Little ****** baby brother,
tiny younger sister
ravaged by war,

Oh, mother earth
what have we done.

Oh, father time
when will this
madness be done.

Our Cities sit
on crumbling foundations.
States become
little failing nations
moved by hate
and I can’t wait
for the day
things change.

Oh, mother earth
what have we done.

Oh, father time
when will this
madness be done.

Until the clouds
of grey, white, and black smoke
no longer choke
the pristine blue skies,

until the oil spilled
no longer fills
the oceans with death,

until we fulfill
our potential
and become better
humans
who help each other.

I hope we do.

I am alone,
and it seems
I will always be
so eternally.

The only love
for me
will be ghostly,
a deathly bride
who claims me
for eternity
taking me to
the doors
to nowhere
and loving me
enough
to let
my body rot,

a gruesome
affection,
indeed.

The cycle of my mood shifts
From high to low to slow
Soul scabs over
The things I love
Become mundane
No shame
Because I cannot
Drive my mind and body so hard
And expect to maintain
Such creative highs

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.

Let it bleed
like the red ink
that colors me,
make tiny tributaries
parting with the pain
I used to drain my veins.

Let it bleed
and plant a wet seed
so all stranger can
come and see
the painful reality
that swells
and leaks out of me.

Let it bleed,
so I don’t have to
doubt the truths
I held on to,
so the fierce reflection
that was so **** vexing
does not get
the chance to ****** me
because I am already bleeding.

Let it bleed,
let it all out,
so all the horrors
that confound me
the tragedies
of humanity
can become
another poet’s problem.

Since, I know
I cannot solve them
absolve me of
this painful empathy
set me free
please just let me be.
Let me bleed.

I am grateful that was not the one to find
The cold hard husk of flesh that you left behind
Because even now after all of these years
A simple song or memory brings on the tears
I am grateful for the time we had though it faded fast
All the summers spring and seasons that could never last I
It has almost been nine years to this very date
And it still hurts when I try to elaborate
This constant nagging feeling that I am the one to blame
I was so certain that everything would change
But every one went on with their life but I was not the same

The heart knows how to work,
even when its angry.
Even when its hurt,
the beat goes on
like an angel’s song.
The trumpet is strong.
Faith is hope,
lies aren’t always wrong.
Sometimes my brothers need
to be deceived
so they can carry on.

I stand at the crosswalk waiting and watching.
A burning orange flickers its way to ash
as the truck driver drops his but
heavy in the hard leather seat
and stares vehemently at me
as if I had the power to push
red lights till they turn green.

Business interest
are not the best indicators
to make decisions.

Two boat pass.
Crossing the
sparkling Thames
choppy water
pushes each vessel apart.
Still, both horns sound
as travelers watch
their opposite
float away.
They will never meet
but they will always have
these moments
on the friendships.

There are crimes so cruel
That catch a soul
And cause it to shiver

And some would have us
Return to those darken ways
Because of their beliefs

But there are ways to be better
And pondering such I ask
How many sorrows could be eased
By kindness
A gentle hand
A kind glance
A hug
A soft spoken word
Adding dignity
To the suffering of humanity

A hundred lines a day
To make sense of the world
Since I am unable to claim
The wisdom that I want
Stupidity is my shame
I am humbled by what I don’t
Understand
So in those hundred lines I demand
Better of myself and better for
The world I adore

The pillars of learning are acquiring information, retaining it, being able to retrieve it, then being able to adapt and use it in various situations

If I said I didn’t mean to make you cry
Then that was a big blatant lie
I wanted tears to fall
For you to sink into a sullen state
Then rise inside a phoenix like furnace of rage
Reborn and open to the world
Ready to explore
That is why with words
I implore you to feel
The heights of anguish, rage, and joy
So you can slip the restraints of dull emotions
And ride the rising tide
Of the beauty in this one life
We all get to live

Excuse me are you
tracking all injustice
or just this
one particular issue?
Are you treating the symptoms
or the cause of the disease?
Please believe
that I admire the effort,
but you can't solve the problem
without addressing the underlying
issue.

Broad generalizations frequently decrease the fluidity of human understanding and growth.

Here is something to think about. List about 15 people you admire they can be anyone in history or fiction.  Then think about what traits you admire about them.
Now realize you can strive to acheive these qualities in life. You do not have to perfect them but this should help you to be a better person.

