Untrodden silver cesspool, 
Darkened by bombshell blast, 
Riding in weathered abyss, 
Covered with killer cannon fodders past. 

Black battle went into starstruck night,   
All started to fall, but not all fast, 
Over tricky time they all did fight, 
With wind guiding bloodstained mast. 

Lovers light broke with rising sun, 
Gleefully gallivanting through hours passed, 
Tediously tiptoeing with hopes to run,  
Over red salty sea made infinitely vast.

Today I became a tree huger,
because yesterday's random hug
ended with the red and blue blinking lights,
a frontal shot, two side photos,
and my new roommate
who has claimed the top bunk.

Even Smokey the bear influence
couldn't save us from this forest fire.
Oil and fire will soon be mingled
with human anxiety and distress.

Poet’s pens write to take flight
Like paintings of the open blue sky
And the moon lightly lit at midnight
Growing as trees from Japanese Bonsai

Visions of green briery vines,
Red roses and blue violets,
Written in measured and timed lines
that glide by, like descending pilots

Readers see the shadow on the wall
Writers see the vision from down the hall

The funny farm is the place to be.
We have soft beds, prescription meds, and cable TV.
When we party, someone loses their job,
or they might lose a limb if we form a mob.
It's one of those places you want to find yourself.
Electroshock is fun if you bring pop and chips.
Careful being around us, we're bad for your health.
Best of all, we're about to set sail on our blanket ships.
To the unknown and out of room 213!
Quick, hand me the bleach, I want to feel clean!

A rose blooming in a summer rose bed
stops to envy you as you smell the roses.
For two beauties sit in the picture,
but neither is the rose.
The sight of you is a wonder to my eyes,
one that keeps me warm through winter days.
The grace inside you is as beauty
and beyond my words to explain.
So when I fumble my syllables,
embrace me as the rose embraces the rain.

An arrogant frost begins to melt,
dripping from the red shingles
onto the progressively muddy ground,
where dark green lines sprout,
erasing the icy past.

Slow growth of small buds
colored pink, red, yellow, and white
take the dream of warmer days
as a twisty hot mirage
strikes the distance.

Life shakes the leaves off the tree,
as all turns bitterly dark,
orange and brown,
and crumpled up on the sidewalk,
chilling down to the beat
of the pidder padder of rain.

Warmth is removed from sensations,
colors fade from a distance to white,
glazed with the purest icing
as the world turns a new shade of grey,
colored only by the feeling of crystals
glimmering like diamonds.

A flower is poetically redundant,
I'd rather use a bomb with wires -red, green, and blue.
Cut one, let's see if she loves me!

Love is the sanity we all keep,
the feeling from others we all seek.
Love is a feeling that gives you life,
despite the fact she's not your type.
Even though it can be used to hurt much,
nothing heals more than the human touch.

At the beginning, when lighting this fire,
I thought I was just playing with matches
until I realized that when my plan hatches
I've got it under control.
Fire fighters can control fire,
but they can't control desire
and now I have lived in my human pyre,
the feeling of hell on razor wheels
down in the pit of my stomach.
The feeling that keeps you up
and makes you write til your numbers up,
and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted,
this task is my final gauntlet,
so I go crazy not to squander it.
It only happens once in a life time,
and it ends whenever the clock chimes,
so I fight to keep that minute hand
from going one measure further,
but I can't fight a time marked brand,
so in the end I will be the server
of all who fight until the end
of the struggle, to help those after me
so I'll cry for others to hear my plea
to treat others right until the world can see
what they've done so well.

Beasts within fight
to emerge above
ranks of blood.

Know your place,
run with grace,
avoid the club.

Tear into necks
filled with flowing
thick crimson juice.

Twin devils bite
under moonlit night
with primal fright.

Endure great strain,
know each pain,
avoid the club.

Ineffable nefarious taradiddle.
The endless fable, and riddle, of Cain and Abel.
One slew the other without a quiver.
A man went from cinnamon to eerie evil.
Labeled unstable and mentally disabled,
Barely able to bounce back
from being set adrift on a dark and ***** track.

