I went to sleep in the year 2020
and woke up this morning in 1841
In old England, as is might seems:

Using words like give me a pint,
You old ******, lick me boots,
Lass and me Gentlemen
They had everything
Like everything in common with
America nowadays except, of course, languages.

To flogged a dead horse more like what i was seeing:
Racism there was as white as you could imagine
race against race: British and Ireland

The rich and the poor,
The upper class and the low renters,
Stagecoaches, and pan wagons,
I was somewhat confused,
with such animosity
White on white racism,

so when did the Black race came to that place.

Come to me senses, a poor Irish lad told a lass
A poor lady response by saying
aye better be on yah way!
You silly ******,
The red brick hair, the Irish twang:
Looking restless, moving around in that city,
Where the noise, and the eyes of the people
Seem, a part of labor and a part of pain
A part of sadness and a part of happiness

After seeing this small glimpse of their future
The labor, the pain, the sadness and the happiness
Was so timid,  waiting to be belong
One ****** even said, the sea give,(seafood)
And the sea takes, (shipped sinks)

Was I dreaming, why was really there?
As a poet in order to move on in the future,
we must know our past stories,
there will be times of unwanted pain,
the odd games…………

Where we are force to live in a roulette society:
I felt worn out like a cylinder..
In the year 1841 – 1843 in a comatose state

I wonder
How it would have been like if you had stayed
Would your parking spot would have been the same
Would your rustic tool box would have been in the shed
Or would an old copy of your favorite Tom Jones tunes,
would have played over and over
Every Sunday morning

It’s the little things we pondered the most
When hitting the ceiling
But we tried it in silence
Allowing the good times to simmer

Again, you welcome us with tragedy
With Cold, windy stormy winter blues
The unpredictability of lakes and pond ice,
Becomes every fisherman’s worst nightmare

A dead robin outside my bedroom window
Highlight the day. As the high wind
  Slammed against the lids of the city dumpsters
it was so loud it was deafening

Here I am the last cookie poet to enter eagerly into the new-year
With a different perspective, eagerly rehearsing my thoughts
  Before my poem trail off to believers or non-believers alike

You will not ******* away like the north wind
Every line you shall follow by scanning each undusted I’s
I am the poet to unknown regions stray
carrying words of wisdom,
but do bear in mind

*It's easy to cheer when victory's near

Jealousy is a weak link<
it is far most dangerous than the stages of cancer:

Mothers are not supposed to bury their children
Should she seek revenge for her child?
Should she forgive?

Keep the sweet memory of your child alive
Within your heart, let the world
Remember her killer as the monster
Let the unknown deal with his spirit
Let the angel, guide your child spirit
To a better place,

The struggle with revenge is centuries old. Shakespeare said, "If you ***** us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?" Shakespeare clearly thought revenge was as normal and predictable as the sun rising. Quote:

However, it is not: it just a pacifier solution,
To calm the madness of the mind
Is to be in control:
Because, jealousy is a weak emotion:

His favored ones, whose backs bend o’er the soil,
He blessed the hands of the ones who look after
His animals, with loving care, with sweet voices,
So gentle so caring, then, he blessed his children
In everything they do. And that is you, my Johnny
Tears, praise, love, joy, enwoven in your chest
As I watch you make adjustments, like the river of life
However, Johnny where there are no Roses
There is no hope of predicting, the love of a side chick(😊
With lots of bedroom tricks, more than professional decorator:
My wonderful brave robustly man of the soil,
I love your smile, your pouty lips,
And the way in which you announce my name,
Your gift from God is supreme,
as well as my futuristic dreams
Brave one of the Caribbean soils,
It was a wonderful thing you done
That night as you stay up late and spoke
Hello to me!

“If you wish to succeed in life, make perseverance your ***** friend, experience your wise counselor, caution your elder brother, and hope your guardian genius.”


