How does one deduce bravery?
By the weight of the task
or the severity of the situation?
No.
One succeeds in such a scenario by
their sheer sense of confidence
in their own actions.
Know
and you shall succeed.

What's up, Chicken Little? Whatchu think you know?
The sky is fallin', Skittles droppin’ out the rainbow.
Don’t hate me cuz I’m fast. Don’t hate me cuz I’m keen.
Hate me cuz I got more tiger’s blood than Charlie Sheen.

My rappin’ is a skill, wait, matter fact a habit.
This rhyme is so rare I threw a Masterball at it.
Ima get you to the point when you done think you had it
then keep on chuggin’ through like the Energizer Rabbit.

Runnin’ this game since I was born in 1990.
Ball so hard like Waldo everybody wants to find me.
Watch me as I fly free, practicing my Tai Chi,
soarin’ through the sky like Ben Franklin with his kite key.

I slay wicked verses like they fire breathin’ dragons.
Always down for an adventure so they call me Bilbo Baggins.
You got your feet draggin’ from all your pithy laggin’.
Chokin’ on my farts, left you in my dust gaggin’.

My girls be elegant while yours be nothing but ******.
No diamonds in my ears cuz I don’t like to be flashy.
You just can’t get past me, kilo in the backseat.
NOS tank in the front so them piggies can’t get at me.

Lyrics like the plague so they call my **** Bubonic.
Sittin’ at the bar gettin’ drunk on gin and tonic.
Blowin’ on that chronic, so fast they call me Sonic.
Watch me transform as I go Megatronic.

Is my **** too fast? You need to stop and smell the flowers?
I am just a human, I ain't got no special powers.
I could go for hours. The rap game I devour.
Like Frodo with the ring takin’ down the Two Towers.

My rhymes are heavy duty while yours be made of plastic.
Better call the Doctor cuz this **** is getting’ drastic.
Snap back like elastic, I made an instant classic.
Light the roof on fire with a flick of my matchstick.

I’m tellin’ all them haters that I’m wicked sick nasty.
Dissin’ all they want to but they too scared to come at me.
I go where the cash be, rappin’ makes me happy.
Don’t wash my hair for days cuz I like that **** *****.

All I really wanna do is have a rap battle
cuz my rhymes are so disgusting they’ll make your head rattle.
You’re in a boat with no paddle, on a horse with no saddle.
It’s lookin like you’re gonna hafta ******* straddle.

I know I have the sickest flow that you have ever felt.
There’s nothin’ you can do it’s just the hand that I was dealt.
Killa Kraig will make you melt, yes it matters how it’s spelt.
Get it right the first time or I’ll leave you with a ******' welt.

My game will give you chills from your head down to your feet.
Sittin’ on the couch cuz I love to chill with Pete.
I’m the man to beat cuz I bring all the heat.
Grew up in the burbs, didn’t grow up on the street.

They gave me a gold medal when I scored a perfect 10
cuz I got the versatility of an erasable pen.
Singin’ like a ren, no need to pretend.
Murkin’ rhymes like zombies like my Asian friend Glenn.

Honesty’s a virtue so you know I never front it.
Always swingin’ for a homer, ain’t no need to ever bunt it.
Now you really done it, watch me as I run it.
I made it to the center of the Tootsie Pop in one lick.

Crusin’ round town in my green 6-4 Impala.
Drop so many bombs that you think I worship Allah.
Dolla’ after dolla’, cute as a koala,
but ruthless as a renegade Viking in Valhalla.

My lyrics kick you in the nuts now you talkin’ like a munchkin.
Drop you to the floor like some Mohammed Ali punchin’.
Where is Conjunction Junction? Do the number crunchin’.
Get you home by midnight so you don’t turn into a pumpkin.

Stickin’ to the game like some universal duct tape.
Give you three tries while I nail it in one take.
I'm the sugar on the cornflake, the reason for an earthquake.
I'll toss you like a salad or a chicken in some Shake n’ Bake.

