Tempered by the slightest sound
I hear their feet hit the ground
So I huddle tightly wound in fear
And hope that my prayers keep them far from here

The boots shuffle in unison
As I tremble in terror of these dark men
Stamping their feet they continue on
Passing by on until the dawn

And when they pass I sigh in relief
Ignoring how cramped it was or how dry the heat
I made it through another day
Now I can go out to play

Outside I laugh it feels so right
I smile and giggle in shear delight
And wait for my other friends to come
I wait for hours but there is none one

Once again the men return
This time bearing torches so my city burns
Now my spot is no longer safe
I have to find a different place

The night goes on and I survive
To say the least I am surprised
But as I take a look around
I notice there is no one else left in my town

They come again two more times
Tonight is the third one and weighs on my mind
No one is left I’m here all alone
I bite my lip then scuttle home

Across the street I hear a voice
Halt or I will shoot is my only choice
Instead I begin to run
I run and run and run

The bullet paints the evening sky
As my blood drip on throughout the night
With no one here to hear my tale
I write it in blood to myself

One percent is spent in decadence
Two percent given to irrelevance
Three percent an angel in armor
Four percent a devil with slightly tainted honor
Five percent a living ***** donor
Six percent dead inside
Seven percent alive
Eight percent a human being
Nine percent an artist’s dream
Ten percent foolish
Eleven percent impetuous
Twelve percent family obligation
Thirteen percent friendly frustration
With a leftover of eight percent unknown

From higher heart I dare aspire
Loving thine eyes now flushed with life
Lips locked in my mind less for lust
More for their moistness and brazen fullness
Hands tenderly touching my aching ego
I wrap myself within your kindness
Use you as a cover to smother my body
Wear you like a perfectly polished chest plate
Two threads woven tightly together
Flesh on flesh to douse this infernal rage
Softness to soothe the sadness of my soul
*** to satiate my addictive nature
With healing hands softly stroking
You calm my heart no longer broken

Foreswear this oath of fealty
To honor and love above all else
Oppose all act of cruelty
That comes to you or anyone else

Diligently I divide
From inside to outside
The derelict who dwells within
Bares my name and wears my skin
Dare I deny this saintly beast
His one and only tainted feast
Of words and wisdom ill contrived
At the expanse of those no longer alive
His logic comes with such a price
As he experiments with his vice
Those who loved him are lost to time
In his pursuit of the perfect mind

As I gaze across the vastness of all that is
All time and space in which we exist
A sense of love overcomes my heart and soul
For all who live young and old
On this massive floating ball
We who are one are joined as all
Brothers and sisters in our fight
Not to live alone but reunite
Let no one hold us back
Stand in our way or provoke an attack
Hate has no place in this world we live in
Let go of your ignorance so we can all be friends

Poet, she writes for peace
While they ride to fight
Fly off to die for what is right
Left at home alone she cries at night
And wonders why
Her loves one try
To commit suicide
-
Poet, She writes for love
But she is not tough enough
She falls down more than
She is able to stand up
Poet, she writes because
To do less than that
Would break her in half
-
Poet, she writes against oceans
Rages against the tides
Struggles with emotions
She cannot hide
Struggles with the world
She cannot abide
-
Poet, she writes
She lives and dies
Fall and flies
Laughs and cries
She is yang and ying
Every single thing
All the ways she lives
All she has to offer she giv

The traveler is home.
Season’s end finds him
safely sequestered in
friendly and familial arms.
The distances now bridged
allow him to give
that which he sought
and achieved at great cost.

The traveler is home,
unpacking his treasures,
unloading his wisdom,
given in writing
and spoken in person,
silver proses
not wrapped in bows,
but human woes,
truths in experiences
parlayed part of the way
and interlaced
with the fictions he traced
to spruce the narratives up.
In return he receives
handshakes, helloes
how are you doing,
and where have you been.

The traveler is home
but that is not enough.
Love cannot tether him here
and even in polite conversation
when he is facing
those he loves
his eyes search the distance
planning the perfect parting moment
while longing for adventures
and new stories untold.

Even when the traveler is home
his mind is already back on the road.
Before he washes his cloths
he is already ready to go,
so every single hello
is just an unfinished goodbye.

The traveler is only home on the road.

