Iamb, iamb, iamb, I plod along
in verse predicting I could write a song.
To call upon the muse of higher power
pour some wine, kick off your shoes and glower.

While putting best foot forward, don't forget:
cliches are lines that surely **** your wit.
Reality, you say, bears greener grass?
Abstraction always steps across as crass.

It's true you could walk on like this for days.
Your meter's tight, it rarely ever strays.
But what of clever feet and sounds succinct?
If images are dull, your verse will stink,

As blossoms dance upon the redbud tree
and oceans fill your squid with ink of glee,
remember what your mama always said:
mixed metaphors fill readership with dread!

Say: sonics surely sock a swelling swale,
Entwined, the twisted tongues tell not your tale.
Less is always more, the teachers say.
If tricks you train, then please just walk away!

I never knew how hard it really was
to write a poem that might parade a buzz.
I thank you moderators and big brass
for sticking yours so fully up my ***!

The great blue heron haunts the reedy bank,
and combs the midnight waves with razor eyes.
He trolls the river shoals on spindled shank
then beaks his prey with sudden, swift surprise.

In shadowed silhouette his figure begs
my mind to plumb the depths of darkened mire.
But diving there, I rise with naught but dregs,
no meal of meat, no answers to inspire.

The heron pauses thoughtfully mid-stride
to preen his dusky feathers in the glow.
He ***** his crested head to leeward side,
then darts, once more, with certainty, below.

Aloof to prying gaze of passersby,
he lifts majestic wings on moonlit sky.

he tried all his life for the best credit rating
he died the day he reached his goal
there are no bill collectors in heaven waiting
they're all waiting down below

he arrived in hell and the devil was grinning
satan was smiling from ear to ear
"why did you take me, I was winning?"
"your credit is no good here"

she loved to lay in her bed
she also loved eating
let's all pity her because she ate too much
the fat is giving her a beating

now she needs help just to bathe
she can't reach her *******
let's give her a government check
let's let her moochie moochie

nevermind the starving ones
they aren't worth our thinking
they don't bring any sponsors
like the ones we watch, unblinking

I know you are a great poet
I know I know I know I know
I go look for the ones who didn't know it
I go I go I go I go

I see you can write in any form
I see I see I see I see
a form is a sight that's normal to the norm
I'm free I'm free I'm free I'm free

Today
I will sing my sins as if I
Hadn’t yet learned right from wrong
As if I didn’t recognize
The becoming wrinkles of my skin
The fading of preconceived thought
The fading of what we were
As if I don’t conjure up detonating
Definitions for what we depict as
Reality,
As if I don’t feel it
As if the wind doesn’t rattle through my
Bones and shake my soul and wither
Me away
You reach out your hand
I turn the other way
Chrome colored lines that intersected
At the wrong time, the wrong place in history
As if I don’t consider
Dying, intentionally
Projecting perceptions through this lens
Titled reality,
White upon the spine
Drawing images and you feel it,
The finality of your
Vitality

I need to stop talking about you as if
you were dead,
could it be this is the only way to cope rather than knowing you're
still out there, somewhere, bleeding
shards of glass, grabbing for
something smoother, something
more stable, but the months pass by and shred away any chance you had
you become further and further away from who you are,
from what you were,
you're a shaky resemblance of your fathers past, an embodiment
of the pit inside your stomach and you're too
afraid to be alone in the dark and
in the light and
I'm afraid there's nothing
quite as terrifying as saying you're fine so many times you scream it while
you sleep or noticing
the erosion in everything; your
ex lover, your father, the bus driver,
the mirror, the degradation of you & i

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.