Poetry is everywhere.

Poetry is color,
it is a knowing glance,
an admiring gaze,
a pair of tear-filled eyes.

Poetry is the slow ascending of tension and a wooden thrill ride
on the stickiest day of the year.

It is the surprised cry of a toothless child
when she discovers her laughing mother
for the umpteenth time
as she plays an infinite game of peek-a-boo.

Poetry is what we see
hear
and experience
conceived, spat out, wrapped up
onto a folded piece
of notebook paper...
handed to a friend;
the gift of a new perspective.

Poetry is everywhere.

A tiny nip from your fangs.

My heart beats a frantic rhythm,

Pounding wildly inside my chest.

Indulging in forbidden fantasies.

Ready to take the next step.

Eager to embrace the night.

Kiss of eternal life you give.

Inviting me into your world.

Seduced by my vampire lover.

Sensual pleasures to be shared.

And we'll move into the forest with the pixies
And they eat newspapers for breakfast
And we'll eat newspapers for breakfast
But when they come to take us away
We'll hide below the ocean
And in that bed we'll start to dream
And escape from what we remember

Inner emptiness,
lost faith,
dying hopes and dreams.
Do I have a purpose?
Where am I meant to be?
Do I walk these halls alone?
Is there someone I should meet?

Hello friend,
I see you through a doorway.
Bars are between us.
Whatever happened to no secrets kept?
Look at the distance that has grown,
between me and you.
These bars took years to build,
and I never saw them there.
I guess I'll see you
in the coming years
through more bars, I'm sure.

Is that a light I see?
Something not from me?
It lightens this dreary mood.
Whom might that be?

I walk along toward it.
It seems to never get closer.
I pass doors with empty rooms
and friends that I see through glass walls.
But the light is always further away.
God,
is that you?

Across the class,
            past the sea of faces—
I lock my eyes on him—
We stare for a moment
            in a dance of questioning eyes,
                        of observation and wonder.
I **** away
            with a smile on my face,
      he was looking back at me.

hand on the smeary glass pane,
staring out this window ~
separating me;
refusing me my right to freedom...
the sun shimmers, golden,
like a bright, hot, cruel joke
I feel my pulse racing;
chest tight with anxiety, despair
these butterflies squirming in my gut,
making me nauseous...
I cannot have what I most want;
that which I most painfully need
- denied what my heart so desperately craves ~
shivering, sobbing in cold anguish;
spirit shrieking in piercing agony...
soundlessly, I plead for time to sew up my wounds
- I don't know how much longer I can stand to watch them bleed:
just oozing forth from my desecrated insides,
as if my soul is slowly being drained...

Lord, I beg of you,
help me overcome this plight ~
alone, I'll never find enough strength;
unable to rid myself of this grief,
powerless to shed this burden, this weight,
and all my life's joy would be lost ~
just wasted, neglected, thrown away...
so please, lift me, carry me,
for I am only human
- and I am so very weak,
so very weak...

There is never nothing new
Just rearrange things

I don’t write poems
I just remove the extra words that are in the way

Hold on to the words like whispers and shadows and wings
Recklessly insert adjectives
Tie it all to your delusions of profundity

Dig down deep for pain
no matter how senseless
Pick at your emotional scabs
Bleed

No one likes poetry
Constantly remind people of that
Tell them that you make it sound good to you and **** them
(Even though their ovation means everything)

Slip, dip and weave
With ambiguous wet dreams
Full lips and thick tongue
Mouthing…
Come
to an understanding
***** is much better than clean
Make it filthy
Soil it

Make it nostalgic
People need to be reassured that you were really ******* up as a kid
and that this poetry **** doesn’t just happen to people overnight

Make it esoteric
That way, when no one knows what the hell you are talking about,
you will have a good word to explain why

Say things that are so ill mannered that they are weighty
I will give you an example
“I’m not looking for a girl that is beautiful
I'm looking for one just barely ugly enough to **** me”

Incite large groups of people to *****

Get so personal that it gives people headaches

Expose yourself until everyone is embarrassed for you

Spew it all over the bar
In a drunken stupor
flaunt it lasciviously with your genitals
Pour yourself into reckless collisions
Drink from your soul until it rots your liver

Write until you want to **** yourself
then write about that

Make it as bitter as a Wal-mart associate
Make it so sweet she will swallow it all
before looking up at you with eyes like tiny puddles
To say, “that was beautiful”
(even though it was disgusting)

It should be raw
It should make you itch
It should be like rubbing up against it spreads it
It should be like VD

Make really long
Like it’s your *****
No,
Make it really, really long
Like its my *****

Make it rhyme
I mean don’t
Don’t

Don’t ever write another ******* poem
because I assure you
if I did not write it
than it must ****

and that is how poetry works

Michael L Sutter