I don’t like brown mustard
Or an ice cream cone that leaks
I don’t like asparagus
Green beans, squash or beets

I don’t like to wear new shoes
They pinch and squeak a lot
And I don’t like cold weather
Or when it gets too hot

I don’t at all like spiders
Or other crawling things
Any creepy crawly
That bite…or worse…they sting!

I don’t like commercials
The things they try to sell
Who on Earth would need or want
A digital dinner bell?

Mowing the lawn can drive me mad
I might buy a horse
To eat the grass I have to mow
But that’s absurd, of course

There are some things I really like
I might list them all sometime
But this poem’s already 6 stanzas long
And I don’t like long rhymes

Here I am
Drifting like a feather
In the cool licked breeze
Under the pale moon of night

Where I may go
Only the winds know
I sway and soar
Like a dove in flight

Rising and falling
Like a phoenix in everlasting rebirth
Silently I drift
Drifting in the winds sorrow
Becoming one with the voices of the wind

Whispering to me there graceful, silent cries
Only wanting to be heard
But those who know to drift
Like a feather
To become one with the wind

To sway and be free like a bird uncaged
Will know the songs and silent cries
Of the wind.

I whinge for the cold
You whinge for the heat
Whether we whinge or not
The wether will be what it will be

The chilly camp-like home where I was staying,
had no running water, in winter all shut down,
but had—amplitudinous electric.

I must have been thinking extra sharp that morning,
when to electric stovetop I came; soon had boiling
Cumberland Farm’s bottled water
in a copper *** with four brown eggs.

With careful timing at last I took the four eggs out
and with the heated water applying
Barbasol and razor, so I shaved.

Please take care to not spill a single drop
of soapy water into the winterized drain pipe,
I heard in my head my sage sister say.

I discarded the contents of the ***
into a snowy patch.

Good morning, and happy happy, I sang.
I hefted one oak log onto a dying fire.

Two of the four eggs I ate,
saving the last for leaner days.

So complete--eggs
and hot shave breakfast.

Take my hand, I'll take the lead
And every turn will be safe with me
I fell in love, despite our differences,
and once i did, something rare and beautiful was created.
For me, love like that has only happened once,
and that's why every minute we spent together
has been seared in my memory.
I'll never forget a single moment of it.
No mountain's too high and no ocean's too wide,
I'll come for you, where ever you go, no matter how far.
Let it rain, let it pour, what we have is worth fighting for.
You know I believe that we were meant to be.
Don't be afraid, afraid to fall,
You know I'll catch you through it all.

I could not produce a perfect sentence,
so instead I killed my family.
Intricate webs woven,
and little seeds planted.
Words that will not touch a page
let loose a vindictive voice.
That's why your inner voice
finds words like onomatopoeia funny;
it's sharp.

As you project your frustration
into a headache, it passes along.
You try to remember if your family
history has been linked to cancer.

Yet some people will say:
Words Don't Hurt.
But they know.
Because they once
had families, too.