I love my poems
I cannot help but feel they are
BRILLIANT
Rationally
The sane part of me
Knows they’re high
Mediocre
But the dream part of me
Wishes the word could see
The BRILLIANCE
Of my poetry
Maybe it will someday  
After I’ve written so many
A huge anthology
Upon which experts agree
Is BRILLIANT poetry
In my hopes and dreams
That’s how it’s gonna be
Long after I’m dead
My great-great grandkids are gonna be
So **** proud of me

We get it
You’re the elderly flower child
Living on your hippie dreams
Love is your prescription
For coming apart at the seams
Peace and groovy
And get a little ******
You think it’s that easy
Must be nice for you
To be a trust fund baby

It used to be
We wore masks
Whenever we went outside
Pretending was the norm
In the natural light
But in our own homes
We showed an honest sight
Then comes internet
Social media highway
Now we live amid the farce of
Fake communique
Cook a five course meal
Just to take a pic
Who cares if the chicken went bad
And got the whole family sick?  
Did it look appealing
On your Facebook feed?
Taste is less important
It’s the photo that you need

I would take you seriously
If you were capable
Of seeing me
Selective blindness
Reversed kindness
Knows only hatred or love
There’s no moderation
Of imagination
In humans who cannot rise above
It’s all either so wrong or so right
To those incapable of sight

I’ve figured out the formula
To be widely liked and known
If I was willing to sound like a teenager
And forget that I am grown
Corny is craved by the crowd
Something immature and loud
But formula’s not what the crowd needs
How do we get those humans
To breast feed?

I could make it seem like such toil
And claim I bleed for my poetry
But it is not at all work
It is a joy for me
Elation of creation
And then I set it free
But I can’t really let it go
It’s still a part of me

It’s not like me to connect with some man
Over the internet
I wish I could
Fall into it from afar
Get the tingles and jingles
Long term
No matter where they are
But I’m not a long term tingler
Without real time
Association
I fall into heavy like
So often
But heavy like soon fades
Into “I sort of remember that guy”
Maybe the problem is me
And my unwillingness to really try
But my flakiness has been put to good use
I’m the poet with
Infinite muse

Most times we pray
And we’re not on our knees
So we forget we’re praying
Sometimes we’re taking things for granted
And forgetting to be thankful
And give homage to that which is greater than myself
The Rhythmic
Nature
Miracles
And failures
Hoping
To not fail
And rely on
Rhythm
Not miracles
Sometimes
We reject
It gets boring after a while
Rhythm
Sometimes we do it in large groups
**** gets real with the rhythm
When the rhythm twangs too much off key
All asunder it goes
Rhythm with no flow
Scribbles on a paper,
Cross other colors
Make a unique mix
Maybe cross again one day
But God is better than me, so God sees those squiggles in different colors.  
Maybe God thinks I have a unique- colored
Squiggle
But that’s probably what everyone
Thinks

It all came so easy for you
There were no hoops you had to jump through
Now you sit atop that lofty post
Judging those who need understanding the most
You silly fool
You’ll pay your dues, too
Some day your payment will become due
And when that happens
We all know what you’ll do
You’ll act like a victim
And cry a lot, too
Claiming that you don’t deserve to be *******
And you will finally
Understand the blues

The internet
Pretends to be intimate
False sense of really knowing
But all we see is the fake
Front that people are showing
Who is really behind
That screen
So many pictures
They paste
But yet
Everything remains unseen
And a whole life
Can be faked
You think you’re talking to a marine
Out on some government mission
But really it’s a twelve year old boy
Using you for his ***** emission
It’s a trap and a trick
To get lovesick
Over someone you can’t really know
But somehow it happens
Over and over again
To Heartbreak Hotel
We go

Please keep your God
Out of it
And all your assumptions
Too
I do believe in a higher power
But God is not the same
Being
For me as it is for
You
You may belong to the bigger club
With all the powerful people and tools
But frankly, having more members  
Also means you have more fools

I dreamed that I could fly
I felt so free
YAY!  Yippi Kai!  
And somewhere in my brain
I said
“I can’t be flying.  I must be dreaming or dead.”  
And then, I started to lose altitude
I could no longer soar
Slowly descended to the ground
And I could fly no more
Apparently, my dreams are pretty rude
And I wanted to have an attitude
Till to myself, I said
“Girl you big dummy fool.
Be happy you’re not dead.”

I fall off the e
                     d
                     g
                     e
                     !

Timmy the tick
On a high blade of grass
Spied a delicious looking
Furry thing
Sleeping
Near the back path
At sunrise he started
Making his way
Getting all through the yard
Took the entire day!  
Timmy made it
And got all the way there
Only to find
A furry teddy bear

Falling in love is a game for fools
So many rituals
But no steady rules
What is there one day
Could be gone the next
Send your whole life crashing
With just one text
But sometimes you float
And even fly
Often when you don’t even try
Partnership forged
Feelings engorged
This game for fools
Has so many rewards

Her bio said she was from
Uranus
And that’s all we need to know
To make the easy decision to scroll

Please don’t love me more than anything
I don’t need that kind of pressure
Love me like you love pizza
Or maybe your favorite sweater
I don’t want to be the one you worship
It’s too high of a pedestal
From which to fall
If you’re going to love me too much
I’d rather you not love me
At all

A concrete poem is one that is in the shape of it’s subject.  This is my concrete poem ab-
out a slab of concrete.  Pretty neat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The woods are most appreciated
By people who have no desire to
Live in them
Underrated
Beauty
Is used to turned backs

