The recipe reads:

2 and 1/2  ounces dedication
To 3 pounds *******
To a gram of work
To a ton of cheating
To a tablespoon punctuality
To a gallon procrastination
All with a base of
Genetic Luck

Success,
Success,
**** this

What's the big idea
Of having to succeed?
I don't need to succeed,
Not by your standards.
I write my  own formula
For a successful life.

One
Bitter
Shot
Of
Not dead, Yet.

Light up the sacred fire.
The warm spot in every
Heart of every lover
As is tradition to do.
Add in infatuation to
Get the inferno burning.
Feed it words like kindling
Those simple nicknames
Love, dear and honey
And then add compliments
The coals to keep it lit
And alive for a longer time

Next
Throw the big pieces in
The caring, thoughtful acts.
That will never fully burn
Leaving a blackened reminder
Then the large promises.
That you will look at no other.
That he or she is the only one
That you will always love.

Now you have quite
The bonfire to sit by
To warm your chills
But eventually you’ll run out
Of all the other fuels

The only thing left to burn
Is yourself.

Opa,
It is a word,
But more of a sound,
The sound of
Thrown plates
Hitting the ground,
The sound of
God's cheer
At human accomplishment,
The sound of
Friends together
Stealing away the night.
Opa is expression,
Is happiness in life.

Opa in a name
Of an excellent resturaunt
Nestled in the land
Between dream
And reality
Where the tastes
Of the old
Blend with new
In the seamless style
Of the modern world.
Opa brings hope.

Hope is at
The doorstep
Of my doubtful heart.
Hope for redemption
In forefather's eyes.
That a connection
Can be still made
To my ancient world;
To my own blood,
Soul and flesh.
That I can
Learn to dance
In my own skin.

Opa is possibility
For my motherland
To hold on to life
By the slippery reins
And keep up
With the world,
But not lose tradition.
There is possibility
For me
To reclaim herritage;
To learn my history;
To live proudly Greek

Tap, Tap… Tap, Tap
Morse code at its finest
Each time pencil drops
A resounding click is made
Marking letters and words
With sound’s punctuation
Click, click… click, click

I wonder what it means
The code the pencils use
To communicate their thoughts
Does the pencil shout
About its abuse and misuse
Or does it cheer
For guiding hand and beauty made

What does it feel for me
It knows me as I am
Through the love poems
And the angry words
Does it agree with what I say
With what is in my soul
No matter, it’s still my closest friend

The pencil knows my confusion
But with each “tap, click”
We whisk the fogs away
With each line we write
We feel more free.

Rose petals fall,
One after another,
Ticking time of
Wilting flowers.

One petal for friend lost,
One petal for dead dog,
One petal for time gone,
A last for constant pain,

A wilting rose,
Has not a name,
Lost its color,
Hates lover’s game,

Flower sits pretty,
For a time it stays,
In the best vase,
A handful of days.

One petal for loss,
The other for grief,
Pink petals for lust,
Black for jealousy,

The flower is nice,
But soon fades away,
Turning dark black,
Petals piling up.

Just throw them out;
Have no more pain.
No more keepsakes,
Only memories remain.

I’m just a sinner
In the hands of
An angry god
I know.
I’m just a sinner
In the land of
Great Satan’s love
I know
I’m just a sinner
That’s all I am
And nothing else
I know.

I  tell you
I am right
But god knows
I am wrong.
I’d lie to
You all night
But secrets
Will come out.

I’m a devil man
That is what I am
I got red blood on
My criminal hands
I’m a devil man
I’m eternally ******
I don’t give a ****
Even if I rot in
Hell’s deepest pit

I have hell
On my ticket
And I’m trying
To get away

I’m just a sinner
In the hands of
An angry god
I know.
I’m just a sinner
In the land of
Great Satan’s love
I know
I’m just a sinner
That’s all I am
And nothing else
I know.

Religion’s gone
From my soul
I once believed
Those times are past
Took it to bed
And woke up alone.

Found out god
Had left me
For someone else
Turned my back
On the book
And he got ******
Tortured soul
Is all that
I have left

So why call me
A demon
I already know
You know where I
Am going
You don't have
To worry
You will be there
Soon too.

I’m just a sinner
In the hands of
An angry god
I know.
I’m just a sinner
In the land of
Great Satan’s love
I know
I’m just a sinner
That’s all I am
And nothing else
I know.

What can be said
In an ode of love;
One could write of
An affection for other,
Then he could list
Qualities and memories,
Flattery and promises ,
And even declare his wants.
He could say the world
For the love of his life,
But really
Do these things
Make up the heart of love?
These are empty words
For the tiny details,
Since there is no good way
To describe the whole
No simple terms to say
In one single poem,
The one emotion
That conquers your being.
When it takes a million steps
To journey to one’s heart,
The center make up of the soul,
And how could you describe
A soul in mere lines?

