The cloud breaks a little with a soft thud
A shower is anticipated, but the sun shines though
An effervescence flows through the river
As every bead of rain stirs the mammoth

A ice sheet piled on another melds into one
The vapors of meet the wide ether
Now the sun has turned crimson
A blizzard forms the weather

A touch of sun, a hope of a flower
Is enough to change everything
From a wintry, desolate stretch
To a island with hot, temperate hedges

Music is the soul
You can hear it in the rubber sneakers
The fogginess of this song
Finished by the word of you

Why do you think you're funny
When you're being stupid
And childishness is genius and so is a recovery of will

Hey there
You there
Standing with the director
In his chair
Talking about the right actor
Slick back your blonde hair
While you’re mouthing to him

Talking about the movies
Sends you into a hitch
Time to talk about that *****
Who is up next
You know you’re not in the right situation
It’s time for the nation
Let’s go again
For the new generation

Looking at the congressmen
With badges pinned across their *******
And a politically-correct three-piece suit
With their largess
Drenched in sweat
Driving the rally into the unknown folly
To fear the unknown people of foreign cities

More than just a sign
It’s all in our precious time
The high-rollers
In their representative fashions
Taking over the world
And committing all the crimes
But that is just all they do
Let’s be moving on too

What about the generals, brigadiers and captains and colonels
With their epaulettes and patriotic decorations
Conspiring against the nation
Like chameleons
Thanks to their post
With ideas
Those are insidiously of corruption
As they stand host
To nations feasting on war
And diplomacy at the most

Political amusement isn’t it
The dichotomy of having aliens
Deported
And these braver politicos star in their expensive overcoats
See themselves getting promoted

It’s rather fun
When the bourgeoisie
With their Large brim hats
To protect them from the sun
Cash in
More money and hate
More than religious faith
Innocents supposedly drowned in sin
Don’t know when good will begin

With the Catholic Church
Being a prison of beliefs
Since the inception of time
Changing political opinion as we speak
Which brought forth with it unnatural urge
Hilarious isn’t it when politics starts to stink
When the crowds go berserk as they scream
For more religious retaliation and a lost dream

Fun isn’t it
For the vengeance seeking righteous prisons
Who wish their prisoners burn in the crimes
That they spin
Before they can live out of those times
And their whims

But who is to blame
The heart isn’t tame
Is it God
Who has made it rough
For the virtuous inferno of actions
That has been extinguished by the holy water of circumstance and disdain

Isn’t it easy to blame our surroundings
Rather than our actions and our fate

The stars are dancing yet time is still
Different moments have changed us
As the gust
Gathers us in a swirl

You opened your soul and I could see
Shattered remains of what was once a heart
As the clouds break
Do you still feel the rain pouring?

When hope stirs your soul
Keeping writing the words
In that turbulence
That makes your acquaintances
Bearable
And your friends
Closer, cuddling next you
And the best friends
Sit next to you and
Talk about you
Memories
Slip under the skin
Like musical sheets full of
Musical scales
With a key
You can play the melody

Looking into the *** of literature
Eratosthenes, and getting some midnight wrong
Broken poems, killjoy, I'm in a mellow dram with my bearhugs
In the chugging lurid frescoes of the mind of a gregarious soul with lion's eyes and a wolf's soul, the warmth lit the Savannah
Seems like cold ice, thawed in the nasty weather, left with positivity
Emerson's rude bridge, on the point, on the road, *** or a livid ultimate cunning guy being the ******, kicking the dirt with the incomplete poetic lines, where souls find lost dreams on the end of passion steps, lost Conrad
Do they murmur as a poem which is one, unbeing and being
The poem reminds of a haiku
She once told you
Tea was taken black
Sweet and right, is white on the top
A soul in the heart of darkness find an accident in the heart of weakness of others, my lungs are paper trite on the road around this town
Bless the soul, it knows peace after we're long gone on the dry dirt, kicking up the darkness in dreaming of you
Fear in a handful of stardust in an ashen raging madman
If you could those poets in that lost poem

If you could read between the lines and keep the metaphors alive
Dying and slipping, sliding away away
Concordant lives of the passion of the Christmas, he lives with his Hagrid-like father
Strolling the empty nights, with the Christ in the amazing hodger,  roger in the soul love, and they share the same books
That's why they share different characters, and lines

There is a place in my heart
It is where the ocean is still
For a second of love
There's an everlasting fire

Of desire and knowledge
Wanting more, you set my mind aflame
Laying waste to my restraint
Dousing my defenses in pain

