The sausages looked so serene
sandwiched between
two slices of bread,
I led them to the breakfast plate
said grace and ate
heartily,

if there's a sausage heaven
I hope that they'll forgive me.

is it important to rhyme?
do the cool kids care?
will they give me the time
if the 4th line ends in a different sound than line B?


the nature of poetry's changed
we've given up the rules
we allow a greater range
of thoughts and rhythms and forms and types and schemes and what not


you can even follow tradition
writing old-school poems
but make it special edition
by ******* with people's minds and changing one little structural thing mwahaha


will this trend stick?
can i name this new style?
or should i just pick
whatever words come to mind to wrap up this so-called-poem
and make people wonder what the hell they just read?

I was at ease
by the sea shore
wind kissing my skin
sand on my feet
when a sudden flash
of waves came
one,
I lost my breath
two,
the wind hath stopped
three,
all sands in freeze
four,
I only see him
five,
five stupid butterflies
came
and bothered
my own
peaceful
paradise

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

i don't know if it's just me,
but there is a comfort in sadness.
like the embrace of an old friend
it feels, like home.

He loves me, he loves me not
We're meant to be, or so I thought
My heart is broken, the pain is real
I long for peace, from all I feel

I fake a smile, so no one knows
I mimic strength, lest weakness shows
I refuse surrender, I stand and fight
I must succeed, and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart, and I can breathe again

Minutes into hours, hours into days
The love I held so tightly, starts to fade away
The pain begins to lessen, the tears no longer fall
Seemed misery was forever but it's not that way at all

Those nights you haunt my dreams
Are now few and far between
When memories overtake me, I know I'll be alright
I know now what to do....and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart and I can breathe again
Yes, I can breathe again.

I lay in the center of a meadow,
My eyes trail the drifting clouds above,
tracing their paths and drawing sketches on the blue canvas.

Towering evergreen trees surround the meadow,
their leaves creating a ornamental border,
A frame for the flowing sky.

The clouds drift past, into and out of the frame,
a slow parade of shapes
shifting and changing, coming and passing.

This slide show of white swirls dances for me,
in drawn out motions like molasses ebbing from a tree.
They envelope my sight, roots spread from the
back of my head into the meadow floor,
connecting and expanding,
melding me to the ground.

I lay for hours, the clouds morphing to the clear
nights sky, bathing me in moonlight.
Shining stars vibrate, shake in their molds,
and I listen closely to their hushed advice.