Gravedigger, gravedigger,
Why do you spend you evenings,
Dredging in the yard?

Gravedigger, gravedigger,
Does this break your heart,
That nobody else wanted to do the ***** work,
So they left you to shovel through the mud?

Bonjour Gray Man,
What is on the menu for breakfast today?
A black coffee and a plate of blueberry jam,
On plain white bread.
A blueberry, for the blue in you,
Coffee and bread, because you find it tasty.
Gray Man of Paris,
What's here that you fancy?
What led you to leave to shaded land,
Of pencil-paper men?
Was it a secret love of bright colors,
That you look so dreary against?
Well salut Gray Man,
Enjoy breakfast in the colored land.

This walls all talk,
These halls tell stories,
But they aren't legends yet,
They can't be, she isn't gone.

These walls talk too much!
These halls tell lies!
I hate all these pictures,
Memories stolen away from me!

These walls talk,
These halls are story tellers,
If I listen for long enough,
Will they bring her back?

These walls talk dispairingly,
These halls tell somber stories,
I passed another man walking,
Is he a loner such as I?

These walls talk of her loveliness,
These halls tell her story,
I listen to their songs,
And bathe in her memory.

I'm in the ocean,
I'm in the land.
For I reside in the feeble mind of man,
And all it takes for me to spread,
Is the fingers curling in a man's hand.
Who am I?

Sometimes poems are rough,
When you're writing when life is tough.
Often just writing isn't enough,
You have to take your feelings, make them feel pretty.
Even though most of what I'm feeling,
Is pretty gritty.
Fitting.
Someday people are gonna have to wake up,
And realize,
****'s tough, life is rough, it's already bad and I just woke up. ****.

I think I'm growing up,
I don't need the same things a child does,

But I need love,
I need your love.

You give me air to breathe,
Warm arms to melt into,

You give me a reason to be,
Let's keep being.

A little boy plays by the river,
Slips on wet rock by the stream,
He scrapes his knee.

He cries from the pain,
But his buddies laugh it away.
And he becomes a man,
Because grow men don't cry, right?

Scrapbook Poem #140

Run river, run wide,
Don't let them **** you, be free,
Run river, run long.

Sleep with the lights off,
Warm under sheets.
Wake to the morning sun,
And the promise of you and me.
New year's day,
New year's eve.
Can't keep away from the new year,
And the new you, the new me.
Piano, sparkling anything,
Diamond ear rings.
There is no where I'd rather be,
Than holding you.
Be the last memory of this year,
And the first of the next?

February 14th 2025,
The yearly anniversary of he who failed to fall,
To the crushing hand of prosecution.
The day, a symbol of love,
Congratulations Mr. Douglass,
That's what we got.
Happy birthday to a spirit of liberty,
And cheers to equal freedoms.

Heartbreak is an ugly thing,
A ripped up feeling of pain.
In true heartbreak,
There is no beauty,
So if you find some it was but simple distaste.
Heartbreak is a burning fire,
A bullet hole in the chest of your love,
Left by your lover, with blood on their glove.

I just wanted you to know,
You're not alone,
And I couldn't say it to your face,
Because I was scared.

You're not the first person out of you and me,
To try and dive (die),
And make it to a better side.

Hello Poets,

I've noticed the 300 poet poem gaining some traction again,
And with all the new writers joining recently,
It shouldn't be hard to make stick.

But there'll still need be more,
When everyone on here has joined,
So I ask of you one thing,
Bring out all your artists wherever they may hide,
And lets make dream reality.

Her skin is wrapped in Henna,
Beautiful brown ink,
Sketches cover her thighs.

Little golden vines wrap around her fingers,
Intertwined with the bare white of mine,
She's a work of art, such a beautiful painting,
I trace each line of the brush.

The truth is,
There's no elite thinker's society,
We're all elite in our own respect.
We evolved from bent over forms,
Working for raw survival.
But as we grew, some of us split away,
Faded from simple survival,
Growing a taste for art.
So were born the sculptors,
The painters, and the poets.
Clever as they were,
The old artists.
They formed a secret society,
For elite thinkers to survive.

Can you hold my hand so I don't fall?
Even though happiness pays me,
Like she owes me debt,
Sadness still comes a'knocking,
Looking for little bills and floor pennies.
Because I didn't put money,
In his street jam cup.
Though he'd just buy bottles of melancholy with it.

