What do you do
When a poem is just bad
When its phrasing is poor
And its pace is just sad?

Oh what a mercy
It would be to me
For only one comment
On this mediocrity.

But you lot just read it
Then quickly beat it
Looking for a poem
With more grit

I long for the day
When there's a comment to say
This work is trash
Go throw it away.

Yes, honesty hurts
But lessons aren't learned
From just a smile or applause.
Now, this poem's adjourned.

Love, I came so late to know You.
Beauty, always fresh,
Yet older than the world,
I came so late to love You.

I was looking for You
In all the wrong places.
I was looking for You
In flowers and in faces.

I became so ugly
Looking for You
Outside in the lovely
Things. They aren't You.

Things that are lovely
Only because of You.
Things that are ugly
Because they lack You.

Yet through my closed ears
You announced yourself.
You opened these ears
Deafened by too many answers.

You shone like a sun
Burning away the blindness
Of these eyes. Eyes drunken
By a lustful chase for beauty.

You breathed on me
And my breath returned.
The stench of my dead soul
Washed away. I'm alive!

Here You were
All this time
Hidden, quiet, soft
In this heart of mine.

Here You were
Waiting for me
To clear my eyes
To open my ears

Here You were
Hidden in plain sight
Speaking to my heart:
"There is so much more!"

He forgot his soap
What a dope
No one here can cope
He's worse than campfire smoke

He could of brought it on a rope
So he wouldn't have to *****
Instead he'll mope
For friends he's got no hope

They run when they scope
The boy without his soap
Rolling down the *****
Singing baroque
Like the pope

He tried a bath in coke
Oh what a joke
Because the sugars provoke
Mosquitoes to bite and poke.

Still he stinks like BO and oak
Smells like a singer of folk
Whose hair is matted into rope
Cause he won't use soap
What a dope!

Nothing quite so amazing
As smiles from a homeless child
Reaching out to touch the world
With hope

Nothing quite so impressive
As the need in her father
Begging for the chance to give
Her joy

Nothing quite so eloquent
As the tears from her mother
Washing stains of night's foul which
Feeds her;

No, Nothing quite so awesome
As any of that, from me
Just cold words on a page that
Shows you

Choppy words from chopped up heart
Choking back tears of remorse
That I used the mother for
The message:

Inadequate verses for
indescribable renting
of a heart and soul who should
*Love them!

This lonely, sad year
               is now passing by.

This year where each day
              brought more tears to cry.

Each party that was,
             was a bit melancholy,

They were all missing
             one guy's joyful folly.

It seems no one knew
             quite what to say

Or how to pretend
             that we held grief at bay

Or how even to smile
              when you were not near

With your great big grin
              stretching from ear to ear
  

We keep looking for you
               in each passing day

Wishing you'd been
               given more years to stay.

Each day convinced
              any day you'd walk in

And we'd all be laughing
              with you again.

But hard as it is,
             we go on for that's what

You would demand,
            though the pain's a deep cut.

And we know that this pain
             is no less then

The proof of your love
            since the day we began.


In this next year
            help us to see

You're here with us
            in our family.

In a brother's voice,
           we'll hear your laugh

And know sister's hugs
          are on your behalf.

In arms of love
          you still hold us all tight

And everyone will,
          at the end of each night

Envy our privilege
         to be called the 'bambinos'

Of such a great man,
          (that's you Dad), our Dino.

Small hands holding tight
To strings of laughter
On ends of floating
Bubbles of wonder

Sand filled toes in shoes
On quick feet, dancing
Through my greatest dreams
Of who she will be

Soft kisses from lips
Formed from my own heart
Melting into a
Stream to her future.

Sweet songs of her love
Belted with fervor
From within the small
Light flowered sun-dress

Mischiv'us smiles with
Doll filled hands playing
Games to fill the day
With her glow of joy

Bright eyes signaling
A future brilliant
As the twinkle of
the stars they've stolen

Trusting complete love
Holding tight to life
As it floats away
On bubbles of wonder

Crashing, Crashing, Crashing
Breaking on the floor
Here now skirt a plate, a cup
I think we're now at war

Tearing, Ripping, Cutting
Ruining my soul
Here now blurt a hate, a curse
I know we are no more.

Yelling, Screaming, Yelling
Hurting all we can
Hear overt the hidden heart
It me who you abhor.

Goodbye, Goodnight, Good riddance.

Life is a journey,
A hike through your own
Forest of pain and woe;

A walk becoming;
A trip through your time;
A course to fields of peace.

Walk well on the path
You have now chosen
And heed the age-worn ways.

Embrace the challenge
Of forging the Way.
The end is ever near.

On what should you feed
On the journey life?
Will you be nourished well?

How shall you strengthen
the you, becoming?
Feast on the Bread of Life!

Food for the journey,
Feeding the Body,
And nourishing your soul.

Love made incarnate,
Broken and portioned,
The feast for life is Life.

Cannot believe that it came from your lips
When we have survived so many hardships
Weathered together such crazy life storms
Now comes in anger, that word that deforms.

In heated battles, we've cussed all we could
Every word used that we knew never should
But that word, that word, you screamed it at me -
The one whose lover till death you would be?

Burnt skin by hot coals in fires on dunes -
Nothing compared to the burn of these wounds.
Wish you had rather thrown at me a dish
Or used a gun to say "I will end this!"

Did you really? Is that what you said, love?
Did you scream that while the knife you did shove?
How could you? How would you? Yeah, perfect I'm not.
Feeling the slice, seeing drip the red blots.

Sobbing and puking as my ribs you part
To reach in my chest and tear out my heart.
Ten years of marriage, together fifteen,
Fights, we've had many, but this - what a scene!

