if i could,
i would
write a poem or a song
about you every day,
place a flower in your hair,
say all the things i wish to say.

but,
i have nothing more than
empty hands
and hollow sighs,
yet my heart does sing
certain songs of you,
though most are kept hidden deep inside.

Music and flower:
http://beautyineverything.com/5071028261

i know i saw you weeping in the rain,
you flagged a ***** yellow taxi,
climbed in the back and sped away.

i know i saw you weeping in the rain,
in one sad eye and out the other,
and i never even knew your name.

___

visual imagery:
http://beautyineverything.com/4954403808

i love you (when you're)  rambling
i want to hear what you say after work
i want your face in my hands
i want you in my studio with a glass of wine
(telling me things)
i want
you.

i'm going to die here, i know i will,
they change their scope of helping me,
every time i slide farther down the hill,
"you can have this pill at a certain time,"
"NO! Wait! We've changed our mind,"
"you can have it at this new time, how kind!"
"just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.."

and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get,
my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets,
all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet,
but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret:
"the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief,
it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps."

so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes,
no one is here at all to help me understand just why.
you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry,
all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die
--i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone,
i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone,
for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place,
to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face.

but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room,
i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom.

is there anyone out there?
help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead!
will anyone please come here,
hold and hug me in my need?

i'm  going to die here,
and i'll be all by myself,
left alone like a broken knick-knack
on a dusty shelf.
___

More along the lines
of my loneliness discord,
I stepped into the crime
of a *****, painful sword.

Too many closing doors,
and sorrow always there,
a memory has flood the moors
of my eyes a-brim with tears.

We have watched the sacred clock,
tick-tocking away delight,
yet never understood the shock
that something was not quite right.

Tomorrow's now never hoped for,
yesterday's a shattered dream,
we now crouch behind a closed, locked door,
and in silence loudly scream.

i remember too many things
i should not,
things best left behind,
memories since best forgot.

i remember the things it seems,
things left in the wake,
of all my failed, unrealistic dreams,
all in all to forsake,
now I stand here alone without any schemes,
i now live in the lies i alone make.

i remember too many things,
and now i lay here in shame,
of neglected love and misfortune's slings.

it's going to be
so easy to do what i have
got
to do
when i do
it
since knowing
that doing what
i am going'
to do
won't matter
to you

(or anyone else for very long, anyway)

which makes
it
easy
to do,

soon.

It's London, all the time,
when at night I close my eyes,
it's when and where I get to roam and dwell,
in the city I know inside-out so well,
where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones,
teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones,
lend themselves into the misty English air,
of London's ancient, yet so modern flair,
of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box,
riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus,
evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack,
fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack;
then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham,
where native Cockney's and young mums with prams,
gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show;
but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow,
over the rolling raging river Thames of yore,
where ancient Roman armies marched to shore,
proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest,
of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests,
where lives and deaths would go and come,
yet The City despite all odds has lost and won,
in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take,
great London as their true hearth and home to stake,
and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days,
whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze;
and alas, London from my slumber dissipates,
to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake,
knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine:
in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time.
__
London:
http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864

by simply seeing you,
not to mention,
talking to you,
sends me...

Just gimme a call,
we'll do coffee
at that shop in the mall.

I have lotsa time,
minutes to spare,
my cellular plan is fine,
not that you really care.

Just gimme a ringie,
I downloaded a tone,
we can have some coffee-
beats sitting around all alone.

___
Coffee and cell:
http://beautyineverything.com/5063911283

Like a lollipop,
LICK ME.
Like a lemon,
**** ME.
Like a balloon,
*******.
Like a banana...

i am the saddest man on earth.
my rock is mud,
my life has lost its worth.

In the misty shades of morning light,
Where daytime breaks the dark of night,
You come to me in sunburst streaks,
With love’s seared flames upon your cheeks.

And in the meadows near the rivers,
Where knights and maidens have gone by,
In my embrace I warm your shivers,
Within a world now lost in time.

With your certain precious powers,
You capture me in chains of grace,
Bathing us in love’s pure showers,
As joyous  laughter wreaths your face.

Now as the sunshine glows brighter,
And we hold each other tight,
Our sweet souls become much lighter,
As we speed together towards the night.

I would, at this point
in time
kiss you
kiss you
kiss you
all over
and
love you as mine...

maybe you may or may not see me
if you think you see me anywhere,
i may soon no longer be around,
but i may be gone into the softly air;
and in the subtle shadows,
of the flutter of the coloured leaves,
you may or may not see me,
floating in the billowed branches breeze.

maybe you may or may not see me,
this insight i shall never know,
for my life, i feel now dims to darkness,
trembling like a tiny, weakened flaming glow;
and within these dwindling hours here,
you may see me, or this may not be so,
for i am not sure if i was really there,
but, i know that shortly i must go...
__

soon me:
http://beautyineverything.com/4974900160

D, I'm new here, but I love what I see .....


