You asked me what my name was
You asked if we could dance
You asked if you could have my number
You asked me to call
You asked me to pick you up
You asked me to hold you
You asked me to wipe away your tears
You asked me to just speak nice things
You asked me to stop fixing things

I never asked for anything
And now I’m asking why

In death there is no fear
neither is there in pain
compared to such a treachery
than putting one to open shame
many a thing they may endure
but poke at the pride engrained
you’ll bind and break their spirit
when speaking evil of their name

you should not push an opinion
nor force it into a small mind
it may explode at the ears
and lose the hearing the next time
when opportunity may arise
where those words may be recieved
into small parts, in smaller bits
and pushed in with ease

You were the best of me
I was the worst of you
we mixed together tints and tones
and shades of brilliant hue
you, a rose with the red
I, the violet with the blue
and that perfect purple Iris in between
inside ‘me’ and ‘you’

Don’t hide me in a shoe box
only in shoes fit for a king
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
like the checkered jacket I’m wearing
the vinyl bag, tarnished rings
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
yet, there ain’t no way of knowing
how rich I am, that be true
unless you look down on me
smudge the shine right off me shoe
yeah, there ain’t no way of hiding
me pride or anything
when I pull out to dangle
a rusty gold watch, and silver tin
where I keep fine stained paper
and my tobacco rolled in
Like I say, me brother
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
among the high class dining
treating myself to their bin
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
yes, I’m living the life
and nothing stopping
living every man’s dream
till I’m another poor man
in a coffin, with a chauffeur
in a black limousine

The stakes are high
when words are at stake
It’s an open hand
we give
we take
waging with words
a gamble for me
playing a fine line
with cliche
or corny
no matter the draw
poker face
or story
that rhyme you find
too profound
too bally
I deal this poem
I roll
you read
double or nothing
a hit or miss
is always
guaranteed

Some kids hide in attics
some in the wooden shed outside
a hide away,
away from trouble  
and leave the world aside

but when I was younger
I’d hide up on the roof
leaving them below to wonder
“Where’d he go, just ****!”

but, “I’m just here, aunt Molly!”
here at the top, way up high
pretending I had wings
and a little closer to the sky

peering down on people passing
writing poetry on the roof
watching the world below me changing
still high and still aloof

till that day I come down wondering
where’d all the people go?
now that I’m much the more older
I’d really like to know

Here’s a poem
to all the girls
I’ve loved and hated
to the ones I did
and ones, I wish I dated
To the ones I’ve kissed
and the ones I’ve missed
yes, to all the little Misses
And it goes like this...

To little Miss Chievous
so young and free
But I got out quickly
before one could ask
“Wow! who’s she?”

To little Miss Stake
Yes, to the ones we make
the apologies and sorrys
and the patience it takes

To little Miss Understood
I never did and never could
So I decided I never would
even try

To little Miss Fit
Not the health kick kind
But the one who’s wit
I couldn’t match nor find

To the one Miss
I miss the most
though I love them all
It’s to her I toast
To my little Miss Guided
by whom I was love struck
and still remain
to this day
blinded and
stuck

A leech
at the beach
left it’s home at the pond
and as a result
of the salt
lost its ability to bond

Along comes a bird
without word
thinking it a worm, it plucks
so learn not to roam
too far from home
even if your life *****

If it’s a penny for your thoughts
then it’s a bank in my head
where the automated teller
is swiping plastic cards instead

I have a monkey
for my thoughts
hanging around
dangling down
by the tail
till it’s caught

often chasing
swing to swing
a string of a thing
I cling
carrying the thought

people say
no monkeying around
stop the thinking
the red wine
your drinking
and cage your mind

but with a jacket
and matching
white pyjamas
Tonight, dinner’s at the circus
and I’m going nuts
and bananas

