love's leaves leave lovers, leaving limp, languid, limbs. Loathed. Lonely

Mixing my own tears with the sky's, we weep together

her: hi!
Me:
her: hello?
lightning can definitely strike twice

I've been stuttering sentences since this synthesis of our senses

summer is gone but I get starburned by your eyes

Why's it so hard to write a ten word poem?

all of god's angels couldn't put me back together again

Does the true artist run out of paint before pain?

Dancing on the stage bathed in ultra violet
is a dripping young honey making me ultra-violent.
My three stooges become scrooges using ***** useless excuses
to not be Zeus's and noose the spruce for their collusive abuses.
I leave the troupe, loop back, snoop, try to ******
induce some juice, a little loose chartreuse

The girl looks down from the platform, eyes vacant and hollow
Ten years of this storm full of snake-pits and sorrow
No glow but the glint of a nose speckled with snow
Her heartbeat allegro slows, lower tempo - adagio

For she's hooked to the pole by an IV of ******* and circumstance
I regret holding the cash and stealing her glance.
It falls from my hand, not that thats exculpatory
and when I next catch her eyes, it's merely to say, 'sorry'

Is this poetic
or is this just poetry
have I found a new community
or am I still lonely

should I write one more
find someone to follow
attract another heart
to keep feeding my ego

it's hungry so hungry
fiending for a feeding
and I'm needing and pleading
that you just keep on reading

When I was a kid I didn't know my right from left
so I always woke up on the right side of the bed.
But my innocence soon left and was replaced by pain
and all I want is to be all right once again

If I had one more mouth
I could say twice as many silly things

another foot
I'd just put in my mouth
mouths

another leg
and all I'd do is run
another month
I'd not use this one

another year
would mean more tears
but how bad to cry
with a third eye

wined and dined till i wound up dead
drowned and cold, alone in bed
i hid in bottles and bottled smiles
i fought to forget and wasted my whiles

it took a year but i woke up
swapped the pint for the coffee cup
There's certainly less ache
in this life i will not forsake
but the smile is still fake

He said grown men don't weep
but I did last week
last night as I lay on my bed in a heap
bar height - i've lived a life on the sweet
(bar -marmite a little bitter on the teeth
(bar -barfights i guess I thrive on the street
baabaa type if I'm a meat I'm a sheep
ha ha at light but only weep in my sleep
far far right from when I started this speech
au revoir mon amie this be the end of my suite

three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks

Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold

hello HP
today what may be
in store for me
oh - death. i see
heartbreak it seems
darkness it breeds
lines breaking at the seams
and not one single beam
hashtag love broken | hashtag lonely
backlashed love tokens | backstab poetry
walk through this fire
we're blanketing the embers
but leave your ex in the mire
and be welcomed by the members

I was too late.
She'd already been kissed by the sun.

A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened

it is not new news that dreams do come true
only when the moon is as blue as the skies clear hue

but, i think, this month; maybe it is due

******* powdering our guns
white powder powdering our gums

this is the new world

me?
it was bukowski
who helped me tear through life loudly
who helped my mind settle soundly
profoundly through his profundity
and, quietly, in his subtlety,
i found me

The great turbines now rusted
I wonder if I can still cry
the heavens make it look so easy
when tears fall from the sky

the wet rags of emotion can no longer be wrung
the sobs to the beat of a tearful drip have been sung
those sonnets have been passed to another's lungs
another's tongue
are tears what it means to be young

just a ****** busker wishing he was a **** buster
he swam lack-lustre,
a salmon unable to muster
the will to cut the custard,
and flutter upstream to meet a lover

stuck in the gutter singing covers
a crushed sucker, tasteless kfc crusher
ominous as a dawn-less dusk and
useless as a ham sandwich with no mustard

The well of my soul might be full
but the cogs by which I once drew forth water rusted long ago
I  twist, contort,
strain and force
but the rivers ran their course
and as much as I ***** my eye
I can never cry

If you have all the egoism of a child and none of the innocence
try bringing your body back from the wild and pen it behind a fence
Instead, pen the page with your ink
-its your new sweat and blood-
Don't stop to think
let it come out in a flood
and throw in the kitchen sink
trust me. This growing bud can't get enough drink
once your words have been spoken
you may feel empty and broken,
your soul ****** up the plant's phloem
and that is when you have written a poem

and at the end of time
the meek will inherit the earth
and all its worth
which will be nothing

i'd prayed for the Holy Ghost more times than most
engrossed in the idea religion was some signpost

...waiting for Mary's face on my own toast

i lost all hope when I saw the demon host
rising hellish from their infernal roast
i just wish someone had, to me, disclosed
that there's no such thing as ghosts

Death sits atop his hill,
giving his lips a lick
looking for someone to ****
regretting forgetting his chapstick

Snatching ghosts of the nights from the mouths of men,
I am the watcher on the walls.

