Nobody loves
Her the way I do

Nobody
Loves me

Nobody
To love

Nobody
Loves

Coughing into a white tissue
Sneezing into my hand
Sweating when I'm cold
Miserable when I'm relaxing
Hating reading poetry
Loving watching Mr. Bean
Can't sit still but too tired to move
Thinking this is poetry
Knowing the meds cause delusions
Not enjoying my family
Wishing I were asleep

Is this the apocalypse

OR am I sick?

Two heads are better than one
One heart is better than two
Two heads meet and fall in love
One heart beats in rhythmic flow

One shared heart always content
Two heads always searching for
One shared heart, can meander
Two heads can pass in the night

Two heads are better than one
One heart is better than two
Three heads is a crowded room
Four hundred heads seek one heart

One heart is two times the love

Abhorrent,  
                                                                       Baffled,  
                                                                                                                              Wavering!


Sort,           Culminate,           File.



Toss                                                  in                                                 Sanitation Dispensary

Nailed the test, set the curve, everyone wants to choke you
Got a phone number from the hottest woman in the place, infront of your buddies
Complained about the shabby service and got your friend's money back, like a boss
The birth of your son. The birth of your second boy. The birth of your daughter.
Aced the the the parallel parking manuver infront of your father
The surprise proposal, and the calosal surprise, "Yes!" :)
First legal drive in the car without your father in the passenger seat
                       O' that feeling!!!! Like a boss!

Vast blue ripples dot
Cruising from exotic lands
Romanticized dreams

You're my talisman
Your words my panacea
Your eyes my daydreams

Insult me, an I'll smile
Kick me, and I'll say sorry
Spit in my face, I'll wipe it off and say thank you
Wrong my children, and I'll rip your still beating heart out of your chest,
Shove it up your *** for flavoring, then cram it down your throat
Have a nice day!

Punxsutawney Phil
You're so furry
And adorable
But your forecasts
Are deplorable
Thirty-nine percent true
That makes you a fraud
But cute eyes have you
Therefore a god

Early spring you say
Yet snow and low temps
Flourish today
So conflicted
By this contrast
Indoors now restricted
Godhog is Devine at last

Tomorrow swimming
No matter the mortal's forecast
You say the sun is brimming
The masses praise
Nearly naked in the snow
Why the wintery haze
No shadow, it is so

Now we stand
Swimsuits adorned
Frozen faces
Countenances Forlorn
Faithful in our belief
In you and yours
In fur and sharp teeth
Buds and flowers restore
Trees and life anew
What could go wrong
A groundhog we pray to

In Phil we trust
What's wrong with us?

It's been an eternity!
Since I gave you a piece of me
My limbs have been torn in a million directions
But now I've made precise revisions and corrections
I promise I've missed you more than you could possibly know
There is only one definable way that I could even minutely show
Just how significant and crucial you are to reassembling the pieces of me
And that is to once again, let you be the muse of my inspired heart felt poetry

That boy ain't too much to look at.
During sports, on the bench he sat.
In any game, he'd always lose.
But ****! He sure could sing The Blues.

In school, he barely made the grade.
His memory was sure to fade.
In weekend dives, he made the news.
'Cause ****! He sure could sing The Blues..

All of the pretty girls around
Chased him in the clubs in the town.
He's not the boy fathers would choose.
'Cause ****! He sure could sing The Blues.

He couldn't grasp the fame and crowd.
His nerves lept as they screamed so loud.
Got his courage from too much *****.
But ****! He sure could sing the blues.

Jocular word play
Adroit syllabic patterns
Effulgent world views

I'm in my eighth month of this journey
There have been highs and plunging lows
Many a word has been on the gurney
I've seen poets come and poets go

It was a sixties' high to have readers
For people to comment and like my words
My advice heeders and some needers
Meaningful relationships soon occurred

It has been a place where I've laughed and cried
A world of birthdays and sweet victories
A painful universe, euphoria died
Poets passed, nothing remains but histories

The trip of a lifetime in less than a year
Why do we write, why do we read and care?
It's more than I can emotionally hear
It's more than I can emotionally bare

At one point, I was addicted to this place
Constantly reading, checking, and writing
No narcissist could persist at such a pace
With poets I did some loving and fighting

Life forced me on the highway well traveled
I decided I'd leave this country for now
Yet with this decision, I have often graveled
I always found myself looking back somehow

Oceans, mountains, dales, and unexplored bends
That's this poetic journey desired so
No matter if we're laughing or crying my friends
We poets have or want nowhere else to go

The Pope has been smoked!
Good, let's watch real TV!

a word or a look
make or break
ones day - that's power

There's a Quazooy on the loosey!
In my roomy there is. No fooey.
No fooey a Quazooy, loosey, really?
What's the Quazooy do-y?
Silly Quazooy dancey on deskies.
Dancey, Nancy, fancy pantsies!

Quazooy, want somey Tutti fruity?
Snooty Quazooy no eaty fruity.
What do-y Quazooy wanty?
"No eaty," said droopy Quazooy.
Quazooy sicky? Have the fluy?

"Quazooy no more fancy Dancey.
Quazooey needy tummy rubby."
Awe-y, cutie Quazooy no more dancey,
no eaty fruity, likey tummy rubby.
Now Quazooey tummy grumbly,
Facey lookies redy and crumbly.

Few wee! Quazooey now I knowy!
No more desky fancy dacey,
Not Tutti fruity, 'cause youy
wenty tooty in your pantsies!
Now Quazooy once morey dancey.
Fancy Nacey pantsy dancey.
Luvy Quazooy nowy not ooyie!

When the reaper knocks,
will you answer the
nefarious  door?

Rain on Sunday is like disgusting flies on birthday cake.

Remember me when I'm gone as a friend
Not as a brother, father, or lover
If my epitaph reads friend, in the end
I'll be proud of time spent, when I ascend

There are three major stages of the English Language
According to historians and linguists alike

There is Old English when Beowulf defeated Grendel
And Middle English when Shakespeare birthed his sonnets
Finally, Modern English when Harry Potter spun his magic

However, I believe historians and linguists
Will say we are now in the midst of a fourth

I like to believe we are part of the history of language
But what will it be called? Tecno English or Neotext English?
IDK, but u will c um right. Just :) and $ me lates #stagesofenglish

Get off of the brown leather chair and ride
But it's so **** cold in the wintertime
You have a spinning bike downstairs, inside
Maybe later; now I have to write rhyme

My bike has 700cm rims!