Now grab a pen a paper cuz here’s the final lesson.
I know who’s on first so now tell me what’s on second.
I did the number checkin’, I’m the best I reckon.
While you standin’ at the wrong end of my ******’ Smith & Wesson.

as the wind blows
through the desolate trees
of a forbidden forest
and the falling of the leaves
is all that can be heard
everything stands
                                         still
there is no time
only peace

*******.
I'm sleeping.

This Tangerine Dream
is not what it seems.
Frolicking colors
turn to menacing screams.
The walls start to tear
bugs crawl in your hair
and the answers you seek
are not quite so clear.

Straight up your spine
and right down your back
sweat drops in beads
to the tip of your crack.
Is it all in your head or a heart attack? Oh
how I hope this ends soon
because I cannot take this spinning room
or this devilish goon
who told me that soon
my head would be higher than a hot air balloon.

When it's all over I sure do hope that
my body will be here with my head still intact.
If not for the better than then for the worse,
line up the cars behind my great shiny hearse.

And if in the end this scene busts at the seams
just tell them
                           it was a Tangerine Dream.

Remember Mitchell Schumacher?
We all knew him.
Well, actually, his name wasn't Mitchell,
it was Michael,
but you know kids with their nicknames.
Playing video games until the sun comes up,
sleepovers, girls,
riding bikes all over town,
and down that old dirt hill;
it seemed the good times
would never end,
our innocence tying us
close together.

But now he's a cop
and I'm sitting in his jail cell.
My long hair and bag of grass
were no match for his
shiny, metal badge and shaved head.
I asked him about that Game Boy
I left at his house all those years ago
as he sat me in the back of his car
and told me to watch my head.
He looked at me
and laughed.

We used to know him.
Remember Mitchell Schumacher?

Tending the light
at the end of the tunnel,
the magical mystery
that plagues the
                     consciousness of
you and I
becomes nothing more
than sinister
        celestial laughter.
A fallacy to some,
filled with redemption
for a penny per sin,
paths are carved and
driven into existence by
wear from
        constant
                      treading;
a symbol of the depth
of the mind’s dark aptitudes
to conceive and believe.
Simplicity overrun by
                  complex, anti-intuitive
conceptualizations of
the infinitism of
beginning
                 and end.

Looking through your life
like a fish tank on the wall,
what you come to see
is not what’s seen by all.

Bubbles and formations
lurking in your path,
seeking all the answers
you may come to find that…

Fishy, fishy in the sea
won’t you one day come to me
through all this transparency.
Fishy, fishy in the sea.

Two fish, three fish, blue fish, green fish.
Which one will I be?
Bait the hook and cast the line
while I wait patiently.

"I have two cats!"
         he said with a laugh...
                  as he fell to his knees...
                            and rolled on his back...

The time was all there
                       but the money went flat.
            The essence of nightshade
                                         That will do that.

So onward he marched...
                                              and later he squeezed
but rightfully so,
                       the windowless breeze.

With fortnights on days
                               and cherry blossoms in bloom,
Mr. Finnegan woke up.


It was half past noon.

I owe you nothing.
You don't owe me ****.
The times I needed you.
You couldn't cut it.

I needed you...
...there everyday.
But callous and stern,
You turned away.

Sensitive, I am.
Every aspect of life.
Cater to my emotions.
The words will be right.

Now you want me.
...isn't that a shame?
The tables have turned,
And I play your game.

I owe you nothing.
You don't owe me ****.
Two people in this world.
Struggling to get over it.

In the dark of the night
a stranger appears from the shadows,
in his hand
a golden chalice.

The stranger approaches.
I sit alone
under the only lamppost in the park.

I gather my wits.
The stranger draws nearer,
cold breath smoking from his black hood.
He stops in front of me.

I tremble.

The stranger reaches out his bony hand
grasping the golden chalice
and whispers,
"Choose the chalice for life.
Choose not and wish you had."

My mind becomes chaotic.
Thoughts of triumph and regret
flood my consciousness.
My legs are numb.
My feet seem to mold to the ground.
I feel my very existence
begin to slowly fade.

The stranger,
who is he?
From whence does he come?
Why does he choose me?

