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~my poet friends and friendly poets~

(written in anger, then sorrow,
tinged with regret, but in the end one
has no choice but to forgive and forget)

<•>

the ghood poet knows no boundaries,
lays down tracks of a New England
pond of nirvana,
or across Siberian froze wastelands,
another
salves the wounds of dying soldiers,
and gives away comfort to the dying
with the freeing oxygen of
comforting words

the world of self,
that thing we know best,
thus encouraged by the textbooks,
well,
to have at it, plays whacamole
with your  owned flirtatious emotions,
none too imperious or low down or
garbage dump *****, that yet
cannot be validated by exploratory
over-the-line words pithy

even the florid, tiresome nickel & dime ing
rhyming scheming crutches,
we so oft employ,
yields up stuff that ain’t half bad,
periodically,
though, the blunt of words well crafted
needs
no such delimiting amusing playthings
or imprisoning
I-am-amoebic-pen-tata-meter

take you inspiration from here and there,
the proverbial deep dark of the mind’s recessed corridors of
corrupted consciousness,
or, the
contrail whiffs of the steaming steaming of the contradictions of a
newborn first day’s contrast of-
the wet dew on toes cooling,
while the simultaneous sun warms all
the cheeks,
heats the blood with
a thanks-god-I’m-alive
overwhelmingly overall tickling,

or
not.

write with the tools you have, but keep
them well sharpened, with
insight and revelation,
exploring the rain’s windowed
navigable rivulets,
the musical tempos
of waves and their multi-mystical variations,
and the readers will come like
pilgrims to your  holy land,
wearied and yet so delightedly hopeful,
with tingling contrasting dictions,
to capture and release,
by shattering any
stale notions of adulation
will bring your
audience of holy voyagers and voyeurs
to imbibe so deeply your creativity for the quenching, and the
amen gasp escaping tween
their lips is just a simple holy,
gentling thank you

discard the bad words as ornery and
distracting, veiled in pomposity and
highfaluting, self-saluting, arrogance of
those deeming themselves critical thinkers,
who thrive in the low mud flats of
self-pretension and the reassurance
of a mirror’s reassurance

write straight from the heart,
fill our eyes with the
complexity of the simple
and
grant us the write to share,
in your humanity

craft the work
and
the work
will repay
so stealthily
by secretly
crafting you





                                   nml
3:43 am 2/16/25

p.s,always fixyour typos
I “borrowed,”
a customer’s purple shirt
“okay, I stole that shirt”

It looked too good,
with an ironic phrase in white words

“dreams do come true”

Do I feel guilty
about “borrowing,” that purple shirt

“I don’t really know”

But I’ll let you know
later on tomorrow, as I’ve hung it out
with an outfit, ready to go to church.

Dancing on the tips of willows
Moonlight glancing off my blade
Weaving contours of the wind
Sword flashing quick as lightning
Heart drumming in excitement
Mind tranquil as Lily pond
You grew out of my eyes – wild, and wet
you held the weight of my pain;

Carrying my tears after the rain
  the white lotus after my pain’s rain.
Swaying madly from side to side
He believes he’s on the radio station
His eyes all bulbous and wide
Playing songs to please the nation
From Elvis to Black lace
As a smile spreads across his face

In his mind he’s Tony Blackburn
And Scott Mills rolled into one
As sweat drips down his solitary sideburn
Cause the other side is completely gone
Next up its the Rolling Stones
Through his imaginary headphones

Now comes the weather report
Sun with patchy rain
A quick update on the sport
Raducanu has lost again
Then he utters goodbye
Clutching his bag close to his thigh

In the bus stop he then squats
Before searching through a bin
Tying his beard into knots
He scratches his aching shin
As the doors open again without fuss
Lets re-welcome the DJ on the bus
loving you is like waiting for the spring,
the love that winds around my fingers

a stream that will fill with the most beautiful light.
when you open your eyes to my kisses,

i fill with the summer and the bright stars,
so chill with loneliness, leave.

i forget that the moon hangs like a
silver leaf in a sky of swallow's song,

while the rose that winter stole,
that died in my lovelorn arms,

left like the impressionist the water loved,
until all i could see was the dreams

of the water, and all i could feel was
the sleeping of the dark.
The gentle comments
This convincing chuckle
Your silky lips
And tender fingertips

Is this a play that we put on
Dress up and deliver lines
Gasp, laugh, yell, and cry
"Alive" we live "a lie"

Quick draw the blinds
Now blow out the candle
This is the end for you for me
Living this ****** formality
Transformation into NOTHING

The mind, through Heresy— a sieve!
Add sticky fear, and thus we live,
And turn the world to dust and ash,
A fleeting dream, a final crash.



