guns in Chicago, but left fatherless sons.

Eyebrows on fleek but societies bleak.
the devil takes a seat in a heavenly street..

now were all cursed, but im watching netflix on my sofa..
Chilling bumping Sosa, living by the park where they ***** my neighbor Rosa..

Gotta remind myself daily...that im blessed to a fault..
because theres stillborn babies, whose heads rest in a vault..

boys in Africa begging for bread, while i toast my *****..
on the beach enjoying summer the waters too cold to swim though..
while in New Orleans they had to jump in regardless..
but all my worry is, if my sister can pass her BAR test..

So next time i wanna vent under my AC vent...
i stop and think, **** i dont even have to pay rent..
I dont gotta work doubleshifts and im never hungry..
plus a got a couple people who really love me..
So..

Next time that i wanna complain..
Ill scale my struggle on a real measure of pain.



-afj

"My Lord, why is there only one set of footprints?"

"Because, my child, sand people always walk in single file to hide their numbers."

BUT NOBODY TOLD ME THE FUNERAL NEVER ENDS.

IT'S BEEN ELEVEN YEARS NOW, AND THE CASKET'S STILL LOWERING.

*"LEAVE ME HERE MOM. LEAVE ME HERE. I'M DEAD TOO."

Age Is Just A Number

Age is just a number
So refuse to act your age
Reach that point in your life
You don't care what others say

Do what makes you happy
What keeps you young inside
As long as it hurts no one else
Just go and live your life

Date those that are younger
Or older if you choose
Pick the path that you take
The one that best for you

Don't look back and then wonder
On things you should have done
Do all the things that you want
And begin to have some fun

Age is just a number
So refuse to act your age
Reach that point in your life
You don't care what others say

Age is just a number

Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.