Did you see me screech by?
To say I lost all control,
Would imply I had any
Did you see my eyes shut?
Not in pain or sadness,
But in peace and apathy.
Can you see the direction
To which I am speeding?
Downwards and downwards
From the top to the bottom,
Making one more descent
One last great spiraling fall.

Animal instincts grab the wheel;
Human mind gives it up.
One side knows it’s pointless;
The brakes are far past broken;
He made sure of that himself
To lose all that restrains him.
The other is quite determined,
Not developed to ever let go,
Ignorant to the obvious
That it is stuck on this ride.
Let body try one more time
To gain control over situation
As faster and faster we drop.

The smell of the breeze
Tickles beneath my nose,
Bringing with it the tastes
Of wild flowers and tar.
The sound of screams flying
Behind me like a regal cape,
Fluttering in the rapid wind.
Slowly lifting from the ground,
Hovering over mortal roads.
Eyes shut tight, so not to know
Where the fates guide us.
Back up to heaven
Or down to hell

The line on the sand
A scar on the flat surface
A wound from a knife

Temptingly perfect
The idealist’s barrier
Asking to be crossed

Begging to be crossed
Whispering dark promises
Of god, glory, gold

Seductively calling
“Step across my idealist
There will be reward.”

And the cry goes
Unignored by cur’ous ear
That quickly slips pass

So willingly to
Forget the line they, themselves
Drew not to be toucheded

Then they hide the line
Filling it with their morals
All to prevent shame

they draw a new line
On the morality plain
The old forgotten

This new scratch is soon
Crossed as swiftly as the last.
More soul left behind

Until there’s nothing
Just a dark spot in shadows
On the moon’s dark side

I always keep a wish list
I write what I want
And the price I’ll pay.
Be it a target for a twenty
Or love for an arm and a leg.
I’ll pay fifty for a new game
And my soul for popularity.
Music is a dollar a song.
Friendship is always priceless.
Racing suit costs me eighty
And family costs a few feuds.
The shiny new watch sells for forty
Success sells for just too much.
The only thing that’s ever free
Is the happiness that surrounds me.
All that cost is one’s own decision
To tell sadness, good riddance.

As the sun sets
And the dark things
Come out to play,
I take off my mask
And howl at the moon.

By starlight I change
From man to beast.
By moonlight I turn
My back to society
And go prowling in the black.

When the stars call
And no one is home,
I sneak into the world,
Stealing away from home
To be myself by nightfall

Hoy, esta minuto
Estoy escribiendo
Una poemita
En español

Cosas pequeñas
Son mas bonitas
En un idioma
Antiquo
La gramatica
Es facil y fluye
Las palabras
Son muy bellas
Cuando las
Son habladas
En una forma
De extranjera

Esta dia es magnifico
Por lo habla me
En idioma differente
Para suertes mejores

Ha!

Laugh at me
Please

Hate me
Please

Maybe then I’ll learn
Maybe then I’ll change
Cause right now:

I’m so fake

As fake as America’s
“Lovey dovey”
Big, caring brother politics

Why didn’t you all tell me
Before?

Or maybe you don’t think it yet?
Yeah that might be it

I can see it on
Your faces
I can hear it in
Your words and
Your voices

You all think I’m
Something,
I’m not.

You all buy my exaggerations,
My down played traits,
(My attempts at hiding
What I don’t want you to see)
And even when you don’t
You miss what I am

Why are you throwing to third?
I’m just reaching first!

Can’t you see the
Contradictions?
Oh there’s so many.
Can’t you see the
Unexplained?
Maybe it’s not obvious

Laugh at me
Please
Hate me
Please
Call me fake
Please

Cause I’m not what you see
And I’m not trying to be me
(Me just ain’t cool enough, see)
Doesn’t that make me a poser?
Shouldn’t you be *******?
(That’s how they say it should be)

This is as much about you
As it is about me.

I want to run
And run and run,
To keep moving on,
Straight into the
Darkest places
With nothing but
A flashlight
And my goals
In my hand

As I'll sprint
Down unlit
Night highways,
I'll think one thought,
If only I would
Never come back.
If only I ran
Into something bigger.

Then I will never
Be seen from again.
I would be dust
Gathered on the side
Of the road less taken,
And my casket
Would be empty,
Just an honorary
Funeral symbol
Of the disappered

It almost a joke,
See,
Well, truly
It is irony.
That a man
Whose dream is
To have it all.
Has no chance
With who he wants,
Who would  likely
Make him happyist.