I am the wind
Going in
And blowing out
The riddle
In your fiddle
When you can’t
Figure it out
I am the lute
I am the flute
The wooden piccolo
And the bells
And the drum
I am the hum
The thumb
In your mouth
The thwang
The twang
Diddlee do
Rocking me back
And holding
On to you
I am the beat
On the street
I am everywhere you are
I am in your ears
On the road
Bumping loudly
In your cars
Till the day that you die
I am yours
Oh man
Oh man
I am what I am
I am the jazz
And the blues
The melodic muse
That you use
And this could go on
Forever, I am the music

Computer screen glows with white ambitions
Everyone knows the right positions
But I am lost in a world of madness
Walk down in dark the path of sadness
Let me go and I will let you see
The secret flames that burn in me
Life is pure as it can be
Selection becomes our destiny

Science and fiction rolled in one
Fantasy for you my son
Thought I was having fun
I never get anything done

Thus, humanity comes to an end
not with a whimper or a bang
but with heads held down
by the gravity of digital devices.
Strangers dissolve.
Flashing screens absolve us
of the need to meet.
The outside shades
of orange, purple,
white, and gray
fade away.
Humans disassociate.
Conversation evaporates
to be replaced by a stenography
texting quality
paired with a variety of emojis.
Years of evolution
Are discarded within the span
of a few generations.

You saw a man in trouble
and went on your merry way.
Then  found yourself
in a similar position
that very next day.
No one stopped to help you
isn't that strange?

It saddens me deeply
to stare out at the breadth
of human beauty
and know that no
fairytale dreams
wait to for the right
musical keys.

There is no soul mate
singing under
the same star strewn
sky that blooms
with planets and moons.

There is no one out there
who feels what I feel,
who seeks to think,
and be thrilled by
the knowledge that I
gathered for all.

There is no one
who would burn
with the same cosmic fury
that causes other fools
to flee in a hurry
but enraptures me
in knowledge’s ecstasy.

It is very sad to be
the smartest sub atomic particle
in a reality that eludes me
because I cannot see
beyond my proton and electrons
and all the other sub atomic morons
do not even know
that universe is just a part of an atom
in a molecule in much bigger
universe.

To be or not to be I wonder why
I live so hard that I cannot cry
Coveting cuts across her wrist
Open wounds remind us we still exist
Silky red ribbons run like dark waters
Bloodshot eyes to match the liquid
Seeing her sitting in squalor I shiver
Life’s lonely punch line left to deliver
Bottle of pills placed half hazardly on the sink
Razor blades falling in and I think
The stench used to be sickly sweet
Now rotting flesh makes a nauseating stink
Mouth that I cannot stand to look at
Eyes so ghastly I refuse look back
All we get is just this one try
To be or not to be to live or die
To falter or to fly and dream of lights in suicide
Leaving loved ones far behind

Life seldom grants us absolutes
Before the truth of reason
Comparison was treason
Ignoring the fact
That some have and some lack
Was common practice

Justice was lackluster
Politicians and business men

But now with all the information we have
Reason and comparison should be elevated
Inequalities should be seriously debated
Not with flowery words which inform so little
But conceal so much, but with science
Because facts find hidden truths revealed
And there is seldom to much truth

The parking lot is a sheet
of solid ice beneath my feet
and it is fun to slip slide
but I wish I had some
warm rainy night vibes,
because all of my night lights
have either frozen or died.
You know that I tried
to believe your truth
but your truth
is my lie.

You are a strange picture
of wavy raven colored hair
and beautiful smiles.
Still there is a darkness
that hides behind
your sweet and hopeful lines.
You sing for me
like a coal mine canary
and for a bit
this bitter winter gets better.

It is not your duty,
but you are a dream to me,
a playful majesty
in a cold lonely choppy sea.
I watch a thin curvy wave of
snow flow away
running like the dying day
that fades while strays
like me stay in pain.

It is not fair to wear you
like a light tan armor
but I have lost so many other
battlefield friends,
more leaving then passing,
tenderly basking in a world
safely centered in love and hope.

But love and hope is the rope
that I wove to hang myself.
I shame myself looking to your heart,
knowing that you have your own battles.
I hope you beat every demon
that scorches the porches you call home

As for me I fly alone
waiting for the day
the icy roads take me away.

Goodnight my poetic friend,
master of the hearts that mend.
Till we tweet, tumblr, or
Instagram again.