― Joseph Addison

I am not ready  to face this man
Who broke my heart into squares?
I am not ready as yet to look him full in his lying eyes
And asked him why did he made my eyes overflow
I am not ready to asked him if he remembers
  the birth of our child, the signal from the moon,
the last Friday night of fish and chips,
I Wailing and speaking in tongues,
being strip down to my waist
I was encourage by him to be strong
But instead I held on to his left hand for strength and support..

That trauma was only for a very short period,
My broken hearts will never heal,
My soul long for answers,
However, to reshape my heart again take courage, but to

* Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting…*

Just before he said “How are you Are you okay?
To slam the door in the viper face once again is a step to healing.

My favorite bloomer knows my curves,
As well as my favorite poems, knows its audiences,
But it wasn’t written by me:

The verses inspire, encourage and feed my mind
Like an infant loving the theme songs of the A B C
Like an isolated soul that forces to be reckoned with
Come take a leap of faith with me,

Let’s climb the highest mountains
Or take that plunge to the ocean floor to see what lurks down there
Our mood shall always change with the clocks,
tick, tock, tick tock,
while our hearts  beat out of rhythm

our minds, however shall feel the changes with each modern poem,
to public narratives – the stories we read each day
Come what may, we shall prevail



*Joy...
    “ Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with. ”
― Mark Twain

A man left work one Friday afternoon. Being payday, instead of going home, he stayed out the entire weekend hunting with the boys and spent his entire paycheck. When he finally appeared at home, Sunday night, he was confronted by a very angry wife and was barraged for nearly two hours with a tirade befitting his actions.

Finally, his wife stopped the nagging and simply said to him, "How would you like it if you didn't see me for two or three days?"


To which he replied, "That would be fine with me."

Monday went by and he didn't see his wife. Tuesday and Wednesday came and went with the same results.

Thursday, the swelling went down just enough where he could see her a little out of the corner of his left eye.   (by Joke.Com)

I saw a pretty street this morning I forgot the name**

I remember dressing my daughters in pink

I never had the opportunity to dress someone in blue

I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

(would it have made a different?



Yesterday, it took me almost fifteen minutes to convince

A polish patient to take a shower,  

so I did is what the new norm does

I pulled up Google, and I asked to translate  

Take a shower tomorrow .. and he did it for me. ( jutro prysznic)

Life, what we had to do to earn a buck!!

Would it had made a huge different if

Police officer Derek Chauvin

hadn’t knelt into George Floyd neck last year?

I think Derek C was trying to prove a point

Like a sharpen no 2 pencil it broke...



I will leave this answer to the jury to decide

Poetry writing is like a *** position  

That we afraid to try,

My way of writing poetry is unique

I allow my mind to take me there

And my fingers to type  in calibri style

Never be afraid to express oneself

Be true to yourself..

Earth, is receiving an unwanted guest:
A total disgrace, a worldly test
It surface in the dead of winter, as the
Silence invaded our towns, watchful
Stares from every human eyes:

In hopes that this is all lies, because of it
It teaches everyone how to pray
In the heart of this crisis.. We are self-quarantine:
Living in fear or living by fear is very different to feeling our fears.

Poetry Nevers makes nothing happens,
It make us think of the words, it make us become vigilant
Is this the end of civilization?
Is the corona virus, the anti-Christ?
Earth is receiving an unwanted guest
Stares from every human eyes,

Fear, in the heart of every man and child
Teach us how to believe and pray.
Is this the rapture???

I look for words in the dark,
My thoughts were trigger by you
My Island soul knows no malice, until
negative thinking roams around in my head
It defines who I am, so I became the poem
And the poem became my affinity
to the nature of poetry
Fire bun, fire bun
Blaze dem Jah, purge dem ya hayed!

