What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these gimmicks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately
                  Pray

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unread, even abhorred

Why?

Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way

Line
After line
Of synonyms
          over
               and
                    over
                         and
                              over
                                   again

-----

What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?

With nature, comes beauty
That many would seek,
Of bears and lions
And amber trees,

Of streams so shallow
Where ants could swim,
They dance on pebbles,
Joined limb to limb.

And once in a while,
A Nightingale sings
On an oak tree so high
Where angels could live.

The secrets of nature
That one would seek,
The beauty, the love
That lies within.

I miss being a crayon
when I had the certainty
of being liked by them
the fantasy so believable
that I believed it with all my heart

I miss being a crayon
when she and I laughed together
created together
shared our thoughts, quotes, and ideas
together

I miss being a crayon
when we had moments of
unity
collaboration
laughter that I could easily
be a part of

it was nice

I miss being a crayon
but now I am a pencil
less colorful
wavering
able to be whittled
and sharpened
and full of potential

I lost my little girl today.
I held her in my arms and felt
her slipping away.

As the end came sneaking in
I gave her up to medicine.
And, in my selfish way,
I prayed for even one more day.

Hurry fill the forms in and
hurry up to wait.
Knowing in the heart of me
that already I'm too late.

Then they come and take her
from my loving arms.
To poke, to **** and draw blood.
And again I wait as
they try to resuscitate.

My prayer was not heard today.
My little girl died
when her heart gave way.

Just a dog so many say.
Yet in my eyes
my child died today.

Now there's an empty
space inside that no
thing can fill. . .
except the warm memories
of my loving little girl.

Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes

You ever look at a message and don't open it
Because you know if you do
You'll have to respond
And you just dont know how to



Right now

It is time to do something
I am ready to begin
My life is not a race
It is a slow and lovely stroll
I can do this now
I know I can
I am ready to take the keys
I am ready to take the wheel.