D   i love what i see too

Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-last-word-for-m/r/#ixzz0qVRH4dD4

I spy,
the morning mist, outside
the window that is not mine,
rising from the river,
sunshine tries to sneak through a sliver,
I, with thoughts only
here and now
for thee,
you
my new and gentle mystery,
who came to me on a silver stream,
made subject for my pen,
my dreams,
and this misty morning,
where I wish to be,
across from you
smiling back at me.

Has feathers,
sleeps in the nook,
by a red rock,
and the title of this poem,
made you look
at my ****.

__
To see a photo of my ****:
http://beautyineverything.com/5048983478

My golden honey-***,
sweet fruit of the bees,
I'd love to lick you
in the spring-time breeze;
drink from your luscious golden jar,
and love your taste,
just as you are.
__
A honey-***:
http://beautyineverything.com/5054031447

I

i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
                            believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.

i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
               and toss
of its fabulous force
     rippling
     churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
                          so indistinct,
flapping,
                  furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
     and i know

a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
                      and goes
out of its own control,
but,
                                               i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.

II


when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
      rolling
                    rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
     driftwood
sailing
             slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
                                running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
                                 rumbling,
                                                                                  rolling
                                                                                       away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
              i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
          submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.

III
__

these trees towering
                                         above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
                              (in my lifetime)
                                blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
                              dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
                falling,
                              dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
                     again...
                                    --and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
                                            i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
                like a seed
beneath
                  the ground
                                        never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
                                                                 of being.

i may never
see you
or be
with you,
i
will always
love you.

never forget that.

you blossomed
in my life,
made me see
the world
in a different light,
you scented the air
with your love
and affection,
gave me
a new artistic direction.

i think about you all day long
no matter
how soft the thought
or dear sweet the song...

I know that you are feeling
Lost and wandering, disconnected, lonely,
Saddened by the scorn of so much pain,
Neglected and rejected without mercy,
Left beside the road out in the rain.

Never for a single, precious moment,
Have I ever once felt faltered in your love so bold,
You reached down deep and made me a rich token,
You reached down deep and warmed me from the cold.

Now you stand there so heartbroken and crying,
And you feel there’s nowhere else left to hide,
But there’s something you must understand, my darling,
You will always be here by my side.

When everything seems bitter and so tasteless,
And tears fall down your cheeks in salty brine,
Remember in the end, my darling angel,
All will be okay in its sweet time.

Now rest your weary head down on my chest dear,
Hear the music of my beating heart,
When you awake there will be no more tears,
For you and I will never, ever part.

the first thing i do
when i wake up
in the morning
is cry

the last thing i do
when i go to bed
at night
is cry

there are times
i do not count
anymore
during those times
in between
i cry

now i cry
and i no longer
no why
because there's
no reason
to cry
when there's
no
reason

nothing on earth
could brighten the dooryard
of my studio,
like your shining face....

...the tears fight for escape
from behind my tired
eyes,
eyes seeing nothing and
nowhere,
eyes
that are blinded by
pain beyond pain
on top of shame,
eyes,
that wish to close
and die

now.

___

(i'm always ill all the time)

And now the vivid leaf of summer green,
Shall burst to flame of flashing fame.
Where reminded youth so sweet and keen,
Fade softly in the autumn’s name.

...and for with mine own
and simple hands,
i would pick for you
every tulip on the sod,
lay them at your feet
and beg my tears to stop...

We, the same from and of flesh and pumping blood,
our skin sweating in touch, together, the scent
was always the same,
you and I, one younger, one older,
the way it was meant to be,
in fights and tears and pup-tent shared lamp-lit fears,
we rolled our heads beneath the stars above
upon the grassy knolls, our pillows kept,
not ever knowing that one of us would be
covered beneath the soily breath,
the one of one of us, still left,
watering the fields of your footsteps,
now dressed up as dreamy memories,
the tossing heart of guilt and pleads,
for just one more day, ******! -one more
day...
I had still some things,
I wanted to say.
__
My schoolmate Tim and I both lost out brother Mikeys.
This poem is for them.

On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.

I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.

In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...