They came to my Island to feel
the warmth of the sunshine
as for me I visited a very difficult country
to become its shadow
I look for words in the dark:
My Island soul knows no malice
Only kinship with all life

Pain, regret—your sobbing;
And again, quiet—her gravely somber,
How could you. How could you!
Willingly, agreed to the ashes,
a very old ancient ritual:

I remember a mortal man: without the bold red
Now it’s jar of some kind.
Did he really exist, did he really?
Walk this earth, walk the block
Made those provocative laughter
During the moments, throughout the movies,
I remember this mortal man
Not a jar of ashes  pure marlarkey
We cannot kneel at his grave
Or read his tomb stones.
Wasn’t he his children hero?
A friend of a friend of a friend;

The man with the car who had the broken muffler?
The man who chosen the white ******
While she took a warm shower, and patiently
Waits for her to come back to his bed:

That face we love is truly missing
The voice we know will slowly fade:
Back half is this really true…,  is it the end?

Lady Folly
He did not kiss me when he said good-bye;
I let him go, not asking why,
Self-reflection
But I knew why, today I am taking a break
To reflect on myself, on this blessed Palm Sunday
What do I really want, what do I really need?
Somedays I think I know,
especially then I fall back into my mode
I see things others don’t,
my ****** muscle contracts each time
he rolled over, and touched, another,
even as he spoke kindly, I always knew
It's not cheating for him. Somehow for me
It's an invasion of one's privacy
As I feud within: I shattered mirror,
Of myself, this can’t be love it's not real:
Even though,
I’ve learned it is far better to lay in an empty bed
Then to lay next to someone who makes me feel empty(quote)
In my case, I am experiencing a folly of a woman
When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly


WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his *****--is to die.

Oliver Goldsmith
URL: https://able2know.org/topic/6894-1
Poetry can be therapy, poetry can be therapeutic,
These past memories, months of longing feelings,
I need the touch of his hand, his voice I can easily retrieve
The path of my writing is a path of truth,
I am the one that contributed to this madness,
I am the one with the poet's keyboard and pen
I am the one that should have just stayed friends,
I am the one that hate all men,
I am the one that loves, hates, and then love again,
Emotions, emotions, keep taking me in the wrong direction,
I want to go back, to my safe place, called loneliness
My heartbreak hotel

From the look of you:
I became the arrow and you were my bow
That aim right at my heart:

I grasp my chest
Looking for the blood of redemption

You were my rock,
Never my divider,
And I fell right into your trap.
Launch into nothing…

Let a fool be a fool

**Matthew 7:6
Do not give dogs what is holy; do not throw your pearls before swine. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces

Having a fight with you  
Is like punching myself,
Trying not to get bruise,
Our soul is connected,
My heart sway each time we speak
inflecting pain without intentions
Yelling at each other for no reason.
Trying my best to see things your way
Knowingly, it's so wrong to stray from the love
Can this kind of pain make me feel better?
Or scar us for life?
Having to fight with him
It’s like taking a swim on a cold winter day
Without thinking of myself as a polar bear,
We always said I love you, daily
Can love conqueror all.
My heart knows how to attracts emotional pain,
Our souls are waiting to make that ****** connection
So, I don’t want to fight with him.

Tonight I pray for my enemies
Not the dead for sure!
The dead and I always settle our feud

I look at my monthly bills on the kitchen table
And decided if I should eliminate those first
Not going anywhere for sure!

I received the blessing, from him
He is my source of love and guidance,
An enemy can be mortal
Or can be in this moment China:
An enemy who got away with genocide:
Tonight I pray for my enemies,
Because, I am the voice for the dead..

The Candidates:
If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves

What have they said to us
That we haven’t already heard before
Can they bring America Back?
From the brink of disasters’

It’s best they stop trying so hard
To make see Russia from their house
The majority of American only sees colors

Green eggs and ham, green lawns, green acres,
Green, green, green, and more greener the dollars

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness.
And they live by what they hear.
Such people become crazy... or they become legend. Jim Harrison

As for me I usually clear my throat, and swallow deep,
While I listen to their speech rehearsal:

I had plenty to say. But you just wouldn't listen. ..  so I farted  and that got your attention..anything to clear the air. ..
Between us..

