He lived under his mother roof, and

every morning he gobbled down her food

until his stomach was sickly full.

He smelled like **** and cheese

sweating bits of fish and chips,

light years ago he used to be the biggest tease.

He spent most of the time on the couch

day in, day out.

he morphed into such a grouch.

Gravity was strong with his mass,

his huge *** made a huge stamp

day after day watching the same crap.

Countless hours watching TV,  

reality shows, **** and glee

*******, his only ecstasy.

I won't tell you he was just a little odd,                      

he was very odd, for obvious reasons.                          

The troll boy he was called, was very tall.                  

"How tall "? you ask, the tallest of them all,                      

and above his waist none would ever rise.                  

His long hair upwards would grow, like                            

gravity with him was playing a cruel joke,                      

adding many more inches to his height                      

and like a bristle brush painting the sky,                    

His hair with every dawn like the sun would                

glow, warm orange, and bright red but every                                

night the glow subside to the moon's bright white.

What a torment! Cursed, genetically    
Inclined, a loyal slave to her majesty,
A fat striped bottom and little stink for life,
Sent out to push nature’s browned iron wheel,
A pirate looking for the blinding hue,
An endless hunt for that yellow jewel,
I dare you to come back empty handed.
Have you ever heard an infant’s high cry?
Is it hungry for love, is it...is it in pain,
Or is it just an intricate mind-game?
Like a sponge it ***** everything in, but
it’s a sponge, one squeeze is enough, and all’s
poured out, the love, the milk, and the relief,
And the cry is even louder this time
When will the cycle end...only god knows when?  
All for the good of the queen, the hive a
Maelstrom of golden words a buzzing non-
sense, I want to be a moth like Crane was,
magnetized by the light of the flame, vice
Versa, either way a courtship divine.
‘One of these hunts!’, I tell you, ‘These **** hunts!’  
Like a bombed plane whirling around without
a tail. A pirate spat out by the sea,
dazed and glazed, naked and tangled in sea weeds
Bootless, and his crippled toes chewed off by *****
Plummeting! What a relief! The last buzz!
Let gravity do what it does best, and
crash the brown little treeless leaf on the grass.




.

Carry a poem with you, always
carry it deep in your heart
and whenever you can, recite it,
recite it silently with your tongue.

and when you find love
it will amplify that love,
and a thousand times stronger it will become,
until another love walks into your path.


and suffering, never forget suffering,
never forget it. Embrace it,
embrace the pain as fully as you can
and when the time comes,
choose any poem from your heart
and with a smile you'll be ready to depart.

My mind works in short bursts,

I fight with words, my enemy

the abundance of them.

Who am I?

A poet of magnanimous importance (ignorance) !

I know you cried

yourself to sleep last night, again,

curled up in your bed, in a child's pose,

cursing the new day.

You might not have the perfect nose,

nor the body that boys want to have a go,

your **** may be small, and

you don't like ******* ****,

in back alleys,

nor at strangers' parties,

your father may be absent, or not,

and your mother may be a drunken *****

and i know you get teased a lot,

for god's sake these are all good reasons to cry sometimes,

but only sometimes.

My advice:

Read a lot, until your eye lids drop,

read Shakespeare, read Tolstoy, and read Poe

listen to music, every day,

listen to all the genres, from all the ages,

from Beethoven to Iggy Pop.

Indulge your self in the arts

and understand different cultures,

and travel,

travel all around this magnificent little blue orb,

and learn to speak different tongues.

Fall in love everyday, and make love many times,

and devour every new day.

and as the years go by, you'll eagerly open your eyes.

-kypros koutsokoumnis

Between heavy stones engraved in shadows
trapped in a past timeline, under olive
trees, and the life or scent of a single
flower reliving the good memories-or trying.

Wondering with a confused pace searching
for signs of familiarity in
the non-, ever-changing from strong malice,
natural, to conscious sympathy, un-.

Accompanied by well-fed kittens in
silence, guarding the gates unfolding to
what we say is more, ad infinitum
expansion of diversity-seemingly.

A totality of one reality
that earth is finite, and the maggots feast,
leaving nothing but sounds that fade with the
loved other, and then nothing but strangeness.

We would pass the gates, painlessly, but there
is no certainty. In peace, we say, and
rest, to extend the line of ours, and their
memories back to us. And we wait.
The only thing we can do is wait.