I remember the feeling
of ****** and sleep
or sobriety and insomnia,
it was one or the other,
a back deck stained
with eggshells and
whiskey candles
strapped to my tongue
and a flame burning
my throat,
eyes like like lungs
inhaling a ****
and tearing with
black spit,
too ******* stupid
and fried to look at
a knife with malice
and then it was
only with butter
to smear on a sandwich
or uneven bread like
**** water in a glass,
in the microwave instead
of a toaster for some reason,
too ******* fried
too ******* dumb,
I felt better and quit,
no cracking eggs on deck tops
now it’s beer can rings on desktops,
like a marriage to dizziness,
I remember the feeling
of ****** and sleep
and paranoia,
depression
and anxiety,
and now a green smoke
is a double sided mirror
into the past of what
I used to feel,
and I’m spreading butter
on my conscience
and wrists
and neck now,
instead of being lifted
I’m planted with dead roots,
no turning back
no speeding up.

exclusive the title to my novel my dramady
one thought to enter one soul to give
one day to see those big brown eyes
on a pole along the fence aglow

where along the last forty out of site
who but god knows what goes down
who sat and figured the last forties reality
on the last 29th day of February

her acre grew in foresight stretched
out far for then I went galloping
to find her other end
and went around in circles

It is May Day
Not a sign of the tulips blooming
The sun won’t stay behind the clouds forever,
Said the weatherman  
What the hell do they know”.

I woke up with the intention of burning
The African scented candle stick: forgetting
That I didn’t purchased them yesterday:

Darkness fell upon this May morn
The air is cold and gloomy: somehow my
Favorite visitors took time from the morning routine,

Landed on my window and sang to me

I texted my brother and reminded him
To water the roses,
Trimmed the dry leaves,
On my outdoor patio upstairs

I remember  May Day long ago
When I finally broke the *****
I have pondered about that old lover
From time to time: with a genuine smile
So far my memories is kind to me,

There is a picture of a rooster on the kitchen wall
it reminds me of my grandmother kitchen
Where food wasn’t an abundant
Despite adversity:  
but lots of love was there in that old house:

Dark sky can dampen one spirit.
However, a hot cup of coffee, a keyboard
Can boost ones energy,
Composing a poem, a happy poetess
Or a game of slots can brings out the art of creativity
As she takes on the morning with a few
Words, a few lines, hoping to put a smile
On the faces of sadness

Every time you'll set your pen
To begin a poetic rendezvous,
You'll see it'll never be the same as yesterday,
For your poetry will change with you

Every day is a different breath,
Every breath holds a different sigh,
Every sigh holds a different feeling,
Of infinite kinds of lows and highs

And infinite ways there are, you'll see,
Of putting to words your heart beats,
Every creation will mould itself, closer
And closer to your fluid entity

Of course, there'll be times when the words
Will appear to have forever gone away,
But don't fill yourself with doubts then,
For your heart and your mind are still at play

And when you'll least expect it to,
Your poetry will dutifully return,
With little surprises and anecdotes
It collected while on vacation

Don't be amazed then, when the ink rolls out
To find some wonders and marvels brand new,
For your poetry will change with you,
And, your poetry will change you.

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
I think of life in a kaleidoscope setting
Colorful, plentiful and carefully chosen
My daily worries about my Future endeavors

I became the silence of the lamb character for a nanosecond
Politician and political threats in Washington DC
still debating: some silently *******

Women holding up signs teasing the president’s daughter
Old men gazing at her pretty face with drooling ****** emoji

Thinking out loud, about the " if only"

As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back; thinking
is 2017 the year of critical thinking?

Enough:

Enough of this of this up and down weather
It’s a gift, its giver backer: Its' Indian giver
it's April in December:

warm enough to walk without a jacket last Tuesday
The feel of the warmth against ones cheek
And today it the scarf tightly around ones neck

Enough to quiet the mind, enough to fret the spirit
When you find yourself staying indoors,
eating waffles, and playing checkers
then you know it’s that kind of injustices

watch the words that comes out
of your mouth,
when the rooms aren’t heated
then you thought about going mental ON........
the nippy wind whistle through the cracks,
and you wonder about the arthritis in your back

Immediately your thought turns to envelope
the rental receipts : so avoid that!
Desperate for the heat of the sun,
Feeling the effects, of a long dreary winter days
Where the songs on the radio keep

repeating, bundle up and go outside,
It prom dresses shopping 2017
Help me dear Lord!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!