My mother always told me
That a man should be well read
At least I listened well
And did as she said
Now I'm Slightly
Worn around the edges
Pages slightly bent
Text a little faded
But the words still relevant
I know I show some dog ears
Straightened here and there
But as my mother told me
I have become well read

A poetry site? Really?
My words and thoughts are so much more inappropriate
Than the others?
Fearful that I might subvert the poets?
Tear them from their pain and longing
Steal their happy moments
With my words
Really?
You have no idea how your cowardice ****** me off
You in your fear cannot stop words
Or thoughts
I spit on your sniveling censorship
POETFREAK
POETFREAK
POETFREAK
I will take my things and leave
My closet full of wrinkled poems
And all you will hear are my footsteps
Out the door

I will disappear in fog and night
Subdued in sleep and surprise
Blinding lights
Overwhelming might
They will spirit me away
And charge me with my crimes
They will call me many names
And some I might be
But none will be  my own
I will be a traitor or subversive
Or worse
Because I refuse to swear allegiance
To the police state
And fealty to the men
Clad in black
I will not submit
But they don't know
That I stole into the great hall of Valhalla
And took with me
One of their mighty spears
Usurped their valor
And took it back with me
Now they will carry me on my shield
Though my burning bier
Be but a lonely cell
And tonight I will dine
In the great hall of Valhalla
That place that still lives on
In the mind of men

Leave alone what lies beneath the mountain

The labyrinthined caves and deep burning fire

Take instead the cold stinging creeks

The summer pines and pale blue sky

Take the rocky trails and sharp stone

And all the beauty for your eye

But don't stray below and leave alone

What lies beneath the mountain

My muse has tripped
And fallen
Down the stairs
She hit her eye
On the doorknob
And now wears
Dark glasses
That cover the shame
Of her silence
And shield her
From the stares
I can't sleep at night
Listening for creeping feet
For she too
Is Irish in her soul

Breathe freedom
Even if it be
Your last breath
Fill your lungs
With the taste
Of free air
And bloodied grass
Breathe the gasps
Unchained
Unbowed
Meet the fate of all
Free on the ground

My muse has tripped
And fallen
Down the stairs
A fracture perhaps
Keeps her silent
But I know she will
Return soon
To lament and moan
For she too
Is Irish in her soul