This
affair of my heart
and soul

has been extraordinary,
            yet subtle.

             Though anything is possible,

this aspiration lingers              and teeters

upon                   the                 impossible.


This little trial                                  may manifest
into trouble...

but, Oh! splendid is her divine     pageantry

-and she is            truly an intellectual!


Could thee
                               intimidate me,

Surely it is probable,

in consequence of the fact that
                                                     despite all

of their                        tinsel,
                                          to her,          I find some angels

to       be     in         their   
    beauty                 and          aim      unequal.

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