amazingly scurrilous
that little rascal made me jump
on the bathtub
I was barefoot early one morning
woke up at three-thirty a ******* full of beer
half opened eyes I saw him dive
behind the toilet
******
I was trying to do my business
without fully waking up
so one by one i took each cat
to set them about to slay to at least maim
the intruder
and each one yawned said meow is it breakfast time yet
I don't work for you as  they each one did the same
all three licked a paw and yawned like
hey
you woke me up for this?
not afraid of teacup  sized rodents, usually
just a wharf rat and possum ****** them
I got on shoes and grabbed a broom and went
still  needing to ****
to shoo his little fast *** away
and couldn't find him
until a month after I wanted to shower
and when
I walked in the bathroom he was using my toothbrush
and deoderant all up on the cabinet kinda posing in the mirror
so we have reconciled somewhat
I bought a new toothbrush and told
him he is welcome  in this menagerie
just don't ever use my toothbrush again

Shakespeare, Keats, Byron and our own Nat Lipstadt
Great men, great poets but!!!!
What do you lesser mortals want to read?
Simple words? Simple phrases?
Some of you just like me
Can't work out the difference between a green salad and a metaphor
But that doesn't matter
We care not
Because we write with love
No pretentious ideas of lasting glory
We write primarily for you,for us
We write because we love words

today i would write,
of the mundane...
the weak tepid tea
place before me.

today i would write,
of the unmatched...
the pile of sock,
singular, but legion,
that grows,
but never lessens.

today i would write,
of the humdrum...
the bills that tap, tap, tap,
incessently, at my brain's
back door.

today i would write,
of the wearisome...
the washing, ironing
and other weekly chores.

today i would write,
of  burdens...
but at present,
i have little, to none.

today i would wait,
(im)patiently...
for the morrow to come.
for then,
i would pen...
happy joyous tomes.

but today i write,
of the mundane....
for it seems,
some one, needs must,
give them fair airing...
for the world,
is not all,
loving, lust and

It's not the fact that
everytime I open Hello Poetry
I have to open a new tab
on my computer screen
to a dictionary
No Sirree

It's not the fact that
I come back to read them
Six, Seven, infinity times
and always wonder
Could that be me?
They are sooo easy
(of course it's me)

It's not the fact that
He makes me think thoughts
that should have been sleeping
throughout my whole human phase
bringing up ideas that are better left
when we are prepared to retire
to the stars, I think he's part Mage

It's not his witticism, completely admired
It's not his heroism, completely tried
It's not his ability to not be able to deflect
It's his ability to be able to unashamedly connect

But no one will ever hate you for that... if there is anyone here who can't understand the same, don't hate the player, hate the game

he is the common denominator
between this circle of friends
who reveal absurd ideas
offer unspoken loyalty and
place secrets in one another's vaults
his NY apartment stands tall at HP