how rare it is
in all our lost
wanderings
to walk a forked path
and know
beyond certainty
the way chosen
will change
the rest
of the journey

I been writing like a mad man and had my works passport get stamped in multiple countries .

Australia,  Italy , Germany , England, Indiana .

Okay Indiana was more a state run mental institution but I was published there none the less and I liked finger painting graham crackers and crazy women so probs to them.

I mean I didn't want to visit there or anything no offense but im not a big fan off fields and chainsaw art .

I stayed busy flask in pocket and my mind constantly towards the page .

I had gained respect but still I always found my way home .

For better or worse Hello has been the house that me and few other writers built I was here from day one i'm the flaw you just can't hide .

Everyone's favorite black sheep and all around lovable train wreck.

My place was permanent .

Like me or hate me you couldn't ignore me .
Well you could try but I usually won people over or annoyed them to the point of blocking me and joining the witness relocation program but enough about my past relationships .

I was taking some time off from three months straight of chasing publication.

I posted a write at this place I called home for so many years .
It was solid as a brick **** house .

Then some kid posted a write that was total **** but had a pic of her cleavage in the restroom mirror .

It trended in two seconds had a bunch of ***** ******* telling lies in vague hopes to see more .

I knew the ship wasn't sinking it long since met its demise on the icy dark oceans floor .

You just can't compete with *******.

I set my sails to the closest port .
I would share some drinks and maybe see some familiar faces .

I believe a pirate is better suited to roam than be food for the ***** .

My future is in the wind not lost within the depths .

Stay crazy hope are ships pass in the night .

And if ever we find ourselves in the same port .
First rounds on you .

Never sit and wait for decay on any level will consume you .

Stay crazy

Gonz

Some nights
the Moon is ivory
and the sky ebony
like Liberace's
white piano
and some nights
it's blue
as my worn out
work shirt
the sky black
as dirt
I've dug from
the Earth
or maybe
an empty plate
howled at
by a hungry dog
a woman
in a yellow dress
she lifts
wading in the sea
an empty ship
sailing west
its cargo of diamonds
having scattered
far in the wind
but some night soon
it'll be the nightlight
on the wall
across the room
from my dark
shaded window.

"The Invisible Poem" was selected as the Daily.
I'm humbled... to say nothing.
But I believe a response is necessary.
To all those who liked, loved and commented, I say thank you. I've read all you've written, and most of it is very creative and complimentary.
There are others, detractors, who claim "*******," etc.
Well of course, this only begs the question, "What is poetry?"
I can't answer that. I've written on it. But what I do know is what poetry should do. Its purpose.
If a poem should arouse emotions, bad or good, make people think, have people want to write, to express themselves (and I believe I'm on the mark here), then, anything can be a poem. Even a page with lines on it.
Thanks again to all the readers.
And if you're still *******, don't attack me... go after Elliot. :)

I can't help it, I've got the shakes
I'm back to see the man
He rolls it tight just the way I like
Adds a little extra if I ask

He must have gotten a special order
Isn't that a deeper shade of green
Perhaps from the South of Asia
Where they grow the finest **** across the sea

There's a tingle of excitement
At all the variety
As my man rolls up a little something special
He knows what pleases me

He's got to know just what it does
Measuring the product as I watch
Not speaking a word, the place is silent
The anticipation, almost to much

My mind and mouth are salivating
The whole table is lighting up
We're all so very happy
To be having "sushi" again for lunch

dawn chorus awakes
the tired mind revolts' groans
pillow over  ears

Sacred mirror, bring me light

Blue smoke demons and haunted black ravens

Wicked candles burn at night

Faces drift from ancient past

Faces fade, they may not last

Magic mirror, bring me light

The hummingbird's shadow sings in flight

Empty faces shall stand alone

Faces, they are carved in stone

Reflections between earth and moon

The light brigade of stars in tune

Looking glass, what do we know

That faces shall always come and go