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I wonder why some poems
flounder and some poems fly.

I do not cry, or ponder to long,
for to write simply for others
somehow seems wrong.

I've written many lines
that will never see the light of day,
not that their better or worse
than those on display.

Their just a piece of me I'm not ready to give away.

I know that notion may seem obscene,
what could he possibly be hiding
that we haven't yet seen?

I can assure you in the grandest scheme of things
my skeletons are few,
But shouldn't a poet always hold
at least one secret
or maybe even two?
I've heard of writers and musicians who have died
only to have their families release books and songs after their gone
in a desperate cash grab.
Most of the stuff is not very good or unfinished, there was a reason
the artist hadn't released it.
Jim Morrison and the Beatles come to mind.
Makes me glad I'm not famous LOL
Settle in the corner where the cat sometimes curls,
Where the painting of chrysanthemums hangs
Free of all Distraction-

Where the single vase of tiny flowers
Sits and a solid lump of stone rests
tells me how many,

not that i care. i just



chats on regardless.



i just likes doing the work,

and writing the things

i think.



the visitor thought

my house must be like my brain.



i wonders what she means.
Delete the 'I'
life will treat
you right:
in this wipe-out
you'll grow
and expand
you'll understand
you'll thrive
you'll see things
in a fresh light
you'll acquire
a new mind
and the world
will always be
on your side
I've matured and grown up
Just enough for me to see
The monster and the liar
You have come to be
Lies and late nights away
Women at every door
You said that you loved me
But didn't know what for
Now I've met someone who cares
Who hangs on my every word
Warms me when I feel the cold
I know you think that's absurd
Maybe one day when you're alone
You'll look back on these years and see
I just wanted to be loved
With inherent honesty.
.
A voice of melody broke the numbness,
‘Good morning everybody, have a great day,”
Light in the darkness
Love in aloneness
A witness in the masses.
Small acts are noticed —
I receive your love.
Thank you.
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