I did not mean to write about death on a Sunday morn
He said that he didn’t mean to dial my number at 6 am
this awoke me from my dream
I was dreaming of being in California
Waiting to board a bus that was leaving at 2 pm
It was headed to New York City:

Poems can be amazing topic to ease the pressure of the day
Recalling an odd glimpse of a dream can be so puzzling
The dearly departed is never going to come back to us: unless
They are a part of a soap opera story line:
Somehow this mortal man ought to go and joined them

I wish that ***** would have called someone from the grave
And woke them up instead of me:

I just saw a not so love president in a recent photo
Standing alongside his daughter on graduation day
He too, look like he wish someone, hadn’t interrupted
His busy schedule, to pose for that photo session

I read a poem a day for inspiration,
How do you get your inspiration?

I lift my aching body from the bed
Liked an elder from the wheelchair: rigid

Looking at the mirror, I saw an unfamiliar face
a bad taste in my mouth, brought tears to my eyes

Oh God!
this old familiar hidden pain throughout my body
The light in my eyes dims, throughout this ordeal,
One foot move slowly, the other dragged along
Should I close my eyes, and listen' to it?

Could move on and fight this battle,
Or visual the pain with patience, a caption poem

The pain is rising up, the words began to unscrambles
Letter by letters, words by words
a needed password is required  to block or reset
Every sinew of my anatomy

I lift my aching body from my bed: I got to win
This downhill battle called chronic pain

I never look at a blank page for too long,

Same goes for facing a blank wall,

it seems to be always missing something.

A photo, a picture, and most of all memories.



When I was a child the same goes with my readers

without those colorful photos, I wasn't

contented with reading the book.

I must have read The House that was up sided down"

More than a dozen times, love how the illustrators  

Mind-expanding illustrations, vocabulary or concepts

had capture my growing mind at a early age.

Today my mind, doesn’t go for the illustrations,

But it can capture poetic details about life,  

And the subject matters: as they come to surface,


When it comes at me in the mirror,

It's not me staring back, but a poet,

A modern free verse kind of poet,

Or would we say a Amazon online shopper,

Instead of a walk-in stores browser

Who see from the rearview of her eyeglasses,


The brothers, I have known them that for the past

Twenty-three years, not on a personal level,

But by observing those two as individual characters,



One was a war vet, the other a computer tech,

One with some post-traumatic stress disorder,  

The other like no other, had a Smoking Marijuana Fixation:

Most likely contribute to his cancer, which lead up to his death,



The other brother, is still here with us,

Hanging around in the lobby, making weird sound

And ****** expression, of a deranging war vet,

We must never assume, who is healthier and who is not.

Because death is a divider, a time stopper,

And unapologetic, defiant Donald Trump of times


At times, I also can be unapologetic

I owes you nothing, I owes you nothing,

I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I am the free verse

Of my daily writing, without rules,  without your approval,

or even riding my bike without a helmet.

Or walking the street of Brooklyn without protection.

I thought that he was perfect for me
Because no one never laugh at my jokes
They sounded a lot funnier in my head,
But he laughs anyway, and once he laughs
I got thirsty for more, nobody knows what they
future holds, but I do remember
his snarling mad hatter laughter

Suddenly, one day he wanted out, he want
to spread his wings, so I let him fly.
I thought that he was perfect for me,
Because no one never laugh at my jokes

Some things sound funnier in your head
than when you say them out loud
I just had to let him go………………..>

On a chilly December day in Manhattan, I had just finished a job interview. Despite my frustration from two years of job searching, I thanked the almighty for another day. As I walked down 54th Street, I noticed a long queue stretching from here to Halifax. Curiosity got the better of me, and I joined the line without knowing what awaited me.