Not with a blade
Nor with blood on my hands
But with wisdom
And compassion
May I be tyranny’s end

With poetry and prose
With the ink and the rose
With an inkling to know
Just and unjust
Right from wrong
May I be tyranny’s end

With love
Not a bullet
No bombs to blow through it
No glass shattered or metal disfigured
This is what I figured
May a revolution of words
Be tyranny’s end

When you talk remember that it is me
And I am listening
Do not guard hearts or hide words
Do not harbor false hope or fake rage
Do not be consumed by the illusions
Lost to the confusions
Be honest, I need your truths
I feed on your inspiration
The human race a light at waste
You glow so bright
But dim that light
To fade against imagined slights
You are a sparkle in a sea that glitters
Shining brighter than the moon
Blazing hotter than the sun at noon
Remember when you speak
I have questions, I am curious
I want to know you
You know I love you
You were born to be cherished
Live and will perish
So of course I love you
I wear your scars and bare your burdens
I’ll heal the your heart if you are hurting
Just speak say something, anything
Eyes averted, love denied, love shamed
Silence hurts more than violence
Losing truths to a social shell game
For we cannot see each other
If we do not speak to one another
Speak to me and I will listen
Listen and we will learn together
Learn and we will grow together
Grow and there is no limit to where we can go

For the art of poetry
the city streets
stir slowly
waking with me.
A multitude of cars,
follow in front
and behind me.
They look like
that illusion
when two mirrors
reflect eternity
back and forth
between themselves.
They look like
a thousand
distorted reflections
of me
driving at a parallel pace
in different cars
with different faces
going to different places
for the same reason.

Love lets children play
Fly away
In imaginary planes
Or soar in space
With alien races

It replaces fear
with compassion
Cares little
For what’s in fashion

Freeform, whimsical delight
No order or structure
No constancy
No normalcy
Freedom unrestrained

Our world might be improved
If more adults learned to play
In a childish way

I need hope cause I haven’t got much else.
When lighting is less frightening
Than the thought of surviving
I try to hold on to the hope that you have,
But the illusions you use make me laugh
God is a joke spent and morally broke
His people vile betrayers of humanity

I do not fear death, but I wish I did
I wish that some sort of light gave me reason to persist
As I keep getting older the lies get stripped
Until all I am left with is truths and emptiness

Love would be nice but there no one out there for me
I search the horizon as far as I can see
Settle for worse and then have to flee
Stuck in the zone of human disease

I need hope cause a bullet holds no fear
I would take it gladly and disappear
Pointing the way to a precision **** shot

Really can you blame me for being depressed
This world is sick and we’ve made such a mess
That drugs are needed just to get by
Dealt by our doctor who helps us stay high
Caffeine and alcohol a perfect match
Just the right dose to quiet the fact
Stop all the thinking then life would be better
Put more drugs in my food and I’ll be happily deader

It is a world of randomness.
Photos play in
their digital displays.
Soft impression of
Of wet and salted sands
leave an imprint
of her sacred dance.

Another photo
catches her
soft features
strained in
fantastic effort.
Like a perfect sketch
her legs
are outstretched midair
in opposite directions.  

A gray cement cylinder
with open circles
cradles her soft body.
She is a changeling
that bends with
it’s hard contours.

Switching with
a finger’s flick,
finds two black ropes
that hold the hopes
of the young dancer
hanging down
unbound
as she is.

With the fierceness
Of Artemis
this bare foot goddess
sweeps her feet
across the
white winter grounds.
Her steps are
hot enough
to melt the snow.
Later she
enshrouds herself
in a transparent veil.
The melody does not stop.
She moves
like the figure in a  
faberge egg music box,
never allowed
to rest until
she breaks.

Beautiful and powerful,
she blooms like the flowers
her admirers plucked
to place pink petals
at her feet.

She is eloquence.
Arms outstretched
to open the doors
that lead to a
warm summer dreamland
which all her devotees
wish to explore.

Folds of blue fabric
fill her tiny hands,
rippling like water
hit by strange skipping stones.
She ***** the fabric forward
up, down, and back,
trying to soar  
with the fury of her dance.

One knee rises.
Unfeathered arms open,
flowing back, up, and away.
This long legged
blonde blue eyed child flys,
a canary in the coal mine
barely concealed
urging us to feel;
Frozen in time
on Instagram
to be seen
and soon sidecrolled away.
A queen like Titania,
fairy winged,
a thing of dreams.
Nature’s surroundings
obfuscate her
transient existence.

