The vampire really craved him some blood,
And thank god; they'd just buried Mrs. Flood:
He pried open her casket,
And was using his ratchet-
But her fluids had turned thick as mud.

Two vampires decided to dine
On a lady, whose blood was like wine;
While pausing to savor
It's delicate flavor,
One said, the House issue is fine!

Vampires sleep days and fly nights,
They are known to be fearful of lights,
And feeding's quite a trick;
It's got a big kick-
Though impossible, with bad over-bites.

To a vampire, an ****'s a feast
On the blood of man, bird or beast;
And he's not into zoology
Psychiatry or psychology;
Doesn't even care, if it's deceased.

Bad poetry makes me ugly:
Look, each line, a cliche
Each blemish, a simile;
My smile grows more bitingly smug
With each overzealous superlative.

My raccoon eyes are ringed
By metaphorical self delusions,
Badly performing alliteration-
All improvisations of incompetence;
And then the clash of symbol, deranges all thought.

Choose only the wound that is in your heart
That you would earnestly enlarge upon,
Steadfastly ignoring all the others.

I was the song
You sang once;
Beside the flowing rivers of time,
And I was the words
You knew once;
Words which we met in a rhyme.

Now I'm like the song
Forgotten;
Abandoned on the shores of life,
And I’m all these notes,
Unbegotten-
Which now only die,
In your quiet.

The dead breathe through the door of sky,
In echo'd dreams and prayers, they sigh,
For in graves desire has no feet;
Their burning dust mirrors life's defeat,
And shriveled tongues are ghosts at sea:
Unsung, unseen, invisibly.

The storms of mind wound sleeping flesh,
In clouds you see the angel's breath,
The child of music flies in space;
A shadowed flame behind his face
To touch the sun, in world's asleep:
And stone gods in their heaven, keep.

Let me forget transient sadness
Let me reinvent me
And not be too small inside

Let me grow fat with happy
Be tender with those
Who grieve

Forgiving of children
And men

And into other hearts
My own heart weave

Let me forget what's unhappy
A day's such a miracle born

Who knew existence would happen
Or that it would happen so soon

Let me love while time
Has patience, for lovers

Let me grow while Earth
Still has room, for flowers

Open my heart
To see others pain

And try to make a difference
Before I have to leave again

I pray for wings, for my heart to fly
I pray the most, in blue breaths of sky

July 5 2010

You, the invisible country
I have only read about;
Me, the half-veiled truth
That your words would rout.

You, the fettering bond,
With silken thread of chain;
Me, the evasive bird,
Comes circling round, again.

Give the land a name,
So it's heart, to frame;
Give the bird a seed,
Not caged, by distant deeds.

In men's clear eyes, there live the bravest things:
A hope that sings, as brave as any bird;
Though it should fly, through hours of glancing rain
That scarce has ceased, before it's song is heard.

In men's quiet thoughts, dwell hours of silent pain,
Though it wake you not, the minutes crawling by;
Like stately columns of soldiers, on parade,
The only shot fired's a lone tear, from his eye.

In men's bold dreams, are things not ever seen;
Yet mirror tomorrow's face there, in the rooms,
And flowers rare, not seen before on Earth;
But upon his least intention, they must bloom.

In men's most hidden soul, nobody knows
What ties the form, into his very mind;
Though it's the secret, central mystery:
Goes back too far, for anyone to find.