It's is likely the sign
Of a vengeful god
Or at least a god
With a black humor.
That makes a man
A longing romantic
easy to fall to love.
As well as a boy
Without skills, Lost
In his child's crush.

That is the irony
Of a blind painter
Or a deaf pianist.
Even a politician
With morals
Is better suited
Than I am as
A bumbling
Casanova,

It's a bitter joke.
And I'm the ****
Of it
Hoping god
Might say
Just Kidding

Some days
I can hardly
Stop myself
From collapsing down
And weeping emotions

Other days
I want to throw
Myself upon
Those with answers
And beg for reprieve

Some days
I wonder
What the point is

Other days
I know.
Those are the worse.

Out in the streets
The machine guns rattle
And the mortats explode
Like som sick conductos
Idea of a drumline.
Rattattat Boom Rattattat
The young rebels play
With their fireworks
While I drink my wine
In the safety of
The corner cafe.

Tonight,
I thought about you
My dear old enemy
And of how long its been
Since we were ther at the
Starting line of this war
That still limps toward the finish.
And already we have left
Our mark upon each other.
You have your scars,
And I have mine.
We've both grown old
From waging our battles.

Yet we still fight on,
And that's what's amazing.
Neither of us has given up
And I respect you for it.
My rival, to you I say.
You are my brother.
You understand the pain
Of the wounds I've felt.
You understand the goal
I strive so hard to reach.
We are brothers by
The blood we spilt
From one another.

I sit in this cafe
Sipping wine with pastries
Lettling the younglings play
Their most dangerous games,
And I raise my cup
To you my brother enemy.
Though one of us must fall,
I hope we'll get along
In our many lives to come.
I pray for you brother
Who follows the same goddess.

The waiter arrives
With the check in hand.
I look it over
And tell her it's wrong.
"Can't you see
I was eating
With my frined?
This should read two
Not just one."
She looks me over
And bids me farewell.
"Be careful now,
There's blood out there."
I assure her that
I know well of this.

Big Words,
A Grand Image,
Weird riddles,
And metaphors,
Hidden truths,
Subtle lies,
Great irony,
And tragedy,
High classes,
Arrogant “I”s
Games of chance,
And Royalty,
Shrewd politics,
Murderous kings,
Cowardice generals,
And God’s avarice,
Damaged kingdoms,
Injured souls,
Innocent love,
And a downfall,

It’s the recipe
For a melodrama

A hint of feeling
To add some spice,
A conflict, a hero
A maid in distress,
Without these all,
It’s just a comedy,
And wouldn’t look
Like our turbulent lives.

“So there was this man, rather tall man, dark hair and sunglasses, average Casanova, lady’s man sorta guy. And this man walks into my bar.”

“Maybe he should have ducked”

The buzzed man’s friends gave a collective groan at their buddy’s one-liner. The bartender, a balding gentleman with a protruding stomach, continued his anecdote.

“Well, this man comes in and pulls up a seat next to this gorgeous doll at the counter and starts to chat with her a bit. Happens to be that this gal he was talking to is my best friend’s wife. “

“So did’ya kick the guy out? Seeing how he was trying to get in bed with your best friend’s girl.” Said a second voice.

“Didn’t have to. She told the guy straight out that she was a married woman Threatened to call the police even.”

“And what did the guy say?” asked a third.

“Now, that’s the funny bit. So the man tells the girl that her being married was no problem. In fact, he claimed he slept with every married woman around town. Anyways, she slapped him so hard, it nearly knocked him out. I swear he’ll have a wedding band bruise on his cheek for a month. Talk about irony”

The three men roared with laughter, especially the comedian of the group. Sometime about two in the morning, the drinking buddies downed their last drinks and stepped out into the falling rain. They split at the curb taking separate routes home. The last one on the sidewalk when the bartender shut off the lights was the first man to speak.

He walked to the curb and stuck up his thumb for a taxi to take him back to his north side apartment. A few minutes later, a cabbie stopped outside the bar and rolled down his window.

“Where will it be?”

“Train station” the man decided. Dripping wet he opened the door and climbed into the cab’s rear seat.

“Hey, buddy, you should really use an umbrella. It looks like you’ve been crying.” said the cabbie chuckling at his own humor.

“Didn’t bring one” replied the man. The cab driver didn’t try to continue the conversation.

The man got out at the train station and dashed to the bathroom. He went into the last stall and locked the door.  The man slid to the floor with his back against the wall, and from his pocket came a folded paper decorated with little ringlets of dried tears. He read the note yet another countless time since finding it that morning.