Turn the dial
on my back
and spin me around

Press the button
on my head
and push me down

Ring the bell
in my ear
bring on the sound

Push me off
the ledge
pick me off the ground

Check the crack
in the battery pack
no longer around

Momma said
Daddy’s dead
I’ve buried him in the back

Get the cash
From the stash
Throw it in the sack

Grab the keys
Quickly please
And in the car you get

Take us far
Drive that car
We haven’t got there yet

Take a pill
Let’s just chill
It’ll  be alright

In the motel
We go to hell
Just for the night

don’t blink at that moment
where the world stops to stare
don’t blink for a moment
as though you don’t care
keep your eyes on the prize
keep your gaze up there
where light is the brightest
and the dark elsewhere
don’t blink for a second
gaze straight if you dare
don’t turn for a minute
from that blinding glare
don’t squint, like flint
no matter how bright
at the piercing, don’t blink
and out stare the light

A child found her soul mate
beneath the tears of her eyes
so she kept them in jars of clay
with sighs and gentle cries
wishing the days away
till that day when they would meet
and gift him the collected tears
in the jars when they would greet
Lifting lids from off the jars
he would hear the cry of her heart
pouring them into his soul
she wish washed his will to part

You staying was
the longest goodbye

Don’t dangle me
to the carrot

A vacated ghost town
where the dust has settled
and only the few passerby’s
poets and dreamers
stopping over for the night

I wonder why
in all the world
clouds can never hold the rain

When every thought in my head
clouds my thinking
and my brain

I wonder why
when I cry
my tears fall like rain

When clouds grow grey in the storm
yet my heart grows black
with pain

I need
the right
timing
to post
more
of my
poetry
faster
and after
Suzanna
Berlinsky

My girl likes little things
not the big things of value
or baggy big like Jeans
But short skirts and tight tops
Little shorts and flip flops
with high hopes,
but little dreams

My girl likes little things
Not big things or deep
Little things like lipstick
The comments on her self pics
The brand of her breeches  
The right lace on her sneakers
My girl likes little things
Not the things
too heavy to keep

My girl likes little things
Not the big and the weighty
Just the little things shiny
like an iPhone glittering
the right tone on the dial ring
a cover case with the right bling
Almost everything
And anything
not significantly big

My girl likes little things
nothing seriously grand
little things, like small talk
A nice sweet short walk
Even holding hands
among other little things
If there’s room for my fingers
beside her diamond rings

I’m making money
quoting Shakespeare
smoke filled rooms
a dim lit theatre
I’m glad the man’s dead
he’d be asking for part
memorised in my head
was drunk from his heart
I’m making it by
on a dead crowd stage
I’m a poet making money
on a dead man’s wage

I’m writing a poem
and I need a rhyme with ‘Cat’
but nothing kiddy
like ‘Sat’ or ‘Mat’
Something long
like a Cadillac
something for change
like a laundromat
Something as strong
as an acrobat
Something as rich
as an aristocrat
Something as catchy
as a copycat
Yet something
simple
something
clean
Something like that
If you know what I mean

They stole a word
from a poem I wrote
Stealing
the meaning
leaving just a note
“We’re sorry for the damage,
we hope you don’t mind
we’ve just taken a lend
of a word from a line”
They left no name
no number to call
Just a few words
and that was all
Then just the other day
I read on the news
a poem became famous
for a word that was used
that made the world weep
over their lies and their theft
critics hailed it
‘the true and only’
‘honest poem’
in the world left

I carry
one memory
of you and me,
I carry it
all the way up,
to the highest tree,
I hang it there
for you to see
and falling leaves
unveiling me
like each
apple,
pear
or a peach
and how
sweet things
grow out of reach

You asked me
what my name was
I told you, “I was Jack”
But now that I’ve got to know you
can I take that back?
I’m actually Frank
and I only said that lie
in case I didn’t like you
and you come looking for that guy
but now that I love you
call me what you like
call me nice guy Gary
or even magic Mike
I’ll live up to any name
I’ll become any man
just call me ‘whatever’
and please,
call me when you can