The lamppost above me begins to flicker.
It casts a shadow over the silhouette of his face.
His face?
My face?
Can it be?

I lift my arm
to reach for the chalice.
My arm is heavy,
my breath short.

The lamppost flickers faster.
The wind howls.
The temperature drops.
My heart races.

My fingertips are just to touch the chalice when
the light stops flickering.

My breath becomes long
and deep.
The breeze,
soft and subtle.
The stranger,
gone.

I sit there
attempting to rationalize.

An old man comes strolling by
humming a jaunty tune.
As he passes,
he stops.
He looks into my eyes.
I feel again unable to move.

The lampposts flickers twice
then goes out.
I jolt up,
fear looming.

Then a flash in front of me.
I look up.
There is the old man
holding a flame atop his lighter.

"The light will always show the way,"
he says.

I stood there
dumbfounded.

And the old man continued to walk down the path
humming the same cheery tune
and holding the lit lighter over his right shoulder
all the way
until he disappeared from sight.

Woke up on the cold side of
the bed again.
Lit my cigarette by the wrong end.
With decisions to weigh and debts to pay,
I dance better by myself.

Abandoned paved streets
shadowed by bright city lights;
a motionless breeze gives flight
to broken kites.
The man in the hammock dangling
by a string
stays aloft in his solitude.

In the trivial pursuit of a
worthwhile endeavor
a life neatly filed away is run
through a shredder.
Spoonfed as a child then left all
alone;
jilted like a bad penny.

Seeing through a prism of a dull
grey shade.
Bewildered at the ease of a
one-sided trade.
She built you a throne made of
leather and silk;
a throne made with only three legs.

1907 in Louisiana,
Once lived a women in fear.
Spending her days, in a haze,
The inevitable creeping near.

Now Norma L. Kein was a cocky lass,
Taught that by her mother,
Who died when she was five,
And now resides above her.

With a head of steel and a heart of coal,
Norma had few friends.
Pushing them away at every chance,
While winding through life's bends.

She seemed to be waiting,
For the day that change would come.
Yet she just sat idly by,
Twiddling her thumbs.

Of all the people Norma knew,
She and her mother were closest.
Although she died when Norma was five,
She can still smell her mother's roses.

"Norma!" her mother would scream,
Telling her to play kinder.
"The other boys and girls don't like that."
As they all talked trash behind her.

Being held hostage,
A hostage of her own mind.
Norma begins to wonder,
If it she will find.

Searching for forever,
It's all just out of reach.
Friendship, love, and laughter,
Like a bruising to a peach.

Tragic, woeful sorrows,
Drifting all about her head.
Feeling so rejected,
She weeps inside her bed.

Darkness and the demons,
Creeping in all around.
There is no use fighting,
It is she that they have found.

There’s a hole in my heart
when you’re not around.
One left from a missing
piece so profound.
I think about you
when my skies are grey.
You brighten my world
on the cloudiest days.
My wish was granted
and you became mine
as my feelings developed
over much needed time.
Like a snowman outside
on a bright winter's day,
my insides melt
when you are away.
Here is my heart,
treat it not like a toy
because I am your
forever boy.

Oriental paper cranes
and waterfalls of lemonade.

A sunshine-scented, smoky haze
covers candy-coated everglades
while whispers waltz with time and space
and raindrops roll down ceiling drains.

Sacramental epitaphs
and water streams on sassafras.

A dismal, dark decrepit path
mourning missing morning's sunlight laugh;
singing songs so sweet at last
and flying free oe'r breaking glass.

Artificial floating clocks
and water droplets burning hot.

A million, melting mountain tops
shadow somber sunken river rocks
as amber ash advances spots
and transverse travel never stops.

You’re sweet like candy to my soul.
That’s why you’re my sweetheart.

You make me melt like a popsicle.
That’s why you’re my hottie.

You make me feel like a little kid.
That’s why you’re my baby.

You make me buzz like a bee.
That’s why you’re my honey.

You make me feel frozen in headlights.
That’s why you’re my dear.

You make me the happiest person in the world.
That’s why you’re my love.

