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Fragile petals
saffron sighs
blushing sunsets
butterflies
silver tea cups
marmalade
piano keys
songs we played
whispered wishes
morning dew
twilight kisses
thoughts of you
hummingbirds
butter creams
beating hearts
midnight dreams
poetry
phrases rhymed
words of love
summertime
promises
skies of blue
you and me
*forever true

When I was 10, maybe 11 we had a cat
A big old ginger tom
I don't think he ever saw a vet and he probably fathered hundreds of kittens
He hardly had any ears, they were so notched and torn, scars over his amber eyes
Anyway, our holiday fun was in the fields and woods
He would catch young rabbits and we would skin and gut them
Spit roast them over an open fire
Yes even at that age we could prepare a rabbit
After all we'd watched mother do it dozens of times
That old ginger tom always got his share
Come school time he would walk the mile and a half with us to the bus stop
And always meet us there when we came home
He was a flea bitten tick ridden scabby old thing
But he was family
1961 I joined the army and he saw me off at the door
That was the last time I ever saw that old boy

They rode at night in robes of white burning crosses held on high
They had taken the vote and decided
On this night Silas had to die
Who were these men who rode that night
What were they in the day
One a county judge another owned a ranch
These some of the heroes who would hang Silas from a branch
What then was the crime that old Silas had committed
Simple, he went into town, went into the local store
But Silas crossed the line when he passed through the white mans door
So they ripped old Silas from his bed and hung him from a limb
And as his life left him one even sang a pious hym
Would it ever be investigated by the local law
No!!! Because old Silas he was coloured trash, his wife a coloured *****

I tend to get stares... Looks... The occasional "are you gay?" With a quizzical look of disgust.
Well, to answer your question, no, I am not gay.
In a society built around judgment and stilted above common sense,
Being gay would mean that I'd have to find women utterly disgusting, flick my wrists, speak with funny and awkward inflections, right?
Do you think I speak with funny and awkward inflections?
Good! Because I'm so not gay.
Being gay would mean that I love to shop, well I hate it!
My fashion sense does not exceed that of a box of colorful crayola crayons melting away in the blistering Las Vegas sun because you see, I don't live in San Francisco, or New York,
or anywhere "gay" people live.
I am not gay.
Being gay would mean that I am immoral but I can assure you, moralistically speaking, that morals are what keep me routinely from listening to Lady Gaga, who I've heard, despite her catholic upbringing, is a devout devil worshiper and I sure as hell don't worship Satan!
Oh no, I am not gay.
My father once told me, in his manliest tone that if I ever became sweet
or my tank profusely filled with sugar
that he'd disown me and rid me of his home.
However last time I checked,
I don't have a tank
and one lick of my tanned brown skin would reveal that I am in fact quite salty!
Salty, as defined by Urban Dictionary, means to be ******.
Bitter. Angry.
Well father, there aint nothing sweet about my wrath.
I'm infuriated.
I'm angry not because I'm not able to fulfill the holistic criterion society has built in order to be gay,
No, I am more upset that there is actually a set of rules dictating whether or not someone is gay.
Now listen to me when I tell you,
I am not gay
I am not gay because I have yet to inject myself of substances with an unsterile needle for all purposes of getting high.
No, I have yet to discover my last ****** partner was diagnosed with *** and that I may very well have the virus.
No, I have yet to interiorly decorate my bedroom with the warm crimson fluid that is my blood because some punk at school thought it was cute to label me a queer.
I have yet to be gay because being gay in today's society means I am reckless. I am promiscuous. I am a *******.
Well, guess what society,
I am not gay.
I am, in fact, a man, who is not your personal show dog for your fashion approval that you can tote around in some cute Gucci bag.
I am a man, who can still appreciate the beautiful magnificence that is a curve when he sees one no matter the person's gender.
I am a man who, despite what you may be expecting,
is a man who, no matter how hard you try to box me in a confined image,
is a man who, will fight to freely be in love with who he wants to be in love with,
who is a man who is not gay
but a man who loves men.
I am not gay.
..

Poetry isn't written:
                                                        ­                                    
Words are written,
and Poetry is read.