“Dear former,
There’s someone else, and we’re skipping town.
Love you,
Janie
P.S. You aren’t as funny as you think you are.”

Doubled over, the man howled out a mournful tune through broken sobs. He had decided to come to the train station to wonder what train his one love climbed aboard as she left his life.

As the lights flickered down,
Over the carbonic sparkle of
Orange Juice spiked with sprite,
Do you remember holding a kiss
To the chagrin of parents and hostess?

You loved me so much, you
Made us a bed in the corner
Two sleeping bags merged,
No longer apart.

And I thought,
In this world,
A snake pit,
Filled both, with vipers and *****,
I would hold your hand
And have your side.

But with palms pressed together,
My fingers entwined
To keep me from grasping,
I realize,
You had mine.

They call me sauvros
Or in the English style,
Saurus.
As in dinosaur,
Those terrible lizards.

But I am just a Saur,
Just a lizard,
Though,
That's bad enough.

I am a scaly thing
A grotesque personality
Crawling around
In this guy's head
Whispering bad things
Dark, terrible things

And you'd be loathed
To see me angry.

A lighter side
To this?

I can’t think of one
I’m tired.
I’m worn out.
I’m saddened.
I’m nostalgic.
I’m foolish.

Okay,
I’m not myself now.
Life has been rough
And I’m a bit pessimistic
At the moment.
But I’m allowed to be,
Right?

When it comes down to it,
I know things are getting
Better and better.
When it comes down to it,
I know that we are
Doing better than most.
When it comes down to it,
I know that things are so good
That things are so hopeful
That our chances are so great,
That if they were any better,
I couldn’t stand it.

Overall,
The world is inherently good.
People are inherently good.
Things can get crazy,
But life is inherently good.

Still, even if I know that.
Even if I am an optimist
Even if I am a romantic.
Even if I am hopeful.
I can take a moment
To bathe in depression,
To be a bit grim about things,
To be “realistic”,
That other word for pessimistic.

I don’t have to always
See the lighter side.
Do I?

It is a scorching 95 degrees;
Hotter than hell for this time of year,
And I am wearing a dark grey fleece jacket.
I have no clue why I’m wearing it;
Maybe the fates decided it,
Maybe it’s the work of some god I don’t believe in.
But as the sun rays keep shining down
Through the open roof of a powder blue beamer,
Causing the hood to shine like gemstones and
My skin to boil and fry under the dark fabric
I won’t take it off though,
That would ruin the feel of the trip
Of having the wind of the road making it fly
Like a living creature with its own mind

And I am sitting in the convertible
Sniffing the fumes of gasoline and toxins
Holding them in my lungs to ferment a while
Before letting them all back out slowly,
Reveling in the taste of the road.
Going nowhere rather quickly
Flying past other shining super bullets
speeding down the black barrel
I've already traveled these same roads.
And therefore, this trip yields nothing new
Except for a few more bugs in my hair
And a few more miles on my journey

Ditch Digging

I look upon ***** hands
Unclean in their deeds
Of shoveling their last pit.
For all those sad little things,
For all the past pains,
There is this one grave,
Dug out in the night
To hide all the shame.

Looking mournfully back
At one man’s miserable life,
At one man’s miserable wife
Who covertly snuck away
On a night just like this.
She left to find her real love
In the darkness of the sky,
Only to sneak back home
At the dawn’s first lights,
Only to find her husband
Waiting awake patiently.

Peeking back to his job,
Of a boss who would deny
Every request for a raise,
And every pitiful plea for
Just a couple more days.
The boss who always drank,
And smoked, and yelled,
Who always made passes
At his employee’s wife,
And would call his house
In the middle of the night.

Thinking of his two
Most precious daughters,
Who were the most cute
Of all the little girls.
Those innocent fiends
Who always took their
Spoiled mother’s side,
And would make life
Miserable for their father.
The two girls that looked
More like the man’s boss,
And would barely pay
Their father mind.

As the poor man dug
With his short shovel
And his tired hands,
He thought of all his miseries,
And those who did him wrong,
And how in this 5 ft trench,
He would fix it all.
The faithful pup that turned wild,
And now tries to rip out his throat.
Of the bus driver that steals his change,
And gives him spit in return.
Of the corner shop bread baker,
That only sold him stale baguettes.
He would bury all of them,
And make again, his happy life.

The grave digger finished,
And he washed his hands,
And climbed into the hole,
And fell deeply asleep.

