"Once upon a time there was"
"no"
      "No"
            "NO"
"Many moons ago"
"There was a dreamer"
Who wished with all her heart,
To find the gold at the rainbows end,
She would look for clouds
Bursting
Up
High,
Her mother smiled.
"Are you still searching for that rainbows end"
"Pamela  your dreams are the clouds"
"Mummy a *** of gold I will find"
"For if you latch on to one"
"You will find yourself upon the other side""
Then one morning awoke to find a rainbow
Moving over her lawn,
Blouse,
Trousers,
Shoes
On too, she had packed a case
Encase this time did come true,
She slid down the banister
"Whoooooosh"
Through the front door,
Just as it was fading
Hands did grab hold,
She was surrounded by colours
Red,
                Orange
Yellow
                 Green
Blue
               Indigo
Violet
All were pure and bright, then with a
"Thump"
On her bottom she did land, surrounded
By beauty, plants the colours of the rainbow
"Blue leaves"
"Grass was orange"
Sky was all shades of the rainbow too,
A *** seen, gold did gleam,
Mouth wide open,
A violent fly flew in then out,
"Gross"
And she then quickly shut her mouth,
She was over the moon, the rainbow too,
She picked it up,
Lighter than she thought??
She picked one up
Put it too her mouth,
And bit,
It was squiggly in her mouth
"Gross"
Twice in two minutes,
She was
Sullen,
Grumpy,
Tears
Did cascade from little eyes,
They came out
Colours of the rainbow
Which lightened her mood,
She wiped her tears looked once, twice
Then hands upon the rainbow,
And whoosh, she landed with a
"Thump"
On next doors cow,
"MMmmmoooooo"
Went the cow,
"AAaahhhhhhh"
Went Pamela,
She ran with  a
Scare
And
Fright,
As in the distance still hearing the angry
"MMMmmoooooooooooo"
She ran to her house, opened the door,
"MUM"
"MUM"
"MUM"
With a fright her mum ran out,
"Pamela"
"My baby are you all right"
"I found the rainbow"
"I found the ***"
"I found a land of colour,"
"But the treasure wasn't right"
All said with in one breathe,
Now breath my angel,
As mother did take a coin
Opened it carefully and with the tip
Of here finger tasted it,
"MMmmmm"
So creamy, so light,
As she took her in the kitchen,
And the toaster minutes later
POPPED out,
Spreading it evenly, and eaten was
The toast crust and all,
"Mummy may I try one"
Pamela said
"Magic words my honey bear"
"Please may I try one"
And with that the toast again
POPPED out,
"MMmmmmmmm"
"My gosh mummy this tastes divine"
"You found a golden treasure that's for sure"
As they had toast each morning,
Opening a coin spreading it evenly,
"It was a taste to behold"
The treasure at the end of the rainbow,
Wasn't money, but I was something better
A taste that put a smile on faces
Every morning at *breakfast time.

The driver
she wears mascara
the
last remnant of her humaness
she's always been a
little blessed
she's met her death
many times.

You can hear
her coming on
the winds
freight train sounds
through the Jeffrey Pines
this train isn't
Bound for Glory
this train's bound
for eternity
a one way
ticket with
no return.

Though I've always
rooted for reincarnation.

This train
stops for gamblers
midnight ramblers
**** addled ******
addicts caught between
nodding out and cleaning
the refrigerator with a tooth brush.
Even saints on board will stay.

The oblivion express
your going to hop
on board when your
ticket is punched,
the ticket taker
laughs and smiles
his last glimpse
of humaness.

She's the driver
he's the turnstile
they were once
an item
before they were delivered
to their
new careers
never to see each
other again
except through the
glass of her engine.

The fire is stoked
the express becomes
a local
stopping for each
and every
daily passenger
you can hear that
whistle blow.

