Poetry is she:
With black eyes
On a white lily,
Enticing to be kissed,
Or may be, sometimes,
A wild buffalo,
In the mucky water,
An instrumental piano
Or The latest
Apple ring tone,
Appealing them
To download,
And after the job
Only clanging I
On the floor,
In blue,
The skimming kite,
The dream of the kid
On the roof
In the golden dusk
Or a drought
Of syrup
When mummy
Scolds at bed time.
I pine to hug her
Each time I see her
In bikini
Though on the screen,
And what do you feel
Is just to wait
Till you say:
I avoid pumpkin
But eat strawberries.

O spy!  How deftly
Thou accomplish thy enterprise
A new tact! No indictment,
Only gradual execution.

You
Are not
On
The bed but
I
Kiss you in the pillow

Being smart
Is a blessing of God
But being smart with sweet behavior
Is the highest achievement of your life

Man's best success as a patriarch
Lies in happiness he earns for his family

I wonder what your eyes see
That mine don’t
What your mind thinks
That mine won’t

I wonder what your heart feels
That mine can’t
Who your love touches
That mine shan’t

I wonder what your dreams conceive
That mine wouldn’t                                                         ­ 
And what you will achieve
That I couldn’t                                                        
­
I wonder where your destiny lies
That mine isn't                                                            ­      
What your legacy will symbolize
That mine didn't
BOEMS BY JA 488

Being realist is delightful
In case you dream for the betterment

Whatever we think
Against the situations don't affect them
They never think against us
Whatever happens is what we do and plan for future

Floating silently
Guardian of darkness

Guide of the lost
Friend of the vagabond

No one is a stranger

We've all met through the light of the moon

I dont want to be the bold words
Yelling to be noticed

Nor the italics
Wanting to be different

Not even the commas and periods
That set the pace and flow

I want to be the silence
The beauty unheard

Present in all works, that's what i want to be
Nothing more than the spaces in between

grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt
of what was once glass avenue.
flashes of grayed sunlight reveal blasted facades
offering a peek through the gauzy veil of
years both distant and near.
woe be unto those whose days are spent
looking backward, for the past holds naught but
the pail glimmer of souls lost
to all but thought and memory.
shade and spirit haunt this place.
the river rages unabated over the locks at TVA;
a reminder of the folly of all grand designs;
there is no power here.
gone are your craft beers and artisan pickles and
small plate miracles filled with
foraged mushrooms and
duck confit.
gone are your bike trails and long hikes and
nature walks
down around the ***, the pan and the handle.
appalachia has fallen.
the last stand lasted all of sixty seconds;
a minute too long.

Words
Are the knives
Sometimes they don't cut but leave a scar at least