"One is at last killed by what one loves violently."
--Guy De Maupassant

During the nights when I cannot seek the sanctity of
sleep,for it does not come over me until the
deadly light of daybreak;
I listen to the still, small voice
calling out from the cracked, crumbling and
falling
plaster firmament hanging over me--
a proverbial coffin-lid
threatening
to close in over me, nailed tightly
shut
with antique copper spikes
to keep
the good dreams
     out.

I am so often told in tones
echoing sad and
silent
in the O Holy Night,
to write
the elegy of insanity
creeping
     up
from my feet
beneath
these ***** blankets,
seeping,
working its way to my throat
where lies my stifled
cries
that engulf the labored breathing
as my tender, simple
heart
threatens to explode.

Tossing a pillow against the
peeling,
painted wall, I utter
a course *"*******"
to the weathered, unwashed window
by my head
that pounds;
needing the soothing
song-sounds of
whiskey, scotch or
lukewarm beer to revive
my
   sinking,
burning soul as
     i lay me down
     to die,
     i pray to nothing
     and embrace the lies

O, the lies...

I can scarce recall
a time of peace and
bliss,
laying lonely in your arms,
with regret I had to
kiss
your sour lips
perfumed bitter with stale smoke,
***** and other such things like
this...

...this nowhere outside goiing,
going
     gone:
The Wheel of Misfortune,
the agony of armies in
retreat,
the ****** of the mind,
the birth
of Jesus, Muhammad, Krishna
and the plastic
Elvis Presley poking up
off your dusty dull-blue dashboard
like the other man's
***** you left
for mine.

Yes,
on these and every sleepless
forever nights
     I know,
I show that
O, still, small voice
the things
we refuse to see,
and maybe after it's all over
it
will sing myself to sleep.

our hands
one each, fingers splayed,
long and warm,
pressed against my
chest,
mine pressed against your
breast,
taking in so softly with each
palm,
of our excitement, yet so
calm,
soothing, smoothing, tenderly
touches,
the other hands,
holding on so
tight
all for the time being oh so
right.

our hands.

Hold your breath and close your eyes,
wish and dream with me, then sigh,
take my hands to your smiling face,
feel my loving fingers trace,
the very essence of your being,
those softly kisses worth repeating,
that from now on and ever after this,
we shall live our lives in loving bliss.

"io sol uno."
-Dante, Purgatorio

There I was,
the comic-tragic star of my own motion-picture,
bold beneath the springtime Italian sun hung high
--a heavenly fixture,
illuminating the gold-leaf enframed frescoes in
kaleidoscopes of colours,
baking dry the pigeon droppings upon the flagstones
they smothered,
where I, in all my self-serving recreation,
posed proudly in a costume of my own creation,
an operatic villain clad in a billowy blouse of black,
the Campanile Tower like a sentinel behind my back,
as movie cameras panned and zoomed,
paparazzi photographers capturing me
and freezing me,
in all my wicked, medieval glory,
floating and gloating in the dank aroma of the Venetian seas,
"I'm the shining star!
--Look at me, look at me!"*
-the super-special star I always knew I'd be,
a painted parody,
a harlequin of displaced passions
for all to laugh at and see,
before slipping silently
into the ornate basilica,
dim and dark as night,
thanking Mother Mary (for nothing) as I sparked
a votive candle's light,
not really sure or caring
where my life would lead,
just as long as the Azure Queen
shed Her Grace on me,
     me,
             me,

...until I fell
and fell
to the mockery of a home
I made in Hell,
hard and forever and fast,
the only fool left alone in my solo cast,
adrift with no direction,
****** and lost,
me and my frivolous theatre,
squandered an an extravagant cost.

___
"io sol uno" means, "I, myself, alone."

This poem is a true-life story.

__
See the Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy:
http://www.carfree.com/design/pix/sqlg110venice_piazza-san-marco.jpg

When I walk alone and by myself
for a day or two or perhaps a minute,
nothing makes sense and everything does,
and I want to write without words
and love myself while hating me, too,
and prove to you the world is ours
or maybe just yours
when all is paved in pain
like some puzzle missing pieces vital.
But only when I walk alone.

When I have to be with you
for an entire day or a few minutes,
it all makes sense and it doesn't
and I want to talk in silence
and be your friend and maybe more
and prove virility while wrestling the lions
or just by simply holding you
when the tears fall from your eyes
like the blood from one thousand wounds
but only when I have to be with you.

lay down with me in your dreams at night
carry me in your thoughts at day
and i will never be far away

My new policy
on critics and trolls
is that from here on in,
they shall be kicked in the *****.

Hard.

With steel-tipped boots.

Repeatedly, if need be...