Like the sand
that seeps
through my fingers,

she slipped
away...

The harder
I squeezed,
the faster
she fell.

Now it
is her hand
clenched around
my heart,
wrenching the pulp
to satisfy her
thirst.

The fingertips of the trees leave space for the
sky.
The sun with his prowess gives them light
while
branches flow as veins of the earth.

Streaks of clouds like ribs to the sky,
winding
as an atlas of forgotten paths,

dance o'er shaded silhouettes
of
yesterday's bounty.

The fallen leaves of yesteryear's grace
ebb
to their resting and etch their monument
in
time.

And the moon, supple in her gesture,
whispers
the star dusted secrets of tomorrow's

fortune.

The idiosyncrasy of
the elasticity of
a heart
that knows how to mend,
bewilders the mind
of the drunken fool
who thinks that it is the end.

To ameliorate
his rate of devastate
he must look
to his celestial mother
who he not yet knows
and out of cool, still air
soon he will discover.

But the throttle of
the bottle that
he cradles
deep in all his grief
kidnaps his abilities
like a devious,
forlorn thief.

And soon then when
again he finds
another
to hold tight
his mother will have
shown to him
the beauty of her light.

I broke one of my mother's figurines
when I was helping her move the
Christmas tree downstairs.

She glued it back together but it wasn't
quite the same. The visible cracks still
a reminder of what occurred.

She told me it was fine but I felt so bad that
I bought her the same one again so it
was as if the original had never broken.

Now she proudly displays the two side
by side and insists that the original
is her favorite.

tea light lanterns
     adorn
a spring fairy garden

draped
in a hyacinth melody
of lavender
        and whites

serenading a
   music box tune
atop
sun-kissed
      butterfly wings

Senses of lethargy
                         the clergy files in
                                                metal flowers grow to the sun
                                                             ­                     disperse, disperse

Surges of transparency
                          the harrowing feat
                                                  intimate illusions squander
                                                        ­                           the hearse, the hearse

Symptoms of atrophy
                          the pale wind prophetic
                                                       ­  fourteen dead
                                                            ­               the horror, the horror

When a fire cripples
and comes crashing down,
the burning fireflies
that jump up
                                     and out
are the remnants of
the heat that
burns so intensely at
the center of the blaze.
As they
scatter
frantically
in every direction,
they are filled with joy
to be liberated
from their
benevolent captor
only to regret their
emancipation
moments later as
they dissolve into nothing
in the cold of the night.
Embers littered
across the sand like
stars lying against
the canvas of a
dark winter’s eve
resemble the same pattern
that you left me in;
Free
         but lost.

Tree without leaves.
Night without stars.
Book without words.
Street without cars.

Eye without sight.
Mother without daughter.
Joke without laughter.
Pond without water.

Lightning without thunder.
Clock without time.
Tea without sugar.
Bell without chime.

Life without Love.
Once without twice.
Me without you
just won't suffice.

Just like the vastness of a deep ocean,
your blue eyes penetrate me with
the swiftness of a clean sword strike
falling its enemy in one single blow,
leaving behind nothing but a trail of
desire as deep and red as the blood
that runs through my veins.

Just like a glazed shrapnel of ice
melting on the floor,
I am under your spell;
a spell to which you must have cast
a thousand times before.

Just like the dew that dances upon
delicate blades of grass on
a brisk, spring morning
or the rain that falls and
covers the bare earth,
your beauty crashes upon me
and blankets my existence.

I am unto you,
for now
and forever more.

Faces on the ground.
Great Good God on high.
Bring back the peace,
that we used to let fly.

We were... all that we were fighting for.
We were... all that there was to fight for.

Sweet sleep come to me.
And fulfill my needs.
The rain on the ground,
covers the bare leaves.

Is this... really all we are fighting for?
Is this... all really worth fighting for?

In the fields and in the flesh.
We have come here to die.
Pages of the pain,
cloud up my once clear mind.

It is you... that I am fighting for.
It is you... that will break me no more.
This love... is all that we can own.
This love... is all that can be known.

And late one night we'll both be sleeping,
dreaming of our innocence.