Holding your hand through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil.

From hellish waste to emerald isle
From sad to smile, I'm worth your while,

The wind sails over the waters surface,
quietly,
but surely.

one for each time I never said I loved you

we met up for a coffee
and we both got extra hot
but it was her eyes of gold
that would shimmer and scald
at that little midtown shop

three years and a day went past
where we almost tied the knot
and I stayed enthralled
'til I got a call
saying lets meet at our usual spot

and she didn't sip the coffee
as it went from hot to cold
like here eyes that glazed
on an autumn day
while they lost their flecks of gold

we're here and we're reading
you lost souls, you bleeding
the poets collective dead poets connected
with a near perfected objective
of hearing your prayers when no one else will
while dissecting the layers in your soul or your quill
we're here and we're reading
please keep writing i'm pleading
for whether I'm screaming or weeping
believe that you're the reason I'm breathing

deep-set moon-crater eyes
lips as red as the dust on mars
all i asked was for a little space
but she gave me all its stars

We begin to fall asleep
well before we run out of words
as I hold her in my arms
or am i held in hers?

she was not a predictable kind of girl
not on the elliptical after work, kind of churlish,
living in a simple world type of girl

her hair cyclical in raphael kind of curls
and her biblical storm swirled whirlwind eyes unfurl
in the rain
like a pirouette
like a rose
like rolling thunder

the door was barely opened before
I caught her like a 2am yawn (once seen unstoppable)
she caught my smile but expressed it better than I ever could
and like I would for the queen I quickly stood
she must have seen my eyes through the hazy night
and she moved closer like poetry I cannot write

ok I can't help myself
she walked like an 'um' itself
an um for the wordless times
when something more important is on your mind
when you're asked for the truth but are filled with lies
when in pause, time it buys

gliding like a miyazaki dragon spiriting me away
anywhere but here, the now, the day
struck dumb
the response to her hello?
- 'um'

I've been running around
a notebook on my hip
and the sun in my eyes
and your words on my lips

i've been falling asleep
with your smell on my mind
and the faintest memory
of our fingers entwined

but I've been waking up
with a pillow by my side
and you leaving with my dreams
on the outgoing tide

I'm sleeping in the lounge
because I can't sleep in my bed
because you're stained in my sheets
and a stain in my head

I've deleted all my music
and I've started anew
four thousand songs down the drain
that you listened to, too

yet I can't wipe away
all the footprints you left
down the memory lanes
in my head and my chest

you're not my pen
you're my paper
you're not my heart
you'll be its breaker

i'm not sorry for drawing
i'm sorry for scrawling
i'm not sorry for calling
but i'm sorry for falling

I put my hand on my heart
and promised my love
because my pockets were full

and I realised
everything I missed
like feeling her lips curl
into a smile or a kiss

I look into her eyes
while she stares into the abyss
her fingers uncurl just a little bit
and we fall asleep like this

I knew a glassy eyed doll
a classy glass idol
red to excess; red lipstick
and red back-less dresses for the spine-less chick
well re(a)d in chiq cosmo - check
but purple(xed) by the cosmos
rotting, like her kombucha and compost

like ball to glove
like light to match
like fish to hook
shes a catch

her smile a gentle splashing
just like that streetlamp on her door
and her voice a comforting lapping
like a wave upon the shore

but like the moon that can't keep waxing
for a night that's craving more
she left; her green eyes flashing
like a distant meteor

effortlessly wearing a cigarrette on her lips
head tilted high with one hand on her hips
a dizzyingly incandescent, nicotine laugh
i think i'd die for her
write that on my epitaph

she                     like           poem
          walked                a

life might lead on like a patterned string
in avalanches of winters and spatters of spring
but I still don't know why the blackbird sings

She swoops and jives on sinatra's swing
but her eyebags halo like saturn's rings
and she patters around on tattered wings
purposefully hunting for the wasps sting
but why the blacker the bird the sweeter the sing

and its like through all that clattering
she can't hear she matters more than every thing