A white lady with a clipboard emerged from the building, escorting a few people at a time. When it was my turn, she scrutinized me from head to toe and instructed me to follow her. In a room, she handed out a test sheet, giving us only twenty minutes to complete it. The sheet contained around 40 questions, including math problems and vocabulary sentences. I finished it in less than 20 minutes, wondering what would come next.

After waiting again, she returned and said, “We’re hiring for Macy’s department stores across the city. What hours can you work, Miss Lander?” I hesitated and replied, “Morning shifts.” She assured me that I had aced the test and then dropped the bombshell: “You’ll be better off in the shoe department—not clothing or beauty, but shoes.”

With a forced smile, I thanked her. Who knew that a cold day and a mysterious queue would lead me to the shoe department at Macy’s? Life has its surprises, doesn’t it? 😄

Like whisky to a newbie
She said *** with her is so amazing,
Should her lovers take her words for granted?
  to the echo chamber, an invitation of uncertainty awaits
on the others side of love.

Just like any property a ****** is still a risky investment
Just like any investment could be,  
Another extremely shameless plug
As she pumps up the volume,
Like a female rebel on the run from the law

They love everything about this Island beauty
Like whisky to a newbie, her poetic euphoric vibes
  take them higher and higher, as her fans dance the night away

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgf_I9vepDo

Lillian’s Echo

In the dayroom’s dim embrace, Lillian sat—a survivor etched in time. The air clung to stories, whispered secrets, and the lingering scent of suffering. She, the one-character legend, spun her tales—prose blabber, raw and unfiltered.

Born into the system’s cold arms, Lillian emerged as an adult onto Brooklyn’s unforgiving streets. There, she tasted the bitter brew of inhumanity—the kind that seeps into bones, leaving scars unseen.

Abortions etched memories on her soul. Each child, born or unborn, imprinted on her heart. Tears flowed freely among the day roomers, their lives force-fed with drugs until the final breath. Neglect and abuse danced in shadows, haunting their fragile existence.

Lillian’s own children—thirteen souls conceived in the crucible of ****. Some lost to the system, others to her desperate choices. Abortion, a relentless companion, etched its refrain: “You will never forget.”

Ms. Smaldone, wise and weathered, shared her truth. Money, she warned, was no legacy for offspring. Instead, travel—imbibe life’s nectar before the curtain falls. Merril Lynch riches crumbled when sickness struck, and family greed devoured her nest egg.

Lillian listened, her eyes reflecting pain. She vowed to seize life’s moments, to honor the lost and the forsaken. Four west day roomers, souls adrift, yearned for salvation. May they rest in peace, their echoes woven into Lillian’s prose.

Life has no guarantees
We can’t sit back and believe
That life is perfect
There is an action, there is a reaction
There is no perfect poem:
there is no perfect world

Poetry comes from within, Poetry is all around us
Sometimes we see perfect images
But without the poetry insight
It would feel like *** without love:

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry.
Poetry walks the Brooklyn Street lacking clarity
Poetry sits amongst the congregation grasping:
back alleys and subways cars waiting,
but each in its own order to recite their observation.

We just have to listen to silence to find real poetry,

We just have to listen: the world is changing……

When I walk through a room and
If the silence is too cunning and too strong
I recall a poem: I once read Bird of Texas
I usually let my eyes zoom in on a target
Most of the time, it’s the exit
With the red lights, or the doors with the double bolts

Poetry writing is like double bolts locks
We lock our thoughts and emotions inside ourselves
and worried about what others might think of us
I seriously doubt that Dr. Seuss worried about his unique way of rhyming

Do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.

Same here with me, I don’t care if you like my poems or not
My eventuated submission: or my manner of speaking.
Is your way of critiquing gratifying Sam I am?

Do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.

Now my hands buried
In my pant, my hair all mated
Resting on my warm:
In the back of my head
"The ***** is an altar, and the ***** hairs are the flames upon the altar."(quote)
resting on my warm...was your imaginary hands,
Your notification startles me
A cold bed, noisy neighbors
And all I want was you.....