You don't know where you're
headed
you just know
you gotta go.
Her mascara drips down
her face
you and she
the ticket taker
too
there is no escape
the oblivion express
just around the corner
and
on its way.

strange enough,
that word choice,
******,
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men

they get on
their knees,
so eager to please

write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers

but
the trick employed
is transference

they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"

their kiss

Pass

laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox

The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers

the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.

so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you

it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously

know this in advance

each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you

years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection

that audience is you

write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you

your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers

they will find you,
of that,
be assured

amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?

for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee


if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough

poetry is ego

no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world

let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,

but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed

You,
who used to touch me where I didn't want you to, reaching inside me, where I'd *never let anyone before, I was only eleven, I shouldn't of been treated like a *****...
   I hate you

You,
who took advantage of me, when I was just thirteen, taking what innocence and trust that I had left, breaking my spirit down to an empty shell...
   I hope you rot in H£LL

You,
who just watched what they did to me, judging me, saying it's my fault for dressing slutty. I was only fourteen...
I hope I'm never like you

You,
who made me believe I was not a used rag doll, gave me trust and hope, only to reach my sixteen year old core, then ripping it all to shreds like never before...
I'll never forgive you

You,
who said you loved me, made me think it was the real thing, helped me forget the past, at only eighteen, you gave me my wings and hope that it would last, then when you realized I just wasn't enough, you went and found some different lust, at twenty-five, you decided you wanted a new life,  but our kids mean the world to me, so I can't regret you, but I can erase your memory...
I hope she cheats on you

You,
who finally made me think I'd found the real thing, then broke me down, then picked me up just to throw me down again, over and over, then used the fragile remaining shards of my heart to cut out my soul and leave me falling apart...
I wish you nothing but pain and despair

You,
who I laugh and joke with now, who I wish to know more, who makes me scared I'll end up with a broken heart like before, who seems to truly care...
Please, don't forget how fragile I am
        
You,
who I may or may not have met yet, don't hurt me, don't make me regret. I won't be able to handle losing another, I wanna be happy with you, I wanna know forever...
**I hope you'll love me too

I wept upon cold stone
I cried till tears until they didn't flow
I looked down then looked up
Missing,
Cherishing,
Touches
Still felt even though you were gone
I was always here on our
Anniversary
I would wish you
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAY"
I still hurts so much
I cherish
Everyday,
Moments,
Laughter
That would never fade,
I know your here in my heart
But there is too much me now
When there should be
"US"
I miss us hugging
I miss us holding hand
I miss US
Kissing,
Talking,
Touch
Is what I miss so much
A palm upon my face
A gentle glancing finger across skin,
There is to much me now that your gone I miss **US.

It.




It is.


What is it?

That's just it:
it just is.

Fight it if you will.

Will
does have certain power that knows no known bounds,
but Will is nigh useless unless you act.

Action
can be a step in the wrong direction
if you don't stop to consider the implications of the choice.

Choice
is both a gift and a curse,
for we can never know with certainty.

Certainty
is a generalization for a particular probability
that we see to be in our favor.

Favor
is a slippery *****
inexorably leading to isolation.

Isolation
is what mind felt
when saw itself as the pilot of matter.

Matter
is frozen energy-
potential en potentia:

Potential.

Everything is potential.

Create the future you wish to reap.
Have the courage to blaze your own trail
if none you've found is as you desire;
there's nothing wrong with that:

It isn't selfish
to seek what it is for which your heart and soul cry out.
It isn't selfish
to refuse to follow a Path laid by another.
It isn't selfish
to pursue happiness;
rather, I find it to be quite the contrary:

If we all, independently, could bring about our own ecstasy
try to fathom what a rave life could be.

Puns may be intended;
ne'er forget to read between the lines-
read between the words themselves,
and look within them as well as thyself
for comprehension;
for understanding.

Words are such funny tools.
Such is a theme of mine.

Tools
be not at fault
for the evil that is so often wrought by them;
they are a catalyst; a medium:
a sort-of transmittal of intention:

A hammer can build or ****
with similar effort and ease
if only the Will is so inclined.

That is the boundless power of Will.
That is our responsibility as conscious beings.

One must seek construction of the Self,
rather than destruction of the Other.

For,
what is destruction of the Other
if not destruction of the Self
from the outside
in
?

(All off my questions are rhetorical and not.
Answer them. I dare you. They are my challenges.
Therein lies the journey to understanding the Self;
or, as they call it in academia: "Philosophy.")

I find that One finds what One seeks,
whether it is harmony or dissonance
or anything else in between.
(Or, maybe that's a product of my own bias!)

Thy every moment may differ,
but t'is of thy Path that I speak.

Tread lightly, my friend.

Only you can bear thy torch-
but, the true crux
is refusing to drop it
until you no longer require it.