A ship floating on a sea
A sea of black clouds
Wave after wave of darkness
And the ship sails on
No salt stings the air
No seagulls sing high
The taste of bitter death
Or rather not death but life
Death seems sweet
A sweet thing to live for
Live to die
Live to sail
To sail on the black clouds
To sail on the ship
To thrash about the waves
Waves continue the slam
It won’t sink
We’ll make it
To the port
I see the lighthouse
Sitting above that spike
That sharp tooth of a hill
Lighting the way
Sail on
Sail on

Slam it on the floor
And run out that door,
Charlatan down the street,
Mud stung boots on ***** feet.
The suburban
Life;
Papa head full of bourbon
Left his wife
For some ***** ****
Who’ll ****
Cheap, and a beer filled gut
And poor mama outta luck
With some useless kid,
She’ll sell him to the first bid.
Black and white
The TV will yell,
This place is surely hell,
Next room a bottle crashes
Another fight
And a family burns to ashes.
The dogs will bark:
"Has the world gone mad?!"
The dogs will bark:
"The world has gone mad!"

There was something
That made me
Feel scared
In
Watching Hearing
Mother crying
At night
Those
Savage brutal
Nights moon up
And dark
When
Dad left us then
Not a light
Not one
But
Sad tears cried by
The heavens
The sky
Stars
Why do they hurt
Each other
Why this
Why

What does the sea breeze wish to say
When it whispers close in our ears
When we sit on the porch and talk
While the sun sets somewhere unknown
And the sky turns pink and orange
And kids yell and play in the park
The phone rings nobody picks up
I sit, wonder what she’s hiding
What does the sea breeze wish to say

I’ve been reading two other poets
Two girls that are around my age
They do not know that I do this
Reading them and comparing them
Being jealous of them as well and
I see how different we are
The girls and I that our way of
Thinking and feeling is unlike
Each others that their style is great
But so so very different
And one is Plath and the other
Reminds me of Neruda’s works
While I’ll try to be Bukowski
I wonder who is the better
Poet realizing that it’s likely
Not me but that I do not care
They do not care either I hope
We write for ourselves and it is
Us and not those writers mentioned
Then I want to tell them how much
I love and hate their poetry with
The fury of a junkies crave for
His next fix and I want them to
Tell me that they love and hate me
Like that or in their own surreal
Way even if I know that they
Do not read my own poetry or
Know who I am or that they would
dislike my work so very much
I’ve been reading two young talents
That are around my age which means
That I’m young too and that I them
Have futures in this writing thing
Well at least I hope I do be
-Cause those two girls sure as hell do.
I think I’ll tell them lovely girls
Just not now because I hate them
At this terribly fun moment.

She sat on the greenest of hills,
     Surrounded by a beautiful town,
And a wonderful array of mills.
       The gem of a kingdom... cursed by fate,
She would be brought down.
  On a moonlit night, hours late.
       The sky turned blood red.
           Oh woe, oh no!
               The beloved king, he was dead.
        He, the soul of the land, without him,
          She would lose her glow.
    And so it was, she met her end, how grim!

    Dark clouds did gather,
          The sun shone no more,
                 Life did no longer matter.
      The hills became black,
  The mills burned, turned to soot on the floor.
     No one ever came back.

                                                               But she,
                                                     she stills sits,
                                             The palace of he,
                  Their king. Alone with'a crow,
       Cold, Death's voice... cawing emits.

Left to right, right to left,

the waltz of white, white snow,

                      as it falls, performing

a show, ending in theft:

              the theft of my soul. Snows

gentle kiss, covering,

          in a blanket all. Bereft

of care, the happy snow.

             Wonderland remaining.