You are my one and only desire,
I crave for your body to connect  with my soul
Your heart, and yours only yours(quotes)

July 8th, 2022, I fly over the cuckoo’s nest

Here I am today with you feeding my addiction
this admiration without love is the fruit of reflection

Your values, my custom, and my abilities to comprehend:
One day you will search through the lonely earth for me,
However, would I be there
,
Would I at the moment in time care?
My library card is overdue/ or it my libido (😊
Don’t make me beg, don’t make me cheat

My friends said to me,
The sweetest lips deserve a kiss
But whom am I to ask for this (quote)Pj.)
My true confession of a low sX.s .s drive, chick.

Looking at losing me

It’s the insides that turn, as I ***** the hate
Me there in pastel, doing the task: unfeeling
Room 400-448.....
In my pockets I carry the purple gloves,
I have a little sense of humor for the Putin’s outcasts
And zero tolerance for the ungrateful faces

 I regrets the years of lying back and letting opportunities passed me by.

Paralyzed with fear, the stench of death, sores my eyes.

   My childhood years and home seems hallowed, pure, in comparison
To those rooms, of horror, I am never smiling, only speaks when spoken to

The Likes and dislike relationship between the downtrodden and me
Are based solely on a professional level:
The place of my birth haunts me sometimes,
But yet I regret at time for leaving: while I feud at life

My memories are so dear to my heart, without being biased
My resume, which is to say is impressive, however, my caramel color
Was my downfall, not enough privilege?
Not enough financial opportunity to break through?

Here I am daily putting on a united front like a true trooper
If you ask thousands like me, Should I keep my feeling to myself?
Should I toss the purple gloves aside for a keyboard, pen and paper?
Some said that I should be grateful and not be resentful:

To be on the clock nine to five: for what low income testing
Should I be happier? I just cannot
Not on their clocks

If my love for you were like diamonds
It would have been no cause for a divorce
I would have treasure it for the unity of its love
I would have praise the colorless crystalline form of pure carbon
The power it holds: The uniqueness of its colors,
And the authentic charisma in others it creates:

Just like the diamonds, we would have been unbreakable
That is why my love for you were not like diamonds
My love was more like a snow cone in Alaska
This melted faster than any glacier ice
.
Some might believe that feelings and thoughts are different
But I set them aside anyway to focus on our love
Anyway, It still didn’t matter…

**We were born to be real. Not to be perfect

To feel the morning sun upon your face,
To be awaken with the kiss of the morning sunshine,
The sound of the birds chirping an unknown melody
Human voices, of laughter from far away,
Foreign tones without the titles,
Somehow, you manage to walked to the bathroom
First thought, where am I? How did I get here?
Why am so alone?


My poem always has a meaning,
My soul is tired, my soul is loss
Rubbing the palm of my hands together
Doesn’t seem to work this time:
It’s best that I reached for a glass of wine
Life can take us, or break us,
Lord whom can I trust?
I don’t need anyone to love me
I often whisper under my breath
But when the breath whisper back
Girlfriend, this life of ours is merely a test
a crazy ride dude, a crazy ride this
thing called life…no update, no update:

Cleansing my Aura with a good write
A good version of my inner thoughts
Without burning my candle at both ends
My friends…..my poems always have a meaning.