Though down many long, sometimes crowded,
mostly lonely roads
of life in seasons spent, in the dreams
and memories, bittersweet in plans and schemes,
you, of one, and of some of a few,
touched my life
forever,
and you still now do,
with your hand outstretched,
I take it and in gratefulness,
thank you for your friendship,
and graciousness,
and though the road still before me lies,
it's not so lonesome with
you by my side.
__
Inspiring image:
http://beautyineverything.com/5357912558

(Warning this poem contains visual content
which may be considered too morbid or shocking
for those of refined and gentle tastes.)

Rock a-bye-bye, Bethy,
from the wood-beam rafter stock,
when the neck-noose tightens,
Bethy's body will twitch, sway and will rock,
the chair she kicked out shall tumble and fall,
and rock a-bye-bye Bethy, will be dead and that's all.
_____
Disturbing photographic image:
http://beautyineverything.com/2375915615

oh, really? are you really, rolling
on
the
floor
laughing?

I'd so love to see that...

savage, heart
so hurt
and empty
blackened pools of
pain, not envy
given into sleepless nights,
and pain-filled days,
where nothing's real,
where nothing's right.

this is the way it is,
the way it seems to
be
now i peer into a
dusty mirror
seeing little left of me.

The sea is the land's edge also..."*
--T. S. Eliot

It's a sand-castle in morning tide
slowly constructed
for the first time; and the horizon
sea-blue, distinctly separated from sky-blue
with a razor fine-line
liquid running steadily
into time.

I saw a small boy, ankle deep
in steaming sand
building illusional dreams of
Kings and Queens and Knights
because he can
do anything he wants,
while dolphins dive and dance
in the sunrise crystal morning
with his tiny, growing hands...

And when the seagulls circle by,
above hearty, browning palm trees,
eating as they please,
the kiss of water hits the shore
invoking a magnificent mystery music
just before

I
realize as certain memories arise,
that beyond this circumstance
lies connectedness,
an ******, wavering consequence,
leaving me to forsake
alone
ness:

When I wander along this temporal shore,
flying, sometimes falling
through these storms:
like the sea I am in many ways
so sometimes slowly dying
without pain,
and in a certain collectiveness, she reaches
forth her foamy hand,
blistering my cheeks in colours crimson, sweet,
erasing that child's castle
in the sand.

sometimes i find my
self-trembling
at the
thought
of
you.

i am a shadow of my once was,
waiting and waiting for word of my fate.

_
photo:
http://beautyineverything.com/2678444760

The original verse by Wm. Shakespeare:
Sonnet 18

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date".
_______

The satirical by D. Conors


"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art hot, damp, sticky,
too short, too bright
and too ****** seasonal."

I wear a shamrock on my arm,
high up near my freckled shoulder,
it's been there since 1984,
from those days when I was bolder.

It's not so very fancy, my dear,
but it means so much to me,
for it takes me back to my Auld Eire,
that land I love of emerald green.
__

she
is what she is meant to be,
she is the sensuality
of her femininity,
she
seeks beauty in all
she sees,
her essence is complex simplicity,
she
is contradictory,
she is all
that's satisfactory,
in her days
and in her dreams,
she
is lovely,
loving me,
she
is everything,
woman,
perfectly
a precious, priceless,
part of
me
that is
she.
_
Femininity
http://beautyineverything.com/4618419981

The sisters:
http://beautyineverything.com/2185290505

There will be no rest tonight for you and me,
for soon we shall meet the Sisters three.

T'was on this very night back in 1969,
three sisters lived in this house of mine,
happy, healthy as such their youth would be,
until on a dark chilly night came great misery.

From beyond the closet door had there dwell,
a phantom beast from the rank depths of Hell,
how came it summoned, no one yet knows,
but, with a silent lurch and bellow it then arose.

The siblings stared with terror and disbelief,
whilst the creature tore away their linen sheets,
fell upon them in a monstrous screaming rage,
tore them limb from limb with its claws like blades.

The horror though had not yet reached an end,
for it tore their flesh and hung their hearts in offend
upon it's black ragged cloak-sleeve as a trophy grim,
then ****** and drew at their soul-sparks with a grin,
for to take their lives was not enough to sin in hate,
but it was to enslave their spirits, the goal to activate.

And now, where we together lay in wait,
here come the sisters three to date,
and with our implements of revision,
we shall attempt our exorcism.

Hark! Now from beyond our chamber door,
the sounds of the undead wail and roar,
and as they near the entrance-way,
we shall stand steady, fearless and not as prey.

(What will happen to our exorcists?--Anyone care to complete the saga?)

Some coffee is bold,
some have no *****,
some coffee can cause you to bounce off the walls.
But, of all the best coffee there can be but one,
is the coffee you have when you haven't got one!