Hope is a rising tide
Water that recedes
But in times of need
Comes back
Racing and foaming
Roaming and showing
That some patterns
Remain
Some good things don’t change
Sometimes you just have to wait
Out the bad days
To get to the soft sea-shelled covered
Beautiful sandy shores

She’s sings so sweet
and her words are refreshing,
but I guard myself
cause my affections
become obsessive.
I walk away
before anything starts
cause it’s so much easier
then dealing with
a broken heart.

I’d play my guitar
but I never learned
so, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

My friend is heavy
heading towards
a heart attack.
He can’t even sleep
cause he hurt
his back,
and every day down
I wonder how long
it will be
before I have to
bury him and grieve.

I’d play my guitar
but I never learned
so, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

The government is
in the pocket
of big business
cause corporations
bought all your
favorite politicians.
So, they don’t give a ****
about the environment
and in twenty some years
we’ll be lucky if we
survive in it.


I’d play my guitar
but I never learned.
So, I’ll whistle my songs
as the world turns
and burns to ashes.

The night is over
but the dawns not coming.
I used to be fast
but there’s no place
to go a running.
Destruction is certain,
so I don’t even buckle up.
I just roll up the highway
and watch the world
get ******.

The laws of man
are stretched and torn
worked like taffy.
They are the
sustenance and armor
of the wealthy
while the rest of us
are crushed
beneath their weight.

Its so hard to write
a one to two page
short story,
and almost impossible
to write
anything longer then
five to ten
pages
because the flow
will only go
on for an hour or so,
and when I lose that river
it’s hard to get back
and deliver
anything I think is good,
and because finishing a story
means I don’t get to
follow it through
any new twists, turns,
or diverging tangents.

The battle’s done.
the words are spoken,
body tired,
spirit broken.

Thus, I walk,
a flickering flame
that has no name,

a whirling windstorm
that will not
pass this way again.

The fire dims
then expires.
The flesh falters
and there is
no more desire,

and all I was
is left distorted,
passing friendly memories,
into whispers,
then written vagaries,
and on into nothing.

In time I die
a thousand plus
tiny deaths
long after
my final breath,

but whatever
comes after this
I hope the world
was at least
a little bit better
cause I existed.

Can I learn to forget
someone I love,
someone who hurt me
not necessarily intentionally,
but enough that it would be
insanity to try and remain?

As humans we all start and end the same. It is only the journey we take that is different.

They were
crimson
arterial
kisses,
blown in
razor sharp wind;
loving me to death
as I was frozen.

We struggled so hard
and made it so far
to make what we love
to share who we are,

but people are gone,
they drove away
closed their accounts
had nothing to say.

We swallow our grief
try to accept what we lost
but we’re deeply entrenched
in the ones that we love.

They already gave up.
They never come back.
No matter how much you care
they do not care back.

The numbers don’t match.
They really don’t work.
I sit and scratch
my head
till my scalp hurts.
I add up all the variables
subtracting what’s right
and I am still confused.
It keeps me up all night.

I learn the most from those who do not obscure the facts or hide themselves. Why not be free with yourself, we are all beautifully unique. How can we learn and grow if we are not open and honest with each other? People can not make fair judgment of us if we do not expose our insecurities and being insecure does not make us weak, it makes us human.

At what point is it right
To sail out of the night
Alone
Charting a course
Away from the shores
Letting the sand fall out of your shoes
Leaving your unpaid dues
Forgetting family obligations
Just sailing towards the rising sun
Despite the black clouds
Storming back there where you are from

The pain comes from knowing
That no matter how much love
I keep showing and growing my heart
To encompass as much as possible
Without self-destructing
Without self-cutting
There are still so many people in pain

No one will give you
the love you crave.
They will not swoop in
with a red cape flapping
to prove love equals fate
No superman or wonder woman
is coming to save the day.

I think i found a work around to the issue i was having. I save to drafts then post from there to the public.

Oh no,
the center
will hold
just fine.
It is
the rest of us
on the outside
that will
spin out
of control.

Her words were
as sharp as
the Reaper’s sickle,
severing my soul
into two separate shards
then splitting them
again and again
till all that I was,
was splinters
of my shadow self.

