We talk about roots
And I have some concept
Spent my summer
Digging up plants
And moving them
To other places.

I was the self-proclaimed
Smiling Creator

But my heart
Is at home
In the hills

I can breathe here
And it has always
Been so

Limestone
Is in my bones

The sound the hawk makes
Is my blues

Sometimes I wonder

if I even survived
my childhood.

Maybe some part of me
is sleeping
up on the hill.

One of those
Nightmares
That I couldn't escape
Carried me off
In its jaws

and so maybe
I am planted.
Looking down
At all the people
I can't remember.

I hope that I am ashes.
I never wanted a stone.

I am not afraid of the storm.
Or of the wildness of the winds.

I am not afraid of the darkness.
Even my nightmares
Have little power to frighten
Any more.

I am not afraid to die.
There is very little mystery left.

what is left?
You may be wondering

that may be a conversation
For another day

I want to pick my own dream.

There should be a kiss
At the base of my neck.

And wrinkled sheets.

And a long, hot shower
With arms that wrap around.

I've been patiently
Waiting

No more nightmares,
Okay?

It is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
And waltzes with her prince, The Fall Wind.
But when the clock strikes twelve,
Winter comes along with her December and January Winds,
Snatching up Autumn’s bright apparel
And clothing her in nothing but somber tatters.
Autumn keeps quiet, until the first rays
Of Spring’s long awaited sunshine
Touches the depths of Winter’s dark dungeon.
Autumn is showered with Spring’s rain,
And is coaxed into fashioning a new dress
With the same warm, golden tones of color,
But, this time, in a different pattern.
It is Summer’s sunshine, now, that assists Autumn,
With an occasional July thunderstorm to help form the new dress.
August passes by to give his opinion, and Autumn is finally ready.
For it is in Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers
That Autumn dresses up,
Adorned in warm, golden tones of color,
to waltz with her prince, The Fall Wind.

Woop As the siren blares/

Scared nervous/
I hear a loud pull over!/

Its the Grammar Police/
awwww snap
They want to see my diploma/

I keep my hand on the pen
Like I don't even notice/

In my window of opportunity
Asking/

Son Do you know why I pulled you over?/
Cause I'm in the office
sir writing these poems?/

I take full responsibility
I don't got no diploma
I just got this GED/

He said that's not good enough
Put down the pen son
Your coming with me/

Now there's Turmoil thru the streets
drama around every corner/

There should be no commas
Period I question marked your honor/

Butchering with clevers
run on sentences for ever/

The alphabet guys set up
Planted evidence missing letters/

Sworn I had it down to a T
The I before E
how does that go?/

Well don't look now
I done broke another law/

How ever this may trouble you
I keep my vowels sometimes Y & W/

Somethings not write I'm reeling feeling uncomfortable/

Is it me?
Well don't you see/
A fused two V's?/

That's my story
I'm sticking to it
my testimony/

Yet we speak it double U/
confused by another rule/

They label me an outlaw
In the middle of the court room/

A mystery/ A victim being pursued/ by the Grammar police/

The jury siding with the prosecution
I may never be released/

Its Invictus/
The defense rest
Now they have an eye-witness/

With an eye on who did this/

There,     their,      they're,      hair,     heir      and..... here/

The Ironies in the rule book/
similar sounding confused look/

If i where to spoke this and not
wrote this you would have not notice/

No no Input
was it done on purpose?/
For a purpose?/

One things for certain/

If l lay dying dead in the street
It's cause you took shots at me

Just remember I wasn't perfect/

But you are the grammar police
Just doing your job I know working/