I find myself pondering,
Way too often it seems,

About the state of the union,
And lots of other useless things.

Like unicorns and rainbows,
Fairies and dragon heart-strings,

Foreign cars; and the cost of gasoline.
Summer time and sunscreen,

I find myself questioning,
Much too often everything,

Nature and art, and beauty;
And lots of other useless things.

Sometimes when dreamers dream,
They think of fantastical things,

Like love and hot air balloons,
Or fish that can sing.

They lead us down pathways,
To nowhere at all,

To fantastical places,
To dreams within dreams.

Where I go when I wander,
Over bubbling brooks,

Past dragons and lemonade stands,
Way too often it seems,

That I meet fellow travellers
And we think we’re a team,

That the lands where we roam
Could be ours to own.

What silly imaginings!
What fanatical reveries!

Far from home we went,
And lots of other useless things.

The way you touch me I cannot describe
your moves alone arouse me- too big of size
the way you look at me with that stare
makes me want you more, I cannot bare
laying bed, drenched in our sweat
is the best feeling I've had, ever since we've met
moving your finger from my face to down low
always brings me up from feeling dull and slow
locking your eyes into mine
in the moment, our bodies intertwine
this feeling is the peak of the day...
just until you have to go-"goodbye" is all you say.

there aren't anymore sentences tucked away
in my brain
no more clever metaphors
only raw, grammatically incorrect lines
so i'll keep trying to put together words
in the form of pencil and paper and
try my best not to set them on fire

Rain do stay I love you so

The way your droplets come and go

And also in the way you sound

Falling gently on the ground

And in the way you seek each face

Each small and dark and lowly place

And also in the way you feel

Cool and wet and clean and real

And then I like the way you fall

On each and every fence and wall

And drip into the very light

That wakes us up and leaves at night

And don't forget the way you creep

Into ground so dark and deep

And always find the fastest way

To points beneath the earth to stay

But mostly you are kind and spare

Each small frail nest and bed and lair.

The thought of you sends shivers
Coursing down my spine.
You are my muse, the source
Of all the unexploited energy in my world.

You’re the kind of man
I’ve always needed in my life.
Your iridescent spirit shines
From deep within honest eyes.

It’s getting late now, early morning
And I still can’t seem to fool my mind
Into forgetting the idea of you.

You resonated somewhere deep inside me,
In a place I thought I’d locked away
And hidden from a curious world
In the deepest recesses of time.

But all these words are meaningless to me;
The way you make me feel is a song;
A melody unattainable by poetry alone--
The rhythm of my words is not enough.

It's so hard for me to play it cool
When all I think about is you.
I feel as though that night we spent together,
Will play on my mind forever.

But for you it is so easy.
And your cruel silence only intrigues me.
When you cease to reply
Or refrain for a long while,
My mind works overtime
Analysing every word I said,
Trying to find the cause for your disinterest or discontent.

I do not know if you are playing hard to get or if you simply don't want to be got.
This is the real question playing on my mind.
And because I think I may be developing feelings for you,
The truth behind this, I must find.

I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan

I hate dreams.
I hate them for what they make me see,
Worse still is that even as you know their not real,
You believe and it seems,
If only for a second, that what could be or should be,
Or what simply isn't,
Is.

I hate seeing her face,
So sad under those shades;
Take me home,
She seems to say,
But nobody really talks in dreams.
But nobody really talks.

I died in a dream once.
And I kept on sleeping.
What does it mean, what does it mean?
To me death is one long dreamless sleep,
But I fear the opposite, that it is one sleepless dream.

I see his face now and then.
The face in real life I barely remember.
Under the water.
Calling up.
Save me.
But dreams can't change your world.
Tragically they can only make you believe.

My moms there waiting for me.
Though her alone I am too scared to see.
Even my subconcious knows not to tease me,
Knows the scars and the pain,
And how it would bleed me and end me
And I curse them from keeping me,
I hate dreams.