Her body bends and sways
with the wonders of
old orchestras and concertos.
Till, eve falls
and December takes the dancer.
The soft swimmer shimmers
in the soon to be frozen water.
Feathers fall from the Swan’s
long lost daughter,
and the well used
dance shoes
refuse to move.

I was lost in the grandeur of my name
Set upon a stony path
Full of thorns and hypocrites
A weighty road with walkers
Trampling over flowers and thickets
Thick with tricks
Blood boiling on golden bricks
Barbed wired fences
Flags and floats paraded
Common sense
Ignored
Deplored
Considered a bore
But before the end
Maybe I will find the truth
-
Isn’t she great
That cow
That spits sand from her utters
Fat and flaccid bovine
Munching on grass
Spitting out a calf
At equal intervals
That trapped beast
Not the real thing
Just an illusion
Bell around her neck
So she can never step
Too far away from her field
Ready to be killed
Without an ounce of awareness

The endless ocean gasps as it rushes towards the sea,
To spark the heart of desire as they mix intimately.
Frothing water running, churning, while returning;
Where souls once settled and hearts were always burning.
The vastness of these lover though grand in our regard
Is only just a trifle, infinitesimal compared to heaven’s stars
Still moist lovers reach for each other racing to be together.
Deep blue eyes reflect the skies. The sea watches the night and never
Ever realizes that this strange relationship of rising and fall tides,
This connection dark and deep here, her Ocean’s faithfulness is a lie;
There are other seas he sees.

It is barely twenty degrees.
I shiver as I drag my feet
across the cold concrete
walking the parking lot,
but I’d rather be
crossing the street
heading down the road
and farther down the road.
Till, I find the Springfield library
that hall of books beckons me,
but I have to stand resolutely
staring at the children who pass me
some laughing, some chatting
some shivering and cursing friendly.
My eyes look beyond them
staring hungrily at an undiscovered country.
A CVS and Walgreens to the right of me,
a school behind me,
a brick building with white lightning cracks
in their orange rectangles
and around the corner
several two-story homes.
One with fire damage,
one with a front porch caving in,
and another just plain dilapidated.
Trees stand lonely
scattered across this urban sprawl
each one solitary
holding out its limbs
like the stranger
who stands on the side of the road
begging with cardboard pleas
for something to eat or a dollar.
I stand, drained by the cold
bored, wishing for something to happen
instead of appreciating the richness
of this weird little world around me.

Your ten thousand prayers
Don’t add up to
to doing what
you prayed for
god to do.

Ask the starving man
if he would like
us to sit by
and pray all night
for someone to give him
a piece of food,
or if he would prefer
direct action like
someone passing
him a dollar or a donut.

Ask the man who waits for
rope while he dangles
off the side of the cliff
if he would prefer
ten prayers to be heard
or one of the people
praying to bring him a rope.

Ask yourself if you had to choose
between group praying for a cure
or a doctor who has six plus years
to help you with whatever disease
that is afflicting you.
What would you do?
What would you prefer?

A man can die
waiting for help
while fools decide
out of pride
that their prayers
are better then
taking direct action.

On tv it looks so copper clean
Ringing in naked dreams
Living out those picket fence schemes
To get the American bling

Morality is black and white
There are no heroic black knights
The good guys are just
And they just wear white hats

But life is painful
Like a cancer vampire
******* your life force
Pale skin quivering

Dark bags under your eyes
No hair there because of the chemo
Despair and denial on ivy drips
And reality tv made us ill equipped
To handle it

Sometime I wish the tears would stop
That the empathy would vanish from me
That I couldn’t see what I see
See what this reality has made of me

History is white sheets
Red arm bands, fat *******
Uninformed Loud mouths
A canvass that drips wet with my outrage

I sip the last drops of my stimulants
Drop the anti-depressants in the toilet
Forget my docility
Embrace more than half of my hostility

I don’t think much will change
Despite how hard I clamor
Despite the sparkles and the glamour
How I use the language to entertain and inform

This is therapy
In the form of Poetry

When I exit this existence
There will be no mournful songs.
The cosmos will not cry for me.
Sirens will not sing my sad melody.
Angels will not weep passionately.
Gods will not even notice me.
When I pass through that parted veil
I will not see heaven or hell.
I was never good enough for one,
Or bad enough for the other.
I do not foresee any sort of forever.
When I die I will just be dead.