He turned his eyes to the Aurora,
faced the same fate as ***** and Gomorrah,
the most hated man in all the Torah.
The father of ****** and maker of Pandora's box.
He walked with what God had seen as a pox.
Forever caught on this plane
with blood on his hands and ice in his veins.
Looking down, he felt stained and inhumane
as he observed the world he caused so much pain,
yet now, he is all that has remained sustained.

Now again, he turns to the Aurora.
He finds nothing but the sky's acid rain drip down
across an unholy frown and a mark for a crown.
He walks through each desert and town
searching for someone holy to guide him back,
but not a man is good as him now.
Not a single man stands his height
because he became a symbol for whats right.
He seeks good according to God, not himself.
Human kind is now much different,
and his sin against his brother is now not the worst,
despite the fact that it did come first.

A walk through the misty wood.
The trail latent with track of hooves,
which tell me the ways the forest moves,
into the endless green hood.

I would step to dance upon these tracks,
but the sound is what holds me back.
I shouldn't disturb the animals around,
or step on the forests leafy gown.

The powerful sounds of the forest,
not meant for a tape to be repeated
because the pure sound is sweet to my ear,
and to my heart, it will always be near.

They say all is fair
    In the chase after the wind.
        As it blows to the North bringing frost
                Snow falls upon my love as war and lust
                                          become bed mates.

From the writer’s chair
Words explode from thought

Rising from the seat
With both feet planted
As roots in the soil

Head soaking up the sun
Like photosynthesis

The lips, the gateway of the mind,
open to form the singing of birds,
the blooming of daffodils,
and the colors of paintings.

Tic Toc at the midnight hour,
peddling along louder and prouder.

Clock my dear friend,
you've done it again.
Every single second I learn
that time has passed,
and you're consistent,
I hear it sixty times
within a minute.
And he continues.
Smugly taunting along
with that perfect timing
envied by all musicians.

Lost in the fog, tripping through words
I stumble upon sight of a flying bird,
but he’s not really flying, he’s lost too.
Poor thing belongs in a zoo more than I do.

That’s hard to say, considering my giant jaw.
Considering the laws against my sharpened paws,
But I clawed my way out and I’m not going back,
Either way, I’m running; now let's get back on track.

Fire sleeps within all 
the brightness makes the darkest shadows seem small 
can you feel the embers burning? 
and what will fan the flame? 
  
Embers rise high with a gust 
dancing ashes pays tribute to beauty 
of fire purifying all it will touch 
as if fulfilling natural duty. 
  
The longer it goes, the flames go higher 
and that feeling of madness, lust, and desire 
brings us to where we are, 
the kindling point of star-fire.

Day opens up with light
and darkness owns the night.
Of both times I desire
the sun owns day with its fire.
When sun dims, slowly adrift,
it gives the waxing moon's lift,
with pale beams softly sent
to show a world that's shadow-bent.

Such a cruel world.
Born to cry
Raised to weep
Whipped to work

You next class starts in a minute,
better not be late for the bell,
because the bell tells you
where you should be.

Work work work.
What ever happen to nap time?

My pen flies to a realm
never spied by my eyes.
He flutters through the air
like a dolphin through a tide,
whisking up until gravity takes.
He cares not where he flows or
even where I am.
Perhaps he will be seen in New York,
possibly Istanbul.
He was once sighted in Moscow
before fluttering to China
to walk the Great Wall.
Currently, he is having the traditional
Earl Grey with Queen Elizabeth.
At the rate he moves,
I fear he'll run out of ink.

Lawns of grassy blades
flow towards the nightfall
through a silver dust squall
snowflakes spin cascades

Jack Frost pays the cost
putting us under his thrall
while we're held in his loll
Demeter's daughter is lost

Hades imparts frosty shades
until Persephone's call
ease's her mother's bawl
ending our snowy escapades