.                                                The taste of                             the pain that
                                            you left linger in                   my mouth dries my
                                        taste buds and makes         me crave your quenching
                                     affections just once more.   Just one more last sip of the
                                  divine nature of your existence is but all I ask of you. Please
                                     just one last smell of the beautiful budding flower that I
                                       used to dream of and the same scent that worked to
                                        encompass the very essence of you and I that drew
                                           me to your sweet, rich nectar like a humble bee
                                             working hard to provide for his lovely queen.
                                                    Just one last glimpse into the beauty
                                                       of who we used to be. Just one
                                                             ­       last kiss then I let
                                                             ­                you go.

Buy the ticket,
take the ride.
The feeling that I hold's
sublime.

Long hard hours
full of pain.
A world of knowledge
I did gain.

Books and tests and math
and gruel,
I came and saw and
beat this school.

Now sitting on the steps
I wait
to take that walk
and graduate.

What lies next
I do not know.
On to bigger things
I go.

Kim and Lee sit stiffly on a wooden bench waiting—the interminable waiting. No words are exchanged, for there are no words to describe the anxious feelings they hold inside them. Like an infant bird trying to break free from the worn shell it has been hiding under for so long, their minds race with what could be spoken. An awkward “So..” Perhaps an inquisitive “What are you thinking about?” would be necessary. But still the two remain motionless besides an occasional head turn to pretend to be staring at something else. There is no hiding it though. Kim and Lee each have something on their minds. The dodging, diverting glances from one end of the bench to the other clearly shows the intense feelings being hidden, hidden behind open eyes.
       Kim thinks, “Well, why must I say something? Lee surely is capable of speaking too.” Yet the waiting continues.
       Lee watches Kim while she glances at an old man feeding the ducks across the park. Lee notices her hair and how it waves and curves to her shoulders and back. The subtle breeze glides through each strand sending an aroma of fresh linen across the bench to Lee where he comes to the realization that the temptation has become too much. The sweet, sensual juices that flowed from the apple consumed by Eve are radiating from Kim.
       He knows what he must do…

It came from somewhere in a tree,
Lord only knows what it could be.
I asked if he could show to me
what it means to him to be free.

He said, “Son, now listen here.
Live your life with little fear
and one day when you shed a tear,
to the answer, you’ll be near.”

I asked, “How much time will it take
to rid the world of all this hate?”
In my boots, I start to shake,
tremors worse than an earthquake.

You see, what he saw was very clear.
“Forget the far, only search near,
and when you do, it will be clear
why we all are living here.”

And as we walked out in the rain,
I asked if I could have his name.
The only names that he would claim
were ****** Billy and insane.

Money is a catastrophe
nothing but pure blasphemy.
People of the world
living in a state of atrophy.

Pardon all my apathy
for those who live too happily
but where are all the consequences
for their rude audacity?

We don’t need the pageantry
of all our fancy gadgetry.
Find it down in yourself
the reasons to dispatch of thee.

You want to sit and laugh at me
cause I live by frugality?
Money shouldn’t make us tick
and that’s the harsh reality.

Shrouded by the shrapnel,
   the delicious taste of hate
fuels the burning fire
   that the greedy men create.

Sifting through the silt
   clouded by the dust,
love becomes a legend
   rotting old like rust.

If not for the power
   then surely for the space,
land consumed like knowledge
   nothing left in its place.

Distracted by the glory
   of imposing harmony,
your conscious is left floating
   at the bottom of the sea.

Bodies in the soil
   as souls float up above,
what happened to the notion
   the world was run by love?

Searching for the answer in
   songs instead of violence
will teach the angry men
   to listen in the silence.

Explosions in the distance
   while you sit on your throne,
trying to build heaven
   so you can call it home.

Overlooking reason,
   big business is the key,
asserting all your dominance
   despite the people’s plea.

Creating too much sadness
   is also too much sorrow,
we must pray to see if
   there’s light left for tomorrow.

Lone Eli was a boy
who was awfully coy
and knew few who
were like him too.
Whilst searching for aid,
poor Lone Eli paid
the price of being
lonely and blue.