You changed me in a million ways
Moments at your feet felt rare
I wish I could care for your presence
Your smile encapsulates your essence

After you left, I'd hold on to our confidences
And sing a song
Hum your words, lose track, and move on
I was lost in the wilderness

You left behind a kinder person
And forgot to take the piece you left
A place in my heart
Never forgets

A forest full of tears
Cries in the morning
Goes to sleep at night
As we tear its bark
After dark

The way you cry
O’er the leaking roof
Under the stars, holding water

Is it better to love or to die
To be free or drown in the light
I am okay with being kind

Time slips and we get ******
And the sand slips away
From underneath my broken legs

I know the waters take me
My love will grow old
And no one will notice my emaciated body

The sun will set on me
And I will finally be hungry for living
I have dissolved into the sea

I've never done this before
However, I find myself writing
More and more
About flowers
Flowers that I never adored
Maybe because I'm not a kid anymore
Because I've been in love before

Teenage years
Red ears
Cause of the scolding
He hears
Down in tears
Drowning
Ignorant of his fears
Blissfully illiterate
Among his peers

The night sounds so sleepy peacefully
The standing giant houses mortgaged out, never run out of the romance
We can our ashes in tin-cans, selling them by the pound like tomb-raiders smoking trees
Who chained themselves to bright systems with the brilliance of the first of it's kind
Shadowed blind by the last time, you knocked me out
Do not lose yourself tonight, to the meditated lintels stretched across the stealing vermillion across the dull haze
Waking up to benzedrine, Brooklyn Bridge lies like an etherized patient slightly bleak and bare-naked Brooklyn rose
Forlorn rags in our mouths, dripping needles on arms dripping with blood and sweat
The forked night, fortnight light, studied the looks of people in the sunlight often reminiscent of flickering
Lightning reflected off the midnight hour striking the blind spool
Blind spoon turning the hydrogen jukebox, little by little striking the records joyously
The night sleeps so peacefully like a heroine bombing ballast hue strewn around the kids
Water floods the streets, steely-eyed hypnotizing hypersexual freely eddying around, criminal derelicts born to the greed
Afflicted by the ****, looking for a quicker fix than bar-brawls and cheap drinks
The last piece of adumbrated furniture meditating on the crowded streets, hypnotized by the summer madness
Or the pursuit of a higher road that used to move over us unlike the blindness that was once so welcoming
He said, he would leave us some clothes
He said he will be with us at the end of the road, holding our battered suitcases
He said he will be with us till the end of time as long as it takes
As long it takes?
Immortal or mortal
Hedonistic or purloined
Hero or heroine
We all must die in the end with our virtues and sins
Tell me a story of how you saved us from our sober souls
Praying with fierce tears unless the answer is crystal clear
I can handle the truth if you tell it to me like it is told
Instead of wailing at the end of the road, waiting for our redemption
Understanding us, then why are selling salvation to us in strains of marijuana smoke, oh how wonderful
Bless your knowledge God, aren't we growing with the deaths
Like we growing each day, and I say I speak into the soul like it never knew a mother or a home

Writing poetry, I feel at home pensive again
He writes to me through vultures, scavenging for reading material
He claims piousness to console my will and rest my soul with his wishes

Hey Hey Hey
Yip Yip Yoo
True and dare
To go through the place in the zoomed outland
The mumble is bad I can tell
Someone wants to write cheap music
I can tell
There is ****** in the air
And flippancy will end my misery very soon.

Floating on the water
Fleeting sense of balance
Fleeing life
To bring peace to my life

When I see streets of life
In the streetlights of strife
It cuts me like a knife
To see I've much more to go
Than to grow
Realizing life works in the opposite way
At end
I find myself
Growing more
Than the work done behind
In many ways
The modern lanterns
Amidst motel lintels
Seem rather mellow
At first glance
My lady seems ravishing
But the smell of her...
I'll put my life's work
Into a concordant
The frets raise the pitch
Somehow I'm fretting
With my doubts
In life's pitch

Like a cracking piece of terracotta sculpted by fingertips
Her wrinkled hands were woven with his spirit

