Poems are love
and rhythm of the author
just in words
the good ones paint feelings
and thoughts
might make you cry
they give you something you never had before
poems are like books
poems are just a bunch of words
feelings
pain
future dreams
today
yesterday
and all these things make me write
what I do tonight
surreal poems out of my head
I have to put them down
or they will drive me quite mad
well, that's what think.

If I jump up
my feet leave the ground
for a few seconds
I fly
then gravity pull me back down
my feet hurt when I hit the ground
and so does my body and soul
for that was a moment in paradise
come on let's do all together
see if together we can fly.


:-)   P@ul.

Just got eight fingers
only two thumbs
don't put pressure on me
for I'm working on it
just learned how to write
and yet you ask me
do you love me?

Ask yourself
the way you look
the way you smell
yes I look
to see a glimpse
above the knee
your leg all akimbo.

All your dance moves
hair drifting around you
like a dream
then dancing close
look me in the eyes
seeing into souls
when we part it makes me cry.

Making me ask myself
what is happing
I have no control
I feel loss
making me want tomorrow
so I can be
again with you.

In the sky at once
not normally seen at the same time
nice day
moon crescent
makes me feel like I've been reborn
new year
time to come
feeling at one
starlight burns my eyes
makes my skin blush then turn brown
makes me weak
radiation leaks all around
trees bud blossom
there leaves grow
all is changing around me
feel my glow
warm inside
vitamin B in my veins.



With LOve P@ul.

If you want to be a banker
Be more humane.

Mind closed
cleaning underway
does not mean I am not thinking anyway
or what which was up
or all the thoughts
that I would not tell you anyway

Cleaning Brain Washing
Dush it in the tub
rather lather up in water
no knocking on wood or rocks
imperial softer soaps
scented like a dream  

Best dressed
new scented
looking rather good
clear and clean
wet flour
do not slip or slide.

Dali said
but in time my brain
will drip out
on the canvas of life
and all will have left
are my dreams
painted by my hands
brushes with life
itself
but
Dali did not say this
I just painted this.