We just met
And I don’t know if it’s stalking
Or kismet
However
It is
That you know me so well
Is it beautiful
Or terrifying?
I cannot tell

Reading your poems
Made me figure you for
A boy of about sixteen
Imagine my surprise to
Find you’re a man who’s
Sixty three
At first I **** my teeth and think
“This dope is immature”
But being a romantic dreamer
Has a sweet and hopeful allure
So do ya thang
Wrinkled *******
And bring your knowledge to it
You can probably do it way better
Than those young boys do it

I read the five minute poem
In two minutes
Flat
Not sure what to take from that
Maybe I missed something
Over again
This is how a five minute poem
Turns into ten

Gender fluid
Poetry
As much as anything can be
Countless times I’ve
An image in my mind
Of who the poet could be
And the true image
Is completely different
From what I used to see
But the perception of the inside who
Is close to true

She wrote a thousand poems of
Admiration
Never naming names
Each man she knew
Thought he was the muse
Her inspiration light
Unlikely as it was
There’s a chance that he was right

I am the over-editor
Afraid of change
I am the easy going
As long as it’s same
I am the pretender
I’m not insane
With the zillions of bits
Running around in my brain

Hello sir
I am new here
And
Still learning my way
Can you direct me towards the
Dump
I’ve brought my **** and bull
Carrying the junk
Since
My fuckit bucket
Is full

The man in the moon is no pretty boy
He’s a pock-marked
Grown man
Stuck in his
Reclusive teenage habits
Relying on his Mother Earth to keep
Him around
Which she does

At arm’s length

Some poets take you on a journey
Exquisitely planned
Mapped out to the letter
Sunset safari soufflé
Other poets
Present snapshots
Balanced and in full color
Hit ya with the short and sweet
Both ways to get there
I guess
I wish I had more
Sunset in me

He is soul groove
Pops on in
Busts a move
And goes on out
Again
Leaving me wanting more
Here I sit
Watching the door

I wonder, sometimes
If there is an invisible thread
Between a thought
And who it is thought about
Within reason
I don’t expect Andre Benjamin
To suddenly wonder
“What’s up with this girl, Krista”
When I fantasize
But maybe he feels
That fantasy vibe
With some we know well
Those bonds are so clear
It’s like the thread lives in your ear
But others
Strangers
Have them, too
Tiny flashlight in the stadium
Otherwise dark
Or maybe full of other light too
But there is some sort of bond
I cannot explain
When someone thinks about you

Pretty privilege
Is ******* by ***** privilege
Which can make up for lots of
Less
If you’ve got big enough *******
The rest of you can be a mess

Sometimes
I love a poem
So I set it free
And nobody else
Likes it but me
It brings me confusion
What am I doing?
And why is it that no one sees?

The beloved invisible poems
Must be
Only meant for me

Irritation when I see
What passes for great poetry
When front page news is made a joke
Insincere words bespoke
A trending sentiment
And everyone
Jumped on in
To melt
Up and away it went
Unfelt

Everyone loves the writers
Support them all you can
Yet in cities
Trash will pile up
Before we support the garbage man

This is my gift
Suckle on my supple lines
Make my hair stand on end
Get my goosebumps
All a rile
On my form
Let me dine on your attention
While it’s warm
It is my gift to you
But I get something from it too

She was a demon
Full of sins
According to those who go by the book
But that witchy woman
Was a saint
To people who knew how to look

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Takes process
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Progress
Mostly well
With time
🧚🏿‍♂️🫦👱🏻‍♀️🧚🏼🙋🏼‍♀️
Loose rules
Are chaos
Kontrolled
Preferable to me
Than chaos eliminated

The masses love corny
And I’m full of flakes
So I’ll keep on pouring
Until someone takes

Sooner than expected
Trepidatious
Blessing
Me messing
With myself
My gift horse
Tongues are always checked

He often brings her pretty words
Which melt her icy heart
Her defenses were not ready
For seduction via art

Always I speak into the void
Sometimes it answers
Always a surprise
Sometimes it’s mean
Sometimes it’s nice

“I wish I would’ve wrote this”
A commonplace feeling for a poet
Though just as easy it be
“I wish someone wrote that
About me.”

My juice for you has been sapped
Until you replenish the fruit
My tolerance not nearly tapped
But you better show up in a suit

What of all the poems I pen
Nobody cares to read?  
Dropped by me on airwaves
In the hopes to plant a seed


Abandoned to the mass


Do they matter less?  
Whether poems get lonely
Is anybody’s guess

I just found a treasure
Still in the field
Playing in sunshine gentle rays
I could pick it up
However
Who is to say
The field might be where treasures
Wish to stay

I’m seeking the staying power.
I’ve got blips of success
Short-lived
But celebrated
Nonetheless
Maybe it’s thousands
Maybe it’s one
I hope something stays
After I’m done

He strips me bare
With his words
And I look full-on
Beautiful
An image of me
I never could see
Until it was so
Master fully  
Presented to me

He gives me a sip
From which I produce a flood
Run dry soon
And parched
Waiting for rain
Again
I suppose the dry times would be worse
If he knew how much I thirst

I am not a flowery poet
You’ll find no embellishment here
I prefer to say what I mean
In language plain and clear

He is water on fire
Exotic hamster
Invisible high wire
He is thick warm moss
Climbing up the side of this tree
He is spiral giggles
And I like that he notices me