Instagram sculptor by day
Poetess by night

An activist
Shapeless, without fault, clothed in independence

Never accepted by they/their parents

Tea time snacks
And biscuits
Taken black and sweet

It is often said
That living is the rarest thing
Some people merely exist
I can promise myself this
That the rivers will flow
And the trees will bring wood
Fish don't have feelings
But, innocence fades
That is what clears my conscience
The iota of ephemeral contrast
I can sustain a worthy purpose
Which may have a fleeting foundation
One of immense virtue
That a plebeian approach cannot understand
If I take the crooked path
I can walk among my peers
Who have been waiting
For me
To live free as well
But stand strong I must
As I gaze into an abyss
Without purpose
Undoubtedly determined
I can do something, methinks
Instead of doubting my own perception
Yet, I cannot predict
When the diurnal birds will go in abmigration
I simply forget
Some skip south much of autumn
I cannot remember
When will the solitary tree lie bare
The weather behaves like an intelligent child
No one knows where the wind goes
If you ask why, you question your wisdom
Only you and yourself
Can find the purpose
For the phenomena within
That tells you to move on forward
Contrary to popular wisdom
Until the final beat of an unseen presence
Ushers you into its arms
And like an abyss staring back at you
Tells you there is no rainbow down there
To confirm your fears
Or affirm your immense virtue
Your glory fades
When death holds you closer

Meanwhile,
The skies are awake
My thoughts are asleep
They predicted a rainy day
The clouds seem too pale and white
To leak
Looks like it is gonna be sunny
Really sunny
But if i were to judge the weather
I might start by waking up a little earlier
The earlier the better
Because I have a ominous feeling that I missed the rain
I guess I'll have to check the streets
And look at the windowpanes

The craters
Of moons
Hope
There is a hole
For me to look
On the other side
Of the sun
The place
Among
The stars
The blue
Place
Among yellow
And orange
The myriad of colours
The colours
Kepler's law
Seems to follow
The randomness
The blue fire
Keeps the stars
And light years
In the colorful distance
Of green of purple
Haze of tempests
Of gases and clouds
Nebulous Nebulae

Conversations over the smallest things
Thoughts of each other
Nights of talking
I still can't tell the truth

Morning skies rush to the north
The rainy cloud stations over south
Nature doesn't know which way to go
So do you

There is no dawn, no new beginning
No stretch of imagination
That brought us together
No way forward

Two strangers under the umbrella of the sky
Running from the rain
There's no real truth
Only comforting lies

Miscommunication is a bigger
Cause for broken friendships
Than malice

The moon is beautiful and the skies are glimmering sadly
The stars are scintillating and our eyes are blinded by them
We don't see the sickness of obsession
Only the goodness of perseverance persists
The oceans are clearing view, clearing the foggy sight, for the ships
The mermaids have stopped breathing out the mist
Our love is no longer felt in sighs but in letters and trinkets

There is a word or two
A cartographer if we go in one piece
There's prose and it's about to get long
It can get opaque and you see the scenery
THere's no place to change who are you and if you left him
Did you break your heart or your leg
If he got you in the midriff is this the best you should expect
Men can be nasty teasers
Fighting for you
The stance on the women and the experience of how paintings still feel.
Thespians are taking over is the feeling of millennial pie in the old English millennial idiom
There's a nasty stranger reading a novel far away
There's a chance that the place you're at is a violent storm
There's a right you have kept
It's the rendition of a short story of Jack Kerouac
Beats me how the place hasn't changed with such green spin on everything
Breathless by the imaginations of long prose, captivate them by the lines
Present a story and bring them to the end of a very poetic journey and protect that it's that last journey you're going t have with them
Some busy people know by now
There's a prettier character in the other person
You'll realize you've ****** them both in the end
A simple end of to a prose
How could you?
There begs the question if there should be storylines in the poetry
Or write novels on free platforms

A bird sings in my heart tonight
It is full of desire
The silence inside is gone
As my heart beats on

And the bird whistles a tune
Which reminds me of you
In her plaintive song
I find warmth

It's something I can sing and hum
While I stroll on a wide street in some distant town
I am at ease
Knowing the bird will keep me company

While the bird has grown tired
I want it to sing tonight
So that I can share with you
Something that's honest and true

Changes in the water
Seems like it's a flood of fluidic thoughts of mirrored doubt
Hate ranges from learned to raucous
The breath that engages warfare
Makes people cautious

Ashes fly like lonely artist within, like the fly breaking the wires Reelin' free air
Sleeping right, instead, I'm dreaming of luck on the streets
Steal your right, instead of fighting the urge to be frantic
Turn your luck into snarky medicinal
Holiday burning up in flames, laze dazed on a hunch
Arcanine, fun being confused by the empty witnesses
Abject humiliation helps scuttle the land
Rehabilitating, titillating and shards scintillating the Tiber
Mending ways, a thing of the indefinite freewill
Unified terrorists looking at there curtains and the pails
Praying for the mail to unfurl
Sleepless like a shuttle, in an electrocuted chair in a four-by-four cell without the pills and supper
Scuttle the land and the last meal ain't free, innit