Come ******* lips
I want to enter your heart like a diver
I want to pierce your soul like a stare
I want to inject myself into your life like an exclamation
And linger there like the first kiss offered by a lover.
I want to impose on you like a beloved grandmother
And tease you like an incessant itch
(The more you scratch,
The more of your thoughts I’ll inhabit)

I want to love you like a metaphor
Building in your mind to a climatic epiphany
A realization that all my words are symbols
Of unspoken dreams of you.

Scary thing
About money
There's never enough
To buy what you
Want.

And
When there's enough
There's nothing
Worth buying

So why spend a life's
Time
For a million in dough
When in a night
You
Can have a million dreams

Let’s play dress up
You and Me
Wearing our masks
And pretending to be
A different person
Than whom we are
A fighter, a coward
Nothing’s too far
For us to mock
Just to keep the fools
All under lock

Stweeet
Stweeet
The insects drum
And fiddle
And strum
And sing
Their organic beat
Matching time with my heart
Thump
Thump
My heart's a bass
It plucks a simple beat
But it plays loud,
For you,
The soulful passion
Of my inner soul

It's Nature's love song
The primal rave
The ancient celebration
With the lights
Of the stars
And the coolness
Of the wind
And the...
Stweeet
Thump
Stweeet
Thump
Of the lonely
Bachelors
Calling out for you,
Their sacred love

Serenading you
With lover's lullaby
Stweeeet
Stweeet
Stweet
Sweet Dreams, Dear;
From your million courtiers
Playing in the dark,
Good Night

There could be a killer
Standing outside of
The door to your house.
As you and your husband
Sleep quite peacefully.

He could be watching
As you inhale slowly
And as your body falls
When you exhale a breath
That could be your last.

He could be standing
With a knife above you.
He could smile at the thought
Of your beating heart stopping
On the tip of his blade.

That could happen.
It is a fear that runs
Circle about your mind.
It is an outcome that
Could possibly take place
If the fates smiled at
You with sharpened fangs.

It’s doubtful
That it will though,
But you’re going to
Let it control your
Actions anyways.

You’re going to write a will
And see your family
And be with your friends.
And you will feel safe
And unafraid.

And then as you
Walk home from church
You will be mugged
And shot dead.
You fingers will
Already be cold
When the paramedics
Arrive.

All those friends
You reacquainted,
All those family
You helped out,
All your coworkers
You befriended,
Will show up
At your tragically
Beautiful funeral.

While you sip tea
In the beyond,
You will smile
And think
“Aren’t I lucky.
I was prepared
For what could happen
And that helped me
With the inevitable”

But you’ll forget
That the only
Reason
You went  to
The church
Was because
You were afraid
Of what could have,
Might have happened,
Making the could be
Into the did happen.

Frozen in the ice
I wish to speak to you
I long to touch you

You see the cold eyes
Of a man who’s been cursed
To losing his wants

And you turn to leave
Standing there, you take one glimpse
Of the frost demon

But quickly you exit
Shying away from icy touch
Too wise to stay here

My eyes follow you
Until they can see no more
The muse of my voice

Crushed and depressed,
Not able to make change to
The situation.

But time does remind
Of what fools humans can be
And one does think

Of all the mistakes
A man can make in his life is
To hold on too long

And maybe I can’t
Speak the words you want to hear
But maybe that’s good

You never did tell
Me what you did trully want
Nor will you ever

Maybe the lesson
Here is that I am the fool
From love’s avarice

In thinking wrongly
It was my fault you had left.
You do like the cold

A scuffed black mastiff entered stage left
Grumbling, growling, it pulled on its chain
It wretched and snarled, screaming for release
But it was beaten back by faceless master
It looked upon the watchers with eye of hell
Blood dripped from fresh made cuts and welts
There would be vengeance, the creature thought
As with hate, it looked toward the west

In stage right was a victim of a vicious world
A slave, a prisoner, beaten to the verge of death
A man once noble and just, forced into action
To protect all he had, he stole the bread
To prevent starvation, he fought authority
And now he was sentenced to humiliating decay
He would become the star of a roman play
That would be the last scene he’d perform

An order was given and the hound released
The dog was allowed to fill itself on the feast
Like death rising from below, the mastiff struck
Sinking razors into sweet warm muscled flesh
With back on the ground, the slave did not fight
And the mutt was confused by such a stance
Expecting a fight from his opponent, it waited
It waited with suspicion of the imminent strike

But the last flailing lashes would not fall
The transgressor would not fight one of his own
He saw in the beast, the same eyes as his son
And he understood the frustration of the beaten
The slave would not blame the simple dog
For his own faults, and the evils of the master
And the dog lessened the brutal assault it laid
Knowing that the one on the ground was friend
With dignity, they rose from the dirt together

The senators pondered as they looked on
The reason for the bond seemingly impossible
The lord infuriated ranted to his guards
Over such a refusal to die for the empire
The poor, the hungry, the oppressed rose
They fought back, chanting “We know why”
Why the man went to sleep with the dogs
He went to bed to be rid of the fleas

There is an artist,
A thoughtful painter.
He's called a master
By his followers.
Critcs say that he has
Made some of the most
Beautiful
Magnificent
Fantastic
Pieces in the world.

