all poetry is personal
some more than others

to just spread out your private feelings
     in your verse
may not be everyone's delight

but if you choose words
so that the many find their voices
    in your own
you may be lucky
to achieve all poets' dreams

your personal voice
becomes the public

Let me be
     The soup,

That dampens
       Your croutons.

How do I loathe thee? There aren't enough ways.
I loathe your birth, your girth; the lack of mirth
My tired spirit can reach under your curse;
For loss of truth on your tenuous stay.
I loathe you for the depth of my lost days'
Most silent tears, for all of what they're worth.
I loathe thee as I love our damaged Earth.
I loathe you for your blathering self-praise.
I loathe deeply with the disdain I held
For my old habits, and my wayward sins.
I loathe you with the intense, hurtful pains
Of lost loves left on our bleak battlefields.
I loathe with a passion I freely choose,
As free choice allows. I loathe with my heart,
My thoughts, my whole being; and when you lose,
I'll loathe thee lovingly as you depart.

Our poems are like tickles,
They give both joy and pain;
With blissful tears and tearful giggles,
We'll read those poems again.

Poems are like damaged hearts
In need of surgery;
There's a cut that heals
With lines that seal
The scars along our hearts.

Without courage
Man is a bird without wings

The man who controls his anger
Shows his inner strength
And capability
To turn his anger
Into a in-his-favour-situation

The news was expected,
Still, she died today;
She's the last of our parents,
Our children will cry,
So will you,
So might I.
Her great grands didn't know her one bit.
The oldest being just six,
While Gram was sick, long out of touch,
For most of the years of those kids.
The fact is she's passed,
And so it is.
But give it some time,
And we'll witness the line,
In those kids.

She was absent from the ceremony,
Her disdain was so intense;
So counter to her idea
Of what humanism meant.

I have sat before the drums,
Breathed in the smudge cloud;
Attended Temple,
Ate at the spiritual maturity for Baha i.
I was anointed with chrism on my ears;
Bestowed all rights and privileges;
I have paid union dues,
And bargained against rank and file.
Etc., etc., etc.,

Each Rite is a Reality Show,
We're given prepared scripts,
To read and make seem possible,
What we know to be implausible.

**** what hinders your goodness

Surely,
You're brave to save yourself from evil

Being brave is our dignity