God hides
Behind the trailing clouds
From the seer
And from his shapely shady sepulchral cynicism
It gets to him
Like his loss
Loss of power
And loss
(Anger reigns and now no more feeling of loss)

From the point of view of a mere mortal
This seems to be a fabulism
As the soul loses its gold
As it wishes to conquer aurium itself

The seer seeks permission to become the alchemist
To bring the God in the hearts of men and women
And God in their work and their mortal heir

Oh ***** that’s me
Thy expectations make me genuflect in obsequiousness
But, as the rage of the veiled forlorn crusade rages on
(Thy devoted matured follower shouldst not fight and let me do my bidding)
He barely manages a bow as he ripostes and hides
From the eyes of vicious genocide
But as this fearsome God manages to keep his cover from being blown
Thy Androgyny comes in many shapes and forms and memories of people
To test this loyal servant

To test like the serpent of ****** love
But he pollutes the platonic connection of God and man
And he falls to the steep mistake of his below-the-belt trick
From the scientific jester
(Awing everyone with his scientific gymnastics)
To a desperate trickster
Running from the path of Fate’s judging hand

The seer refuses to accept his victory
As he loses his love for you
(Fate destroys its oldest companion)
But the present seems too narrow for emotions
Relive the past and future written on Fate’s hand
To gain respect for Fate’s future actions
(I only complain about the traumatic present rather than the abstrusely illustrious past of the world)
Who knows what time brings to immortal Godly beings

You could be crushed
Or create something groundbreaking
I stand by my word, I move the Earth

Stopped speechless
By the haiku of
17 syllables sagaciously
Made for someone of your eloquent behavior

With the first sign of rebirth
Came the gift of time, extended
In its renewal and revival, further
Offering the restoration of friendly relations
All done as an act of reconciliation between progress
As well as forgiveness asked of our mothers, everyday
Within such gifts intended for the common crowd
It is at the stroke of the halcyon hour
That we forget our sorrows and crumble like bricks
What is of this sad ending that we talk of, intentionally
That plagues the essence of the mind which is white as snow and trembling
Only cloudy days can show us the purity of ice
When the clouds do subside, the sweetness that preside
All talk is forced into stony silence under the dark night
Through the mad-sort of palace of time
Where there is a time to withdraw into the study of history
Ashes to ashes as well as fire to fire
Dwelling in a cold curlicle of a silent galvanized gate at a cemetery
Behind a rose garden, where the woodpeckers beak at the windowpane
Rusted beyond recognition broken into windy submission
Such things are built for no purpose and no future promise
Only to sustain posterity and labour
Not to make use of Earthly resources
An old man still waits for the rain
Saying that he is hiding behind the arras of an isolated house
Where the sepulchre is hidden under a rock tattered by zephyr
A string of creeper prostrate themselves, whimpering
That ostensibly grow, under the shadow of a thatched roof
Only to never be seen again in daylight
Of rebirth and redemption
Such is the creeper in the daylight
That lives in utter recluse and retreat

Sleepless as I am
The nights keep me awake
Like magnets

Underground in a mining town
All he needed was some light to see
He was accustomed to the supernatural darkness and low-visibility
No stranger to the dark
He had never seen the light

He was simply akin to his mining work
His father did not like his bright son working
Raging in a madhouse, he never saw his son again
Fathers lose their son to disease, and sons lose their fathers to dull madness

Underground in a mining town
It was always dark and many hadn't stopped dealing slaves
Sunlight was scarce, and he wiped his eyebrow sweat
The boy's shadow never saw the light of day
It was always scared and the brave boy never saw his spirited shadow again
Until he came out only for midnight-schooling and cheap women in neon streets

He was simply akin to his mother
If someone had told him to stop digging, it was her
It was his shadow, that took after his father
The boy hated his own shadow, a solitary light flickered in the coal mine
Not a shadow in sight

As you gaze into my eyes
I hold you close to my heart
Caring for you deeply
Hiding the hurt inside

I don't trust myself
But my heart is yours
In this solitary moment
Do you love this man?