Billy Joel and Family Guy,
I'm an American walking by.
My button shirts are pressed,
Lined up in a row.
What a good place,
This home I know.

I like to say,
I'm an esteemed poet,
A vibrant fan of literature.
I'm an avid writer,
I recite some too.
But the first time I heard "The Raven,"
Was on the Simpsons.

They tell one lie,
They speak one truth.
'It's easy to heal,
But you'll remember all your scars.'

The latter of the two, a truth.
Though that which precedes,
Lies through it's teeth.
Fangs of darkness and deceit,
Designed to forge a man with a black heart.
If not for the comfort of the summer sea,
I too would've succumbed to the gray of this city.
Morphed from a young and happy form,
To a soulless monster,
'****-Malum.'

Don't visit the troll's cave,
And expect the troll to have changed.

Keep in mind you're lucky,
That I let you lie and rot,
And didn't just slay you on the spot.

You like thought puzzles?
Well consider this,

A boy and a girl
Board a train
Desperate to escape the rain
And bump into each other
Due to one hour of travel
Because of one hour of time
A man and a woman walk out

How do I beat writers block?
How do I scale a wall,
Google won't give me answers at all.

How do I fix a broken star?
How do I mend a shattered dream,
Is the answer hidden in the stream?

Art is born in a poets hand,
Though, like the fragile flower it is,
Art always crumbles to dust.

It drags the poet with it too,
For deep in their heart it grows its roots.
So when it fades, wrapping tight around their sickly heart,
The beating stops and they drop.

People ask how scientists know it’s truly fall,
And people tell them about the Fall equinox.
That we know it’s Fall when the sun dips below the horizon,
On both halves of the globe.
That the coming of fall is when the people in the southern side of the earth,
Have spring.

That is how science knows it’s fall,
But how do we know the date, the hour?
I could tell you when fall is here,
But it won't be down to the minute.
I know fall has come when the winds turn cold,
And the leaves of the oak trees are bleeding.
When the streets are empty of the children playing,
When I sit on a fallen birch log on the beach,
Staring at the water, but I’m shivering in a flannel,
And the water is frozen over.
When i come home and the tea kettle is going,
But all the summer lemon tea is put away.
Little changes in these things, they will lead me astray.

The coming of fall.

That’s how I know the fall is coming,
Not by watching the hours of my days.
Not based on when the sun rises in Iran,
But by the feel of the winds,
But by the blood of the leaves.
And by the tears that have fallen,
On these empty streets.

The Fall Of Twenty-Twenty Four.

I'll show you how the world burns,

It comes in simply steps,

An effigy,
An idea to hold on to,
A sacred symbol,

A **** good convincer.

I am a dead tree,
Hallowed branches waving in solemnity.
Wind whispering through my skeleton,
They tell lies to the young sprouts of the forests.
Convince them that not only is life a foolish game,
It's a foolish game they're losing.
An old soul, I stood tall watching poets come,
Then I began to wilt as I watched poets go.
The eyes that once admired my growth,
Turned to fingerprints and memory.
My bark is riddled with stories,
All the lovers that made a promise on my skin,
Leaving the now grim scars of foreshadowing.
I am a dead tree,
Hallowed branches waving in solemnity.

I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.
I am born of the trees and stars, of cold winds and breezy nights.
I am a son of the red sand hills, and the lost letters to neverland.
I am the making of love and pain, of lost will and false strength.
I am the lord of memories of longing and heartbreak.

I am born of an island of stone, and seas of stories.
I am a child of hatred and spite.
I am King of a long-lost land.
I am the farmer of an ancient plant.
I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.

There's no promise of love,
I was lucky to find it.
Nothing says there will be someone there,
For you to hold or be held by,
When the storm rolls in.
A very few get to know,
Just how it feels,
To embrace your lover.
Carefully placing your hand on their face,
Love isn't promised,
Possibly it may never come,
So I am lucky to have it now.

I am no fool,
Not a person to by played with,
You cannot trick me,
Expecting to get away with it.

But if you dare to do,
I will dare to challenge you,
I prefer a battle of wits,
To see which of us wins the day.

You're scared of the dark,
Don't worry, I am too.
But you can have my nightlight,
If you can sleep sound with it.

The world eludes you,
You wonder why it carries you with a crooked hand.
And you wish it would just put you down,
But if you want to know the sky,
I can lift you up straight and strong.