Now
He will do it again.

He stands before
A white canvas
Set on his lucky easel,
Rapping his brush
Lightly against his head.
As he studied the space,
The off white void
Challenging him to fill it.

For three days he sits
And three nights he lays
Staring at the white
Two foot by three foot
Blank rectangle
Until he decides
On what will be
His greatest
Masterpiece.

For three days
And thee nights,
He holds the bursh
As he paints a scene
Of grey people
On grey landscapes
Going about their
Grey business.
Doing what grey
People normally do.

On the last day,
He looks at his work,
A portrait of the truth
And inner workings
Of the whole word
On a single Canvas.

And he smiles contentedly.
Rarely does he compliment
His own artwork,
But believe
That his piece must
The finest to be made.

Yes

It was a pretty piece,
But it had smudges here
And blotches there.
Most unnoticible
To the less wary eye.
But I see them
And I mourn to think
That someone
Ruined the pefection
Of a white canvas.

Speeding down the road
In my shiny silver corvette.
The wind blasting my face,
Only open country highway
Coming my way.
So I fiddle with the ****
On my old radio
To find something worth playing.

Crackle
A man calls out,
Deperate in his attempts
To get the attention
Of the most beautiful girl
Who's with another man...
Next!

Pop
A woman sobs loudly
Over losing her true love,
Over being left alone.
She wants the deserter back
But at what cost...
Flip!

Pssshht
A couple find each other.
They are destined to be,
To have the beautiful wedding,
To raise the perfect family,
To live the American Dream...  
Turn off!

My god
They are everywhere  
No wonder my life's  
A love song

That must be why
I want to hold someone
In my arms
In my heart
In my mind
So, so badly,
I want to find someone
That fits me
That loves me
That's THE ONE
Of course
I want someone to call me
Boyfriend
Love  
Husband

It is plastered everywhere  
All these childhood fantasies
All this innocent thinking
All this wonderful imagining.  
And I devour it all  
Because I have no reason  
To believe it's impossibe
Even though it'll be hard.

You might think I'm  
Pathetic and foolish;
You might call me silly;
You can laugh away,
But my life is a love song
And I bet yours is too.
You just haven't thought about it.
It's probably best if you try not to.

So my life is a love song.
Is it something you'd listen to?

Dawn

The sun arises
Bringing the cleansing light to
Wash out the dark stain

Day

The clouds float up high
White blemishes in the sky
God's imperfections

Dusk

Sun sets, moon rises
Hiding away pale blue dome
Uniform of black

Night**

Chaos in the sky
The stars are shining this night
Disordered beauty

I can write haikus
Without the least bit trouble,
And with quite some skill.

Couplets are not too hard either for me
They are energetic and flow easy.

It’s not very difficult at all
To bring laughs big and small
With limericks clever
But the reader never
Sees past his mental wall.

Cause everyone wants to see free verse.
***** blank verse and sonnets;
They are much too ancient to give a **** about.

But personally,
I like to write patterns
And pictures,
And various forms galore.
I measure each stanza
With mathematical perfection
And streamlined beauty.
It was with ultimate mechanical accuracy
That I wrote my pieces,
But it seems no one cares to read
poems like that anymore.

So cut rhyme scheme
And syllable counting
And rhythm
And tempo
And iambic meter
And metaphor
And reason
And purpose
And stanzas
And lines
And words

Scratch it all out
Until even a hung-over
Shaking hand
Can write “poetry

Tryptophan, Turkey comas
On a stuffed stomach,
Chock full of dreams
Button bursting insight

So much food
So much family
So much joy
So much to be thankful for

Thankful
Not to be dead,
To be enjoying life
Here on Earth

Thankful
Not to be poor,
To be able afford
The comforts in life

Thankful
Not to be alone,
To have friends and family
Helping to guide me

Stuffed
Sprawled on the couch
Realizing how much I have
Realizing it could all be
Gone within a blink.
Thankfully, I’m here
Thankfully

I’m alright.

Is this what death is?
I do not move;
I do not stand;
I can not see;
Nor hear, nor taste.
There is only physical sensation.

There is no color,
Not even black or white;
Just space, but maybe not.
What vastness could there be,
In reality or fantasy?
So this place must not exist.