So, let me explore
this strange metaphor
as massive pieces of meat
circle me
in a banquet of
life’s opportunities.

Sweet and succulent
strips of flesh
that were cooked
and laid abreast
to impress all these guests,
are just beyond my reach.

Should I rush
to stretch my hands
possibly knocking over
other things that stand
in my way
to the dismay
of the other dinner guests?

Or should I wait until
the feast reaches me,
sit patiently scheming
for what I will do
when the beef stew
is within arm’s length?

Will this allow all those
surrounding me
to get their fair share?
Or are the pickings out there
like the ones in here
hoarded by the pre-blessed
bunch of privileged fools
who include me to,
should I flip the table
and let the scraps
scatter where they maycont.
hoping that wherever they lay
they make someone else’s day
a little brighter
by making their poor stomach less lighter.

She writes with the earnestness
of a true master poetess.
Sparkling words ascend the heights
of those love vacant
aching star lit nights.
Emeralds lost.
Diamonds broken.
Ardent urges left unspoken,
only alive in movement.
Not a token
of purchased property,
instead, she proffers
her verbal beauty,
the best wares
worked into a wooden wonderland,
from a walking wonder woman,
a waking wanderer who sees,
so much more than me
with perfected imagery
in poetry.

A hungry heart
hurts like hell,
devours itself
searching for
something
that isn’t there.

So, my innards ache,
my fists break
hard
against solid objects,
tears threaten me,
come dangerously
close,
but never flow.

She wears soft shades
of feathery white
and purple;

A sensual
fantasy
casting a
casual glance
back my way.
An artist’s dream
of strange beauty,

no hair
just more
plumage,

her ornate
tattoos
cause me
to further loose
myself.

An exotic
extra-terrestrial,
a being of
supreme
power
to influence me,

too bad
she does not exist
in reality.

Maybe, she will
visit me
in my dreams.

She scratched
the brass latch.
So, I can’t open it
and get back
to my past
without a
a tnt memory
blast.

No justice no peace
The riot geared up police
Line up to stop these
Hopeful and heartbroken people
From protesting
To the inconvenience
Of the wealthy

Oppressed,
I imagined
the hand of god
swatting
and smashing,
causing flesh,
fat, and skin
to flatten
as bulging blood
and guts
expand from
the form that
was once me.
Till, I become a
crimson life stain.

My life is a cup
that needs something in it,
a glass chalice
ready to crack
unless I fill it up.
If I’m not careful
I’ll have to throw it out
even though it is the only one
that I have.

Your grief is transient.
In time, you will
either handle it
or die.

Her words were
as sharp as
the Reaper’s sickle,
severing my soul
into two separate shards
then splitting them
again and again
till all that I was,
was splinters
of my shadow self.

I down another energy drink
Just jet fuel till I crash
Sugar water carbonated
With a double shot caffeinated
My head slumps, mind bumps
up against a wall of fatigue
and I find that I need more junk in a can
One more poorly flavored energy drink
To survive another shift
what I would give to switch out
for one good night of sleep

Time was the *******
that mastered
the living arts
and stole
her beating heart.

It is a ****** battlefield
that does not yield
any healthy crops
just plants dark thoughts;
Seeding seething pain.

One more heartache
to remind me
that I got a lifetime of love
making me feel worthless
but I just take that *******
to the gym and use it.

It aint ever home
The truth is seldom known
The streets go on forever
Full of fools who think
They are clever

The road runs dry
After a summer rain
Falls from the sky
After the light
Bleeds into the night
Searching for mornings grace

The people chase the fake
Full throttle of false bravado
Fake macho strut
To shake out the threat
Of being challenged

Holiness hides behind
The shadow of the bank
False idols either way
But at least the church
Let’s you use their bathroom

The streets are the classroom
Poor man waddling by
Heading across then back again
Stupidly I think he has been drinking
But he tells me the truth
Detroit winter took both legs
With serious frostbite
Still he smiles
And I clear the cobwebs of my own ignorance

The traffic is consistent
The crowd is not persistent
Just a trickle of unique people
Each with their own little world

I take in one story at a time
And it makes me smile
Feeling more connected

The silent light
circles the
dark blue
clouded night
sweeping gently
across the buildings
that bulge and burst
up from
this concrete kingdom
as they scrape the sky
searching for some
tower of Babylon
kind of meaning.