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There are days
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green isn't quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBAZoRBDD9k
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my recently published books, Sleep Always Calls, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse and Sleep Always Calls.  They are all available on Amazon.
Of all the literary
devices, my favorite
one is living.
There's no substitute.

As poets, we pull back the
curtain to our view of life.
You can shape your craft as
you go.
Metaphors will come all
over the page.
Your imagery will become
pencil-sharp and vivid.
Be patient.

If you don't have to
write, it will be easier if
you choose not to.
There are more enjoyable
activities:
***
Eating a lobster at dawn
Fishing
Swimming
Playing with your dog
or cat
*******
traveling.
Even getting your teeth
pulled can be less frustrating.

But if you must write,
you will.
Try not to ***** when
you are sick to your
stomach.

Paint a picture with
words.
Frame it with phrases.
Shine a light into the
vast darkness of mankind's
soul.
Be the light.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cz70MOS_JX8
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read from my recently published book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls, they are all available on Amazon.
In shallow water
Little fish nip at my toes
We bathe in the sun
Beach sand in my bathing suit
We have hot dogs on a bun
~for she who knows herself, best..
maybe~

Humans are renowned
for mucking up progress,
two steps forward,
three back, meaning,
net net; we move forward
but we often forget to cherish,
what too easy gets swept away,
as non~progressive, old fashiond

in this hands-free environment,
a very fey useful place to inhabit, let
us nonetheless, in a new age of
unrelenting increased sun
variant higher temperatures,
(which no one can deny)
curl our fingers about a
PSD,
a Personal Shade Device
(or a ParaSolD)
and as the mind roams,
let us consider a
PTD,
a personal tongue depressor,
a sort of mini-speech delayer
of say 3 seconds, giving our
overloaded brain a momentary
pause before speaking an
emotional epithet, a pause to
reconsider, with variable lengths,
adjustable to heart rate, BP, etc.,
when sensors (censors) register
driving, pulling triggers,
and ***
being triggered,
or to borrow a phrase from the
advertising icons,
'The pause that refreshes"

Mmm...
Make a Moment into a Minute,
before we whack a rude dude
with our parasol(d)...

just another ridiculous insight @3:53am

<>

Note the Word
ParaSolD has been
TM
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
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