~~
*My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light." Ones of Millay’s open stanza

Louder than a **** in a silent room
louder than an thunder roll
louder than a deaf mute
or a woman during labor
louder than cows on the pasture
or a wailing of a baby's cry
louder than a siren on a police cruiser
Louder than a fireman truck racing to a fire
louder than a carpenter who accidental nail his finger to the floor
louder than a chairman at a board meeting
as he try to get the crowd to come to order
louder than an angry mob in Washington after the Federal building shut down
louder than a preacher without the microphone
louder than I on grandparent's day
that's how loud the bigots barks

I opened the back door toward the two o’clock sun
The day was winding down; the trees were blowing in the wind:
Long row of school buses: waiting for dismissal

I wish that he was here with me: Each and every day
Hangouts video chat is good and it’s bad: why must I rate them call?
Sometimes, I just don’t get this build in operator at all

I can feel your presence; I could sense your pain
A mile across the ocean: until we link up again

What do we have beside the modern gadgets: lots of emptiness?
Within our heart we search for the right song:  a soothing melody
of love and relaxation. Inner peace we gladly seek
Happiness will follow: before I cry myself to sleep

These same brown eyes will smile again in the morning
Just for you to see, just like all my thoughts
Some, naughty and some nice

I am so filled with happiness: I am so enticed by lust
I shall slowly close my Samsung I pad: and think of
Love in paradise of summer 2016,

i decided  that love meant nothing to me
did my research, had my share of rejection
took the wrong path, almost

Allowed Satanism to enter my life:
it felt like i was seeking,  seeking, seeking
but i always whispered  ,
my God is real, my God is real
he is real in my heart, 
 I felt the pinch of a pin,
my knees buckle under, and i kept on saying
what the ****,  what was i doing ,
my God is real
how did i end up in a place, like that :

as i  reflected, i came to this conclusion that it was for love
love for us, love for the family, love for the union.
But, surely it wasn’t,
I  never truly experience love,
Or toe curling ******:  only burning pain,
I decided that love meant nothing to me,

Did my research, had my share of rejection,
Took the wrong path,
almost sign into the Satanism camp
Seeking, looking for something, lost love,
Many winters, spring,
summer fall and back to autumn
Still no peace within,
love meant nothing to me

It was hope that lifts me up;
I had asked  God  for only one thing
And that was to dry my tears, and lesson my fears,
Somedays, i felt like screaming, when loneliness
Tries to get me down:  
then i remember that love means
Nothing to me…..



,

My beauty isn't all it appears to be,
Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see
A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything
A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything
It's mine and it's ours are not the same thing.

I want coffee, and you want tea
The heart knows what it wants,
And the hearts want a connection,
instead of a stent surgery.

Love, trust, surrender and peace follow in this order
Love is confusing, love is a thief
Look into my eyes, or read my tea leaves
Love, trust, surrender and
Peace, follow in this order.

To all those who goes crazy every time
They heard the word “I love you”
You all need some kind of help;
I will forgive any child under two
Because they are learning and
They brain are like sponge
they soak up new words , phrases and
images for their memory bank

It’s funny how sometimes the people you'd take a bullet for,
are the ones behind the trigger." Quote

when we love, we immediately change the path
in our brains, we crave, we seek attention,
we become addicted :

I remember a long time ago,
When my bff and I would hang out together
We were happier and free will individuals

until she allowed those words from  a man
to get into her head “I love you
the same man broke her heart,
and it almost killed her:

when we love, we toyed with our brain:
to all those who goes crazy every time
you heard the word “ I  love you:

Think of Donald trump and his speech
on how he love his country
and want to make America great again

Do you trust me to deliver my poems to you?
Without re-inventing the pages or
disparaging my poetic talents

“A man who views the world the same at 50
as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

Poetry is ongoing art form, the poet never cross the
River to get the imagery,
for the same reason a ghost can’t cross water

Every artist dips his brush in his own soul,
and paints his own nature into ....
The painter puts brush to canvas, and the poet puts pen to pad

Do you trust me to deliver my poems to you?
Without the *******, let me surrender to my passion.
Let me write with all of you in mind
Let's spread kindness and happiness where it’s most needed
into the hearts of the one who believe in me

Poetry is an going art form
educate yourself about the history of the human spirit, before
Condemning it to the trash with the avatar symbol,
Make your craft, worth repeating
and your poems would stand out
like a breath of fresh air in a crowded room.