But what was that?
The bump upon my leg.
Could it be another life?
Or is it just simply a touch?
Is anything else alive here?
Can I prove that I am?

What if I am just
Another sensation in the sea ?
Brushing against other "feels”
What if I am just a wind,
A feeling upon a larger thing?
Just a random impulse on some plane.

Can I prove that I am?
What if I am not?
Does it matter at all?
Touch is all there is.
Should I ponder upon these?
Or should I just blend in?

1
Lovely Life.
Delightful Death.
Refreshing Rebirth.

#2
I am the vacuum
I am…
Am I the absences of something
Or the presence of nothing?

#3
*I was born to be a statue
So ivy could strangle my being
So roots could separate my parts
I feel creepers climbing my limbs
I feel vines tangling my form
But my automaton gears spin too fast
  to let me die.

I sought calm seas,
The seas I knew,
Where I was born,
Waters I understand.
I charted my course
And unfurled my sails
Just in time for the storm.
To spirit me away
Into the unknown

I though I was
Prepared, a good sailor
But when the skies
Turned dark and the
Waves grew tall,
I was not ready
For my mind to
Fall to pieces,
My spirit to collapse.

I gripped the wheel
Holding on tight
As lightning struck
The deck around me.
With one last wave
The height of the mast
I was tossed away,
Carried out to seas
Yet to be charted.

Floating, drowning
Churned around
By angry swells.
The water floods
My empty lungs
And feeling unexplored
Pains unexperienced
Filled my empty mind.
I shiver in the cold.

So slow
Always slow
Always behind
Traveling slug's pace
Against cheetah's sprint
Seeing the goal
Slowly fading in the distance

Racing
Running
Raging
Struggling to catch up
Never to catch up

The mouth
A lap behind
The brain

The brain
A thousand miles
Behind the world

The world is gone,
Is a spaceship
Traveling to the moon

I am a boy
Standing on Earth
With
My loves
My lives
My dreams
On a one way trip
To the stars

I guess I'll learn
To build a rocket.
I have plenty time
Stuck on this rock.

People rarely
ever see anything
Unless it JUMPS at them.
They have to be shocked and
Notified to what’s in front
Of their own faces
“Oh excuse me, sir or ma’am
But you’re looking at something good
Something worth reading.”

A poem is never really appreciated as much
As when it is printed and bound
And stamped with the publisher’s seal of approval
All the papers need to be water marked
And bound in red tape
Closed with red wax
Locked in an envelope
That reads
“Confidential, this is too great
To let others see for free.”

And even then, it’s not official
Until it is signed on the x,
And made on legal sized paper;
Sent to the Vatican, the governor, the reviewers,
And everyone important gets their say,
Or until it’s bound in leather
And locked away for the rest of eternity.
Filed along the other masters
Like Longfellow and Poe.
Locked in a poem’s heaven
Where “Jabberwocky” greets each one
To nirvana

Nothing is taken for granted
When it’s set in stone and
Is the final draft
Never to change again.

The snow flakes fall heavily;
Icing over the barnhouse roof,
Turning the fields to cream
And the haystacks to floating cakes.
The early ice cut the land deep.
The crops and cattle will die.
Leaving nothing but icy confections.
And the farmer will only have
One withering cherry tree

A gorgeous tree
With icicle leaves
And branches like fingers
Begging for warmth.
It has the beauty of standing
When all else has fallen.
But the staunch defender
Has seen life's torments.
It's seen summers pass
With the drying of land,
And autumns come and go
With the changing of clothes.

She had been as
Fair and pure
As the cherry tree.
An innocent youth,
Radiating inner joy.
A prize not worthy
For the noblest king.
Yet she loved him so,
Making there parting
Much more dark.

She withered away
One winter's eve
And with one last breath
She whispered "my love".
The farmer bore the task
And with his own hands
Laid her to her bed
And planted the cherry tree,
A grave mark, above her head.

Three weeks pass
And the snow still falls
The fire no longer burns
Old age keeps the farmer
A prisoner in his house
And being a deperate man,
He takes up his axe
And goes into the yard

In the following spring,
A young couple in love
Journeyed by the house
Where there eyes fell upon
The grace of a cherry tree.
And beneath that the tree
Was a farmer buried in a
Soft pink funeral shroud.
Too dignified to harm
The last remaining mark
Of his lover gone.

I work five days a week
I work nearly seven hours a day
When I’m not at work
I’m working out
I’m at practice 4 days a week
I’m in transit most of the time
I have something to do every day
I've even calculated
That in my busy life
I only have an average of two hours free
Each day

But what do I do in my free time?
Nothing
Zip, zero, nada
All those hopes and dreams
Become excuses
All those aspirations
Wear away
It all becomes too much
And then what do I become...
If I am not my work
Since I’m not valiant or noble
If I am not my workout
Since I don’t have endurance or heart
Then I must be my free time
Only wasted potential.