When you touched me
I felt the warmth
Travel through me
Like a light in a dark cave

I sped the highway and hungered for adventure
With a broken down car
I once called a floating river
Periodic clouds on the outskirts hustled and bustled

There's a light
At the end of the tunnel
Soothing the darkness
Inside my heart

Its good to be optimistic
When nothing goes your way
There are times when reality
Is hard to come to grips with

There's a darkness
Inside my heart
That's enveloped in the blackness of the soul
There will be light and dark once more

Living peacefully in this mind
That hasn't known love
For a long time
There is hope as white as snow

Nite owls on fragile twigs
A sparrow on the edge of a flowering branch
A crimson rose bush in full bloom
You notice this

Your laugh
Your hair
Your kiss
I will remember this

The autumn blew by my window
My page of poetry lay safely
Next me
As I looked outside beyond my shadow
The leaves were golden amber
As far I remember
The endless tresses of trees
Were rid of the green of the meadow

The land lay bare
Like a child in the arms
Of her mother
Suckling on the ****
For the milk that was honeyed

Sometimes I drink
Coffee to remind me how
Intoxicating images
Of boughs of trees
Can bring back the past
For me to think
About them for a second

Like mirages meant
To distract you and me
In a desert full of sand dunes
You and I are alone in the world
We just need attention
To some degree

I once thought you’d age like wine
At that time I knew it was going to be fine
You died
I learned that I cry
My heart went through too much wear and tear
Your life was already mine
Hoping we’ll be together again
Someday somewhere

Tied to your silken skin
I was obliged to be in sin
But you taught me love wouldn’t do me in
After I’d come back from work
We’d kiss
Always as far as I remember
Even when we were 20 years in

I remember your nervous ticks
I remember your style
As kept them within the four walls made of bricks
But towards the end you thought you’d die
If those walls would end up talking
I told you to love me and keep calm
Well those words
They felt like ice cream for the soul

Few months later we went for an outing
I thought it was safe
We went for coffee
Small steps for my only baby
But one day it happened
Something intercepted the intricate wiring of your astral body
That I had only touched once
I wouldn’t know if I had laid a finger on it twice

You felt it wasn’t worth living with your vice
Those were the old times
The conservative thoughts drove you to do the worst
Give into the nervousness
To squeeze the life out of you that was cursed

I don’t know whether you died of a weak heart or not
But I bet in your insanity you left me to rot

A wise man
Questions his own ideals
A fool worships them

Be a man," keep them out noisy Irishmen break the fight with Italian stilettos from the shop of the British. Irishmen you'll be done when we’re done with ya. But stay in your country.

Wanted to start with an honest take
On T.S. Eliot's fulmination towards criticisms
Regarding the debater, Mr. Grierson's
Point of view on metaphysical writings
In purview of genuine poetic dissertation and discussion
Presentation of the nuances of poems are intriguing
Wherewithal that there is a diligent approach taken
To study John Donne and Cowley
Marvell, one  of the social upheavilists
Of this time t'was real t'was true to naturalism
However, Goethe points out " in their unnaturalism they poised on naturalism"
There is a lot to say for Mr. Eliot's debate
Not too much for Mr. Grierson's review of some good old fashioned
Amorous verse, inasmuch it bewitches the languid sensuality

Often the purer and fairer opposite ***
Through genuine use of wit and impressive stoicism
A thoroughly metaphorical use of the term "stoic"
Can be attributed to the use of complex imagery
It would be interesting if one drew parallels
On the concepts of love and spirituality
It is expressed in reading that deals with rapid association of thought
English language canon and poetic implication are there, of course
Basically, what the poet is trying to say and the implicit understanding
Between a lover and a mistress
One could say it is a conversation or a nuanced conversation
Between the reader and poet
Such is the metaphysics of women and their love for genuine metaphor
It is often the velleity of the poet to write in such esoteric language
Therefore, one could understand the heterogeneous ideas potrayed
In each poetic verse of Donne's repertoire cannot be
Misconstrued as unnecessarily analytic
Almost like the dissection of a patient in surgery
The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts

I am in love
With my loving
Someone with the love of the world
Seems like love's a silly word in the yellow snow

There's a fire burning inside
A crimson, blue, and yellow light
It shines in my heart
Brushes my canvas with art

It is filled with pain
That spreads faster than the violent rain
Deep blue spreads across the bruises
Reddest hues mark the grooves

It is the colored canvas of my soul

A song kid talked of poetry
Like it was placed for thinking and for presentation
And nature was written in the attraction to creative arts
She kept burning the midnight oil
The streets were illuminated by the flame of distress and desire
To become better, and the single line that she knew honestly
Life might talk of different angles to the wretched circumstance
The perception of a child in the poor encumbrance of a truly myopic poet
The one of toil and summer, and writhing in your experiences
Life can be complex for someone who writes on demanding terms of endearment
This is called achievement and recess, or talk of wisdom