---------------------



Transformation in Dark NOTHING
Through The False — see Foolish coming!
Mix in fear, cold and  Black—
And the world won’t e’er come back.



---------------------



Sharp Rise in Egg Prices

The price of eggs has soared so high—
For poor folks, less to eat again.
They bow before the wicked lie,
And life turns harder now for them...

A man-made scheme in full control—
The grip of death will tighten fast.
Deception reigns—its final goal:
A flood of lies too vast to grasp.



---------------------



I See and I Know

I see it, I know—
My verses will show.
That’s work, that’s my duty!
Yet sorrow’s sharp beauty
Still rings, never fading,
For fate is invading
My soul with its fire—
Not lost in the mire
Of this world of lies,
But where spirits rise,
Where demigods reign.
A poem may guide—
If you don’t comply...



---------------------



Slow Boil

The frog had heard a tale so grim—
A *** where heat would slowly rise.
Yet she believed it was a whim—
Until she boiled... to her surprise.

You’ll see the truth when it's too late:
The cook pretends to feed us all.
But beasts are food—he sets their fate.
His goal’s to boil, not to enthrall!



---------------------



"Novelty"

The "new" fool rises once again
To spread the Lies of those in power,
And chains grow tighter on all men—
Their nonsense chills us by the hour.

The few who see—too rare to save,
A fading kind, a dying breed.
The world is lost, beyond the grave—
The Depths laid bare by CowID’s deed.



---------------------



False Religions

"If triangles had their own god’s might,
He’d surely be a three-sided sight."
— Montesquieu


How weak the gods that men devise,
Mere foolish food, absurd and vain.
Their holy books repeat old lies—
Three lines, and all begins to wane.

This world is built on dull deceit,
Its masses led by fraud and fear—
To slave for crumbs, accept defeat,
To die in wars, or rot right here.

They trust in myths, they kneel and wait
For bliss beyond, yet fail to see:
They’ve never truly lived to date—
Like salted slugs, they crawl to sea.



---------------------



No savior will come, none will aid—
So fight as you can ‘gainst the Wrong.
But Death is the judge, and it’s weighed:
Were you just a fool all along?



---------------------



Crystals of Truth Amid Mountains of Mire

They’ll write up tons of hollow lines—
Editors rule with careful hand,
Selecting all that twists and blinds
The soul, so darkness grips the land.

They lift up ego, sharpen guile,
And heap deception on the pyre.
Confusion blooms—a numbing smile,
While minds are drowning in the mire.

This trash was made to cloud the sight,
Truth’s crystals lost within the lies.
The media now owns the night,
As Bedlam feeds the world’s disguise.

So finding truth—just slim remains—
Like searching needles in the stains.



---------------------



Decay

To twist your soul, just heed the lies,
Let nonsense fill your ears and eyes.
To **** the mind—obey once more,
Drink poison words that Evil pours.

Decay will spread, enslaving all,
And you will help the darkness crawl.
For greed alone you play the game,
All else erased without a shame.

The world is blind, corrupt, untrue,
And those who see are far too few.
No handful here can turn the tide—
Decay will grow. It won’t subside.



---------------------



Managing the Mob

The ministers all play their game,
The parliament's a joke, a shame.
The president’s a mindless fool—
The mob just loves a puppet’s rule.

The ministers don’t waste their stay—
No time for pride, just loot and play.
Their terms are short, so steal it fast,
Before the chance has quickly passed.

The media now runs the show—
The fools consume the filth they throw,
Obeying plans of those in power,
Drunk on lies from hour to hour.

Yet behind the scenes, the beast
Tightens chains and won’t release.
Bound by dirt, they nod and crawl—
Obey, and you may rise—or fall.

The tale’s old, but still it grows,
And madness deepens as it flows.



--- Total 11 poems. ---
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