I was never the hero of
My own life. Nor did I try to
Be. I ran. No Red Badge of Courage.

No Olympiad. No laurels to be placed
On a head bowed in humility. I ran...
In the wrong direction. I had a Dragon
To chase, you see. No St George,
However. I wanted to embrace the
Monster, and take it home. And in
Doing so, i was severely burned
In the process.

I've spent a majority of my life
severely addicted to drugs and
Alcohol. Anything. ***. Amphetamines.
Acid. ***... Anything that could
Alter my pathetic state. I was the
Walking Wounded. Dead. My drug
Of choice was *******. Crack. It did
The job better than anything else
I tried. The euphoria a road to
That fabulous beast unlike any other.
That pipe and lighter its flaming maw.

But, ironically, the rock of my shame
Lead to the Rock of my Salvation.

And I finally ran... into Jesus's arms.

Look, I know
I should just go to sleep
Same as I know I'd get more done if I stopped writing poems
But if I go to sleep now
I'll dream of Death
About how close I can get before our fingers twine and
I can't get them undone
And I wonder if those who choose him regret it
Because it doesn't seem like there's much to regret right now

So I'll write instead of sleep
In hopes that I'll stumble upon some words of my own
That convince me I made the right choice
When I chose    
to stay

I used to eye her more than books.

She had good looks
and for me
in the library
she killed the dullness of patience
the stifled air of silence
with her lips' hidden smile
that was quite a diversion
from pouring over yellowed pages
all the while.

In the garden I sought my chance
but she resisted any advance
telling me it's not her
I needed to be in my mind
but a job I must find
for couldn't be raised a family
merely loving in the library.

I think she gave me love
when I needed a job
but by the time I earned the bread
she was already married.

Once I thought of her as Miss Giving
but now as I look back
I have serious misgiving.

By: Cedric McClester

He’s my consolation
And he might be my end
You see me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends
I have to turn to someone
When my long day ends
And so me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

But he’s always there
Time and time again
When I need a pick me up
I can count on him
Ya see he never fails me
I’m telling you my friend
I just have to raise my glass
And all my problems end

(Chorus)
Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

I’m aware of the danger
That our friendship poses
But here’s the thing I feel
That nobody knows is
All the comfort I derive
From him being there
He has the ability
To take away despair

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

I know that they talk about us
They do it all the time
But us being the best of friends
Hardly is a crime
It’s a special relationship
That we happen to enjoy
And I’m just being candid
Instead of being coy

Some people say be careful
Cos he packs quite a kick
And others say – watch out
Cos he can make you sick

He’s my consolation
And he might be my end
You see me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends
I have to turn to someone
When my long day ends
And so me and John Barleycorn
Are the best of friends

Each day I ****, on a Whiskey bottle
As my life, also does **** on me
My worth on earth, about as much
As my **** is, to the sea

Inside this swashing jug, a raging sea
Sets me adrift, atop a cresting wave
Then pulls me under to such depths
That my soul, I can no longer save

With each gulp, I stir the bowels
Arouse the sediment and silt
And as it settles, I hope it hides
Or at least, obscures my gilt

Every mouthful, flays my throat
Like waves, they break into the rocks
Smashing, spraying, then dissipating
Where the Devil stands and mocks

I drink until, my mind goes blank
Then plunge into the floor
At last, a drunken blissful peace
Until I wake, once more

So as I lay here, on this deck
Inebriated, dying in this flask
I think of you and what we had
If forgiveness, I could only ask
BOEMS BY JA 614