His heart grew weary,
building with fury,
for the friends that he
would never know.
Gathering his strength,
measuring the length,
off to the cliff
he would go.

With one last thought
for the decision he bought,
his fear would
certainly trump.
Feet on the ledge,
pushed to the edge,
Lone Eli decided
to jump.

As he made his peace
with all of his grief,
he drew in one last
breath of fresh air.
With a final gasp,
his mind could grasp
that, probably,
no one would care.

Lone Eli began
to lean forward and
off in the
distance and fog,
in his time of need
his valiant steed,
came running.
It was Buddy, his dog.

“Buddy! Hey pup!”
He said standing straight up,
“I thought I told
you to stay home?
Buddy, I swear… Wait,
what you got there?”
and at his feet,
Buddy set down his bone.

As Lone Eli stared
at his companion who cared,
he knew that he
could never pay
back his best friend,
who in the end,
helped Eli to fight
another day.

The air tasted
as if
a star had fallen.
The moon, her
             gallant glow.
A tear
from a warrior,
spilled
against the black velvet.

One sole warrior
keeps watch over all the other birdies.
He ruffles his feathers, sticks his leg out,
and pulls it back in.
He turns his head to and fro
and surveys the land.

A little chippy bird tries his luck and lands
near.

The warrior spreads his wings
as he glides
from branch to branch.

Three hops before he makes his break for
the sun.

He stands up, his heart racing. The emotional lasso that grips him has become too much to bear. He feels that every step he takes or sound he makes tightens the rope's grasp around him. He can feel the pressure squeezing his words and emotions out of his chest, up through the long, dark corridors of his throat and out past the serenity of his sacred lips. Certain things are meant to be held back. But others are meant to be shouted out all the way to the far depths of the ocean where only the mysterious, pre-historic sea life dwells. No trick he tries can distract his mind from the one who consumes it night and day. A fly buzzes around his head and he swats at it. He decides that he will no longer swat at the true feelings that brew inside of him. It is he whom they've chose to slay the evil monster with crimson eyes known only as 'Time' that threatens the well-being of the town and its people.
       He plants his feet firmly on the hard, unforgiving ground below him. He knows if he falls it will hurt so he must be prepared. He stares down at her. Beauty radiates off of her like the sweet, sensual smell that unearths after a light rainfall. The sun glistens off of the silver buttons on her blouse that form a line down the middle of her chest, splitting her into two equally as perfect halves. He gently reaches his hand out to hers. As she meets them and delicately places her palms down into his, she feels the brisk sensation of chills forming at the back of her neck and quickly consuming her entire body. She gasps in pleasure. He pulls her arms up as if to suggest she stand up and she rises to her feet. As he and his subtle smile gaze upon her, he finds himself not in the park as he truly is, but plunging down the first few seconds of a roller-coaster, a feeling he so longs to keep. Her eyes slowly move up and meet his.
       "Oh, what beauty!" he thinks to himself as his subtle smile begins to widen. She stares back into his eyes for a few moments then quickly looks down to the unforgiving ground below as butterflies crowd her stomach. Through with the interminable waiting, he places his hand on the bottom of her chin and tilts her head up until their gazes meet again. The whole world around them seems to set still. Nothing matters besides the fireworks exploding in the few inches of space between their bodies. He slides his hand up the side of her neck to the back of her head, caressing her hair. She closes her eyes, leans her head back into his palm, and opens her mouth in pleasure, yet no words escape. Releasing his hand from her chin, he wraps it tightly around her waist and pulls her in until their bodies touch. He feels her heart beat against the outside of his chest. He closes his eyes and leans forward. At her wit's end, consumed by sheer pleasure, she gives into her temptations and slowly moves her head toward his. Their moist lips meet as they hold each other's bodies. He caresses the back of her head and hip bone and she runs her fingers down his back. After what seems like hours, the two pull away, blushing. And as they stand there, staring into each other's lustful eyes, it dawns on Lee that he and Kim were meant to be together.

I sharpen my wits and pencil.
She lathers lotion on her hands.