You know,
I had plans at one point.
I had a goal for my life,
A wonderfully simple life.
Happy in its perfection
Perfect in its normality.
You were part of it.
My closest friend,
My closest lover,
My closest rival.
But now I am nothing.

I am that dried up strawberry
Stuck to the cement
When the last patron goes home
Needing to be scraped up
By the hand of god
Or fate
Ordestiny
Or whoever is stuck with the job
On that unfortunate day

I am this way because
Of all the excuses I’ve said
All the people I’ve tried to be
All the lies I’ve tried to believe
But in the end
I am this way
Because I think
this is the way
I’m meant to be.

We weren’t all meant to be heroes
In fact
Few of us will make it to pedestrian
While the rest of us
Roll around the levels of evil
To general shoe ****

And you know,
I’m not happy with where I am
But I wasn’t happy as a poster child
Being hated by you
Is just easier than
Being liked

Broken symbols
Align on my walls,
Superstitious charms
Left out to ward evil,
Magic fortune cards
To warn of danger,
Prove useless to me
When depression comes.

No amount of luck,
Can save my skin.
No voodoo magics,
Can change my fate.
I throw salt over my shoulder
To keep foreign demons away.
I clutch my knot and eye
To keep my own monsters down.

They all are false,
These dark beliefs.
Or else, I’d sell my soul
For good things to be.
If I had not lost faith
In these childish things,
I’d pray to the gods
For better luck.

“Yes sir.” “No sir.”
“Another sir?”
The butler says
Waiting on those
Who are in power.
“Shoes off please”              
“May I take your coat?”
He is trampled upon.
Sitting in a corner,
Left to his own devices,
He cries.
No one asks the butler.
“How was your day?”
“Do you want anything?”
No one cares
About a doormat’s woes
But he cares
For theirs

After giving up on homework
I'm going to write a poem
About what I have done
And where I am
And what is my worth

Those are questions on my conscious
Right now, I don't have the time
This why I want to take
A mental photograph

I want to take a snapshot
Of the single moments
Where my mind is off
Leaving the feeling Melancholy
To sweep up.
A time where I sit and wonder
What my point is anymore.

Of the times when my Mind
Comes in from a late day
At work
And the traffic was bad
And there was no promotion
Nor bonus nor reward
For the extra work
He had put in this week.
So he plops himself on the sofa
And his on the couch
Drinking yet another can of beer

In the kitchen
His wife Conscious cries
As she puts away the candles
And stows away the meal.
A romantic meal is all she wants
Mind will not put in the work
This was not the man she loved
Not this burnt out corpse

I wonder why I keep going on
Why I keep pushing myself forward
There's nothing special about me
I'm just a normal mortal

When I look into the mirror
I see flesh and bone
And tired eyes
I see acne and scars
And razor cuts
I do not see a god,
A creature that's special.
Just a simple human
Not worth all the hype
Not worth a penny more
Than all his peers
Actually, probably
Worth a penny less

You who read this might think
Is he depressed
Sick
A whiney *****?
The answer is
At times to all

I'm merely just a
Tired
Burnt
Angsty
Teenager.
With the constant nagging thought
What have I done?
Where am I?
Am I worth all the compliments?
Am I worth all the insults?
Am I worth anything at all?
For even teens
Filled with angst
Can question themselves sometimes

So I'm filing this snapshot
Along with all my more coherent ones
Is this a good idea?
I hardly read the work.
Oh who ******* cares
This is more for me
Than for you

The dog howled with the gunshot. “Rabies,” he would later explain. When asked about his son.

Once there was a day
A simple, plain day
With a middle,
Beginning, and end
With a tea time
A lunch time
A dinner time too
The sky was cloudless blue
And there was a bubbly breeze
As only fits a simple day
As this day was

And enjoying this day was a boy
A normal, average boy
With a large smile
Ruffled hair, and ***** face
With two good hands
A strong jaw
Ten toes as well
The boy played happily
His imagination wandered free
As only fits an average boy
As this boy was

On this day, there was a rock
A dull, boring rock
With no real shape,
Color, or value
With a hard surface
A strong mass
And good aerodynamics
A rock that flew throught the air
And shatterd glass
As only fits a thrown rock
As this rock was

This day, there was a plague
A horrendous, devastating plague
With a death toll
Of six billion
With no cure
No treatment
No vaccine
Stored safely in a vile
Until it was let free
As only fits a bioweapon
As this plague was.