I woke up in the wrong earth
There is violence and depravity
Religious abuse and insanity
Politicians paint the world with fear
Distorting the words of drunken prophets
So they can control people
Wars waged for profit
Should have listen to their poets
To balance out the science
Kids **** their parents
Some parents deserved it
I woke up in a world
That makes me feel so worthless
Banks own us all
Print their own **** money
Own the images in our head
We are counted in the red
**** I woke up in the wrong world
I should have stayed asleep
Maybe if I go back to bed
I wake up in a better world

I like this poem. I get the humorous part. However, I do not think we need to be mad to be great poets. I think the world is incurious and impregnated with the madness of indifference, and the really good writer observe, absorb, collecting disparate perspectives, run subconscious scenarios in their heads, and project the closest approximation of other peoples lives and feelings.

He excelled, but at each level he struggled
trying to elevate himself to new heights.
That ambition burned him,
even when it earned him
what he thought he was due
higher wages, better benefits, and more things
so, every day he stayed
at a job, he truly hated.
Every heartbeat aggravated
by wanting more and more
until he collapsed on his office floor
barely even mourned.

I worked but seldom succeeded
making enough to get what I needed
and enjoying what I had.
Though his stone was big
I left an almost omnipresence of positivity
with every stranger who met me,
so I die contently.

Oh brother,
I can’t see you as my enemy
when your right here
standing next to me
struggling in America
a parallel complexity
of all those strange societies
just striving to be
a little bit better.

Oh no,
You’re in the blue car
just in front of me
passing other strangers
who don’t want to be
away from their family
but they got to work
to get paid and pay the bills.
At the end of the day
they rush home to see their kid
and watch them play.
They are my brothers and sisters.

Okay,
I know this world is strange.
I’ve cried out this life is pain
but that’s not a matter of fact
it’s a matter of what I lacked.
Though, the particle of hope is small
my love envelopes us all
so I’ll pass my atomic heart along.

Hell yes,
I hear the hopeful hearted dialogue
that denies the over simplified diatribes
from that mad lib racist guy.
Humans rise.
Strangers stand in line.
People love each other
hugging out binary code
saying we will all be fine
in ones and zeroes.
So don’t waste this time. Cont
You don’t have to look hard to find them.
They are not walking a step behind.
They are standing right here.

I head home
from the double time pay
that I now make
on Christmas day.

There are no jingles
or carolers crooning
just a full bright moon
shining.

The Christmas lights
shift red green
reflecting
in the white
snow laden night.

My car slips to the right
dipping slightly
in a ditch
as it lightly
spits mud
while pulling itself
back onto the road.

There is no where
where I long to go.
The doors are all locked
and I forgot
the keys to
that younger me.

Still, I drive nostalgically
mud tracks follow me
as I head home
via the quiet country road.

I park and sit in silence
to reminisce
about the things I miss
my little brother,
my grandmother,
my grandpa,
and the malamute dog
that wasn’t really mine.

This is the time to find
comfort in the divine
but I cannot
find a place
for the divine  
in my skeptical mind.

But I can recall
a talking teddy doll,
a grubby caterpillar,
a hungry group of hippos,
a set of sweet books,
hot coco,
no sorrow
just my family.

Tis, the season
but all that is past
sipping the brown
melted marshmallow sweetness
that never lasts.

There is
no Santa Claus,
no Rudolph or Prancer,
no tiny elves
who sing like Elton
with his tiny dancer.

Audio book or podcast
in one ear
as the other one hears
siren rushing
somewhere out there.
Even though,
I have the humbug spirit
I am glad to make it home.

I pet a black dog on his head,
**** then get my *** in bed
and end this holiday
the same way
I end all other days.

My muse is a decadent goddess
Smart strong and modest
Light brown smooth skin
And twice as delicious, my friend
A smile so charming
That it’s almost alarming
On a scale from one to ten
She is two times an eleven
And better than that
Has the spirit to match

My muse is the early morning
When it is barely storming
Earth soft and slippery
Cold but only slightly
Sun slowly rising
Sound of birds chirping
Deer just outside my door
Been there since four
Trees swaying
I can hear my muse a playing

My muse is a soft jazz song
With no word for me to sing along
Just a gentle sax moaning with pleasure
Piano in the background taking its measure
So deep and sweet that it could rock me to sleep
I smile because my muses loves me
My muse is tranquility
In everything
I hear taste or see
Such an awesome level ecstasy

Though my muse may astound and confuse me
Run from or pursue me
She is always there
She is everywhere
From a child’s eye lit with wonder
To the sight of lightening sounding thunder
Even my once or future lover
From the lips that I may never kiss
To the loved ones I will always miss
My muse is the perfect mistress
So this is a love letter to who
To all my million muses especially you

I need to read
to seed my mind
with a variety
of strange fantasies,

to inhabit a multitude
of identities
and let disparate ideas
be revealed to me.

