Once a hairy neanderthal
whose name we shall call Grom
found a heavy piece of wood
and thought as hard as a caveman could
until at last he understood
to him the role of King belonged

He knew he couldn't hesitate
to split every fellow caveman's pate
till on their knees they would await
King Grom the greatest of the great

but then another primitive man
sat in his cozy lair
and thought in his primeval stew
how old Groms rule he could undo
so through the air a large stone flew
and parted old Grom's hair

It all started so long ago
with poor old primitive Grom
with time and thought there'd come a day
as sinners cursed and saints would pray
humanity could stand in awe and say,
"Behold the Atomic Bomb!"

Sight, the colored canvas's in my mind
the sun the sea the land beneath
every thing upon which you've shined
your revealing light becomes belief

touch, the silent message born of love
another gift from life to life
to know the softness of the skin
to know the sharpness of the knife

Sound,  the music of reality
the beating universal drum
Life's continuing harsh symphony
It's never ceasing gentle hum

taste, the message from the tongue to brain
the bitter warning not to eat
both pleasure or a type of pain
the polarity of sour sweet

Smell, the priceless talent of the nose
giving flavor to the air
wherewith we appreciate the rose
and separate the foul and fair

If we as all humanity
were simply accidents of time
what use would all these treasures be
to know both wretched and sublime

I looked upon the shelves and sought
what overrated writers wrought
philosophers and hitchhikers
their name gives their poems clout

You who suffer for your art
like lovers have been torn apart
paper gives immortality
Is that what it's about?

hundreds of rejections fly
into the trash bin bye and bye
criminals and kings they are
the victims of self doubt

Our vision and our hearts incline
to air our laundry line by line
will we one day sit upon the shelf
immortalized within without?

There is strength in the ground
There is light in the sky
there is life all around
to lead you and I

in a dance of  all dances
we have danced since our birth
and we should keep up our dancing
till we're one with the earth

We will dance with our hearts
we will dance with our minds
with two steps ahead
only one step behind

no matter how long
or in what circumstance
we will sing with life's song
and join in life's dance

A little bit of shameless rhyme
Could be a way to bide my time
Rendition of the muse's muse
Of which I am inclined to choose
Simple words from simple thoughts
Timeless classics I have not
Inside my my mind wherein I try
Carefully, to learn to fly
Serenely through a paper sky

I call it bad poetry.
Sometimes it's just stacked lines.
Sometimes it's banal and trite.
I break the academic rules
and write songs to be sung by fools.
Maybe I don't suffer enough
to write about tragedy and love.
I call it bad poetry.
Maybe I'm out of touch.
There is such a thing as too much subtlety,
maybe not enough,
or maybe I impress myself too much.
Maybe I'm insecure and out to lunch
and, although I want the world to hear,
I try to beat the critic to the punch.
I call it bad poetry
manic rudimentary ramblings
of a man child with poetic constipation
and stuck in a quatrain rut.
This feeling is nagging
Is it a love song, or self indulgent bragging?
Set a rhyme up here and there.
words are words and there is plenty to spare.
Mind is racing-  feet are dragging
Just one more rhyme will get me there.
Then freestyle for a while
with that smug self satisfied smile,
and write some more bad poetry.

I believe in love
I've known it
The pounding heart
the butterflies
the lack for breath
the heavy sighs
being alone in a crowded room
falling into her eyes
and drowning forever
Every sensation sacred
to touch her
to taste her
The sound of her breathing
Her voice
Her passion
her smell
The unique mysterious
smell of her body
Her ***
Oh the sight of her!
Breath taking beauty
awesome splendor
Her image imprinted
branded blazoned on the canvass
of my soul
with colors and hues impossible
to recreate or simulate
outside the eyes of my mind

Tragically though
the depth and intensity
of a love that is found
is exponentially
dwarfed by the grief
of a love that is lost
the weeping mourning insanity
of a broken heart
I knew love
I knew heart break
I lost myself
in my yearning for death
I became
a cowardly drunken dog
skulking in the streets
drinking from the gutter
running from everyone
and everything
Licking my infected wounds
choking on the poison discharge
of bitterness and remorse

I know love
Whether by laughter and joy
or with tears of sorrow
Terrible wicked sweet
Mother of songs!
I would gladly endure
one year of your hell
for one hour of your heaven
I lay my torch
at the tomb of our love