You're terrified of yourself,
Each night darker and darker.
But I'll hold you tight,
And make sure you don't slip down.
Because if you lay in the ground,
You'll never see the stars.

I can't believe I'm missing you,
After all the things you put me through.
Sleepless nights making sure you were alright,
Dreary days ensuring you were eating okay.
You never wanted to be seen in public,
So we never went on dates.
All the ways you would curse yourself,
All the compliments you gave me, that felt like insults in disguise.
When I got in trouble for the times I'd meet up with you 9th period,
And I had to talk to that counselor that I didn't like.
The way his office was so blank,
It made me uncomfortable.
The days I had to walk by the street,
Because you liked drifting too close the speeding cars.
After all the things you put me through,
I can't believe I'm missing you.

I like music?
Writing is good too.
But music is the best,
I like listening to the records,
As they spin.
Art is nice too,
I like to paint.

My sweet treat of choice,
Was a nice ice coffee.

But now nothing compares,
To the Cup o' Joe shade of your hair,
And the sugary taste of your lipstick.

It doesn't matter what I say,
You won't read it anyways.
But you don't hurt me,
You make me happy.
What makes me unhappy isn't you,
It's when you push me away,
Please stop icing me out.

I

Fear

                       You are mistaken for that's not truthful at all

I

Fear

                       I don't like you like you think

I

Fear

                      I instead love you right up to the moon

If I didn't write,
I would be doomed.
I'm still fueled by that scared youth,
That child powerless.

But now I have my voice,
I will never be powerless again.

If I ever disappear,
Don't go looking,
I will be long gone,
Far away with the winds.

But if you wish to hear me,
Lend an ear to the early breezes,
You will hear me voice,
Calling out, softly singing.

If it’s not love it’s poison,
If it’s not good, then it’s evil.
If you’re not warm, you’re freezing.
And if you leave you’re cruel,
And if you stay clinging on for too long, you are nothing.
So, if it’s not love, it’s poison,
And if you’re not surrounded you’re alone,
And if you're not full you're starved.
If you break you’re nothing,
You’re alone,
So if it’s not love, then it is poison.

Oh darling,
I'm not at home,
If I'm not with you.
You're my polished floors,
My grand oak door.
The sweet luxury of my bed,
At the end of a long day of longing.
Warmth of my fireplace,
In the evening when not a worldly soul wakes.
When it comes to love,
I'm real picky,
I won't have it if it's not you.

Every splash of ink,
Every drag of this pen.

Is another gift in the face of common man,
An honor that is art to the human soul.

For if not for this music,
Spirits would grow old, crumbling in the cold.

If not for the Holy Land,
The Germans and the French in battle,
Would have failed to be met.

If not for that and the WW1,
My ancestors would've never been met,
If not for that, I would never be born for peace.

It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?

If she is not beautiful,
Nothing is,

If her eyes are not deep,
Than the ocean is a puddle,

If her kiss is not a blessing,
There is no magic in anything else,

If her taste is no wine,
Than no drug will entrance me.

If the stars stopped shining,
The night would be like the deep sea.
Dark and cold.

If the stars stopped shining,
The light from the sailor’s lanterns,
Would reflect off the sea,
Like sunset on the Antarctic ice.

And the shipmen and their saxtons,
Could not find their way back home.
And there would be a little boy in the window,
Every night.

Waiting for his father to return.
There would be a woman at the widow’s peak.
Waiting for her husband to come home.

If the stars stopped shining,
Would lovers still love each other?
Because if the stars stopped shining, I don’t know if I would still see you.
In that certain way I’ve grown to love.

If the planet woke up,
And we had all disappeared,
Would it mourn our memory?

It depends on the way we go,
Somebody snapping their fingers, we fade away,
Or a blinding ball of light as nuclear weapons implode.

If God revoked our presence today,
What would happen with all the factories,
There's a chance they run until Earth runs out of fuel.

It seems that if that happened,
Then all these countries would sink into the sea,
With our glory and memory.

If we swear on sunshine,
And the silver of the moon.
We can be wed in this very room,
I will claim you as mine,
We will be as one divine.
If you swear to me and I swear to you,
We can await the alter soon.

Ignore the sunset,
Don't focus on the end of things,
The sun will set, yet,
You will fade well before,
If you worry and fret.