I’ll set them free.
scattering all these things
like jig saw pieces
to an unknown puzzle.

Then I will write
A new  fictional
world of words with
truthful purpose.

I will let all prose
flow
letting all poetry go
where my subconscious
wills it.

I will follow fleet of foot behind
barely keeping up
with my quick witted
well read and readied mind.

I sit down in tweak town
To jot down a new noun,
A nice verb, a poetic sound,
But all that comes out
Is blah blahs, and doubt.
There’s not enough coffee,
To help satisfy me,
As long as I compare myself,
To everybody else.

So here in caffeine city,
The poetry is witty.
Every verse excites me.
Ever line invites me,
To be better.
Speed is my muse,
As long as I let her.

A nicotine lozenge,
Four milligram a piece,
Helps me stay awake,
Until, I am allowed to sleep;
Helps me to stay alert,
Helps me write this verse,
But in the end
The zzzz will hit me worse.
I guess, I should have just gone to bed
Instead.

I lead with my left,
And follow with the rest
Of my body.

React with the exact flow
Of my subconscious,
And come back later for the editing.

Life is not a boxing match,
But it feels like I’ve been
Fighting this and that.

Fist in hat and swiped it back
No magic tricks
To help me with it.

Just one thing to the next,
And I no longer reflect
What I expect.

I am just a wishing well
Of show and tell,
Pennies in,
but only smoke come out again.

It is late at night
when I sit back
watching the daughter
I never had
start to laugh.

A weird dream
that is set on repeat
as she
plays at my feet
then fades like
a shadow.

I hear her voice
in my head
begging me to read
another story
or slyly offering
to read to me,
making me
smile proudly
at her clever ploy
to stay awake late
after I have already
tucked her in.

All the books
that I read,
I give to her
instead
of donating them
to my nearest
librarian.

All my friends
think they know
the reason I say no
to the idea of
a family to come
but the truth
in fact
is the hope
that I’d lack
if my dream daughter
never came back.

There is a lot of pain I can bear
but that would break me beyond repair.


We are a multitude of voices
relished while being raised
exalted for our exquisite visages
and voracious vocals that violate
the dark intent of men
who seek to profit from the enslaved.

Dinners end
Table cloth must be put away
Butchered heart
Silver spoon
To mark this moment
People passing plates
Take their meals and look away
Hands touch only for a second
Charged by old memories
Lust
Confusion
The knife reflects
Tears not yet
Wiped away
The ****** beef
Salty and sweet
Oil caked skin
Digested grossly
Like lazy lovers we depart
The dinner with stomachs empty
Desires unfulfilled
Wasted day without a meal
Move on
Move on

Oh Rome,
You came to our shores
But long before
You conquered
Us with war
You stole our gods
We knew not what for.
You dressed them up
With brand new names
Added some paint and
Gave them new games
And this is how
We were tamed
Not with shame
But with the usurpation
Of our religious nation.

Oh Rome,
We were already in your homes
****** martyrs, no longer nomads
The tribes had come together
Tethered to each other within forever
Hungry, but unwilling to be bought
Craving less enslaving
Never reaching what we sought.
We had our one true god
To hell with you and all your pagans
Our souls were purified and no gentiles
Needed saving.
Till Constantine combined
The Christians with the pagan mind
And once again the powers that be
Stole and controlled our religion you see.
We were tamed
Not with shame
But with the usurpation
Of our religious nation

Where is the grief
that should write your face
leaving no trace
of joy’s expression
only rivers of red depression?

Where is the pain
that should be drawn in
till each line ages you
as it should do?

Where is the wisdom achieved
in feeling such grief
in bending to weep
from the sorrows you see?

Where is the hope and conviction born
from seeing the forlorn,
hearing the horrors that sound inhumanity
then standing to see a whole city
raging against such indignities?

Where is the righteous outrage
that you display
for a symbolic piece of cloth
that represents states that owned slaves
or the red white and blue
that you pledge your allegiance to
when it is torn, burned,
stepped on, or frayed?
Shouldn’t that anger be parlayed
into seeking justice
for those who were betrayed
for the ones who went away
to be kissed by the lips of death
and the ones who stayed
trying to make ends meet
for the human beings
who mean so much more to me?

Seriously, where is your ******* human decency?

Once freed from the prison of the sea
The reptilian flee to see what they can see,
Hopping stones to find new homes.
Soft clicking cartilage bones.
Hot waters burping up bubbling sands,
Sipping the dripping goo,
Primordial ooze,
Protein potential,
For me and you,
From it to us,
A sweet but bitter tempest.

Sometime it feels like I am giving up.
That I borrowed too much stuff,
Like this idea from another,
Like some other person’s mother,
But the truth is that I missed it,
So I am giving up the dream of stuff
I never knew or had,
And sometimes when I am feeling bad,

I give up writing, deciding
Which word is inviting,
Which sentence is delightful,
Which verse is insightful,
Which line is to spiteful,
And fails to meet the mark;
Fails to tap the hearts,
But then I give up on giving up.

We sad strangers have stood idly by
Watching people suffering
Brown skin Muslims rounded up
While waterboard artists play cover up
Unmanned missile launching drone
Blow up innocent bystanders homes
Justice is just a joke’s simple guise
To promote social inequality
Worthless warfare idiot warriors
Public figures probably figure
Were just sheep cow toe to heroes
Noble sacrifices will quiet riots
Justifying all of those lies
Can’t call a soldier on his crimes
Well then string up the general

If time shall fail the fool will fall
Knowing little but loving all
Past his prime pushing prose
Pasting poetry writing to slow
If he has done his job
Knowing what he knows
Going where he went
Where only dreamers dare go
He is me the hopeful heart
Slightly swollen ego
All I ask is when I am done
When my time is up
And I am gone
Please know I loved you all
I hope that the world is just a little better
For me being me than nothing at all

The war is coming rising rivers of dark red blood will be spilt, stop
Innocent lives spent in the pursuit of greed, glory, and hate, stop
Machine gun turret, grenades, poison gas, planes, submarines, stop
Bullet, blades, blood, enemy-entrenched, death in the mud, stop
Children becoming men before their time dying on your dime, stop
Next war, with oh so many new ways to terminate life, stop
New technology, modern mass media telling us how to feel, stop
Building bombs to **** one another leaving behind crying mothers, stop
Bigger bomb tap that atom go out and get those yellow *******, stop
Pandora’s box opened up with bitter metal bearing baring hate, stop
Two cities decimated, burning the earth, Heaven cries black tar tears, stop
The cycle continues from war to war the tragedy never seems to end, stop
Human horror, I am begging for the love of all humanity please, stop

Sheets fly from my bed
Clothes fall from our flesh
Makes me smile as I turn my head
Such a small mattress

We barely even fit almost fall
Laughing together
Catching each second
Forgetting all the others

Cold hands touch my skin
Securing a riders position
Bodies singing
My ****** physician

Melts my heart like butter
Wishing I could just let go
Feel her gasp and quiver
Hurts so good so I let her know

Soft lips press against my chest
Running up my neck
Send shivers in reverse
As I gently caress her precious breast
My fingers brush her beautiful black locks
Eyes lock upon her head
Fixing in on her pupils
I am mesmerized

She dances on my lap
Flowing to a rhythm
That I cannot keep up
Feel a living explosion
Slumber settling in
With a smile on my face
She wears a mirror expression
In our perfect space

I cry inside
From the rush
What a high
Best kind of crush

I cradle her body
As she entangles me
In her rhapsody
We made such sweet harmony

You see only masculine in maleness
but I can find the soft jawline
look back in time to
seeing the long brown hair,
the soft pale skin,
the timorous voice
that searched the air
for a truth we all shared.

I can see the beauty
when two men
in love become one.
As eyes that once scanned
the deserts and seas
look upon other human beings
no longer aching but finally free
to lust, to touch, and truly be
who they are.

If I had a soul to sell
or a blade to impel myself
for the betterment of man,
and the movement towards,
the eloquent and grand,
I would wear those scars
with envied pride.
I would ride deep down
into the abyss of time
leaving a better world behind
for the small part I played
in this minor existence
we have all made.

That I should be so bold
And hope
true stories be told
living longer than I
not eternal
but spanning
some time
as their value allows;
A generation or more
a hundred or four,
it matters not
for I am inconsequential.
It is only the stories
That really matter.