You hate me? You HATE me? Oh sh*t! It's true.
Without you I won't know how to make do.
Oh dearest light of my life what's this pain?
Your love the rare thing I could count as gain.

That word we had sworn we never would use;
You used as the sword my soul to abuse.
It is a cut that you cannot undue.
I love you! I LOVE you! Please know that's true.

Perhaps now you do know my love is true,
Holding my heart in your hands, as you do?
****** mess made ripping it from my chest;
Sending me off to an untimely rest.

Now dead, I can see. I know it's not hate.
My pooled blood now given your tears as playmate
Long crimson pink lines now your face striate
Soon you will join me, in death I await.

Winter, snow,
Geronimo!
Racing down the sled hill.

Wind blows,
Frozen toes,
Bring me more hot cocoas!

-by Nathan Porter (age 10)
  with Ross Porter

She's there for comfort
When life is too much..
He's there at your back
When fight it you must.

Oh brother, oh sister
Oh cousin, oh dear
Oh Mother, oh father
Let's drink, we're all here!

Sisters or brothers
Spouse, cousins and friends,
With all you call family
Always make amends.

Oh brother, oh sister
Oh cousin, oh dear
Oh Mother, oh father
I'm glad we're all here!

Mother and father
Wife, husband and child
They keep your heart open
And your soul beguiled.

Oh brother, oh sister
Oh cousin, oh dear
Oh mother, oh father
Let's laugh, we're all here!

For its when you need them
They'll always be there
Love from your family
No Love can compare.

Oh brother, oh sister
Oh cousin, oh dear
Oh mother, oh father
Let's sing, we're all here!

Buzzing, like bees fresh from a field of clover blooms -
The beautiful din of childhood conversation.
Sweet frosting dripping through layers of love baked cakes.
The smell of beeswax melting to puddles in flames.

Colors, akin to the late evenings proudest show,
Waiting to be ripped apart to reveal their gifts,
And streaming across the room in wisps of wishes
From family and friends making happy memories.

The jubilant ring of children singing brightly.
The sudden hush as hopes and dreams are planted.
A mighty breeze of faith, held for a year, exhaled.
Lights of age extinguished, replaced by childlike glee.

Scooped frozen cream with slices of honeyed layers -
Plated, shared, enjoyed by young and mature alike.
These, a very taste of wide-eyed innocence and sweet
Memory of bygone years spent loved and nurtured.

Tell me would you, could you, please
Of all the sounds you see
In a house or with a mouse
Hey, define a lady's blouse.

Tell me would you, could you, please
Of all the smells you taste
In the rain or on a train
Write it to move or just entertain

Tell me would you, could you, please
Of all the visions you hear
In a box or with a fox
Write of Tigers or even Socks

Tell me would you, could you, please
For by your writing I know
Here and there and everywhere
Are Green Ham and Eggs to spare.

They bounce, they swing
On crazy trees
Hewn and formed for sleep.

They screech and scream
and kiss and sing
As they lay their heads

They pray, they giggle
and like to snuggle
And often beg for drinks

A Parent's joy,
that nightly chore,
Handling monkeys.

The hate that I have
I will not let go
Though its wrong,
And a prejudice.

I hate all the people
Who've hurt their own child
Left them
Abandoned and hurting.

I hate all the haters
Who tell others the way
They are supposed
To think and behave.

I hate all the people
Breaking hearts of so many.
Selfish
In bids for importance.

I hate all the haters
Who blame always the others
For their broke
feelings and lives.

I hate the Author,
I hate the Poet,
I hate the
Writers of songs.

They make me think,
That aweful bunch,
That my hate may be
Paradox.

I know only this,
With you died my bliss.
Why had you to go,
When I loved you so?

What in my love
Was there not enough of
For you not to see
You were needed by me?

Just a selfish act
Without thought of impact,
Of how it would destroy
Me, your little boy?

I want you back
From your self-attack,
From your self-hate.
Come out of that crate!

I won't let them bury you
Or away let them to carry you
I refuse to desert
My daddy to dirt.

Why did you flee
In a way which would be
Such forever unending a leave
Bequeathing me only to grieve?

Why did you hate me
Leave me, forsake me?
I loved you with all that I had,
Daddy forgive me if I made you mad.

Come back poppa, please
I'm here on my knees
Begging, please don't be gone;
Tell me this is just some con.

I Loved You! I Love You!
I Hate that I Love You!
For now love is only deep pain
From love now there's nothing to gain.

-From the Author-

And hopefully this
Explains why I dis,
And will have no pity
For a 'poetic' suicide ditty.

Just such selfish gusts
From self-absorbed egotists
Playing as the word is a toy
That wrecked the heart of this boy.

Who to be:
Who I want
Or who I am?

To climb
And struggle.
Fight the demon.
Slay the dragon.

-Or-

To relax
And enjoy
Have the cake
And eat it, too

Vexed.
Perplexed.
Is the struggle
Worth the pain

Will I be
Happy with
Who I became?

Fight the battle
Or lay down arms
If either way, I die;

If either way
I decompose
Into food for trees.

Who I am is good enough
Though who I could be
Is better.

But why be better?

Though I have fought my own many wars;
Lived through and settled so many scores;
Avoided those hooks, saw the bait coming;
Learned when to bite and when to keep going;
Still I'm delighted when tasting your dish -
The sweet observation of a much younger fish.
Imaginations it seems are oft better teachers;
Wars and their scores tend more to be preachers.

In the dark a secret is safe to tell.
Without the sun, there is no heaven or hell.
In the dark, a soul can hide its shame.
Without sun's flame all sins looks the same.

The path to walk is easy to stray from.
The lost are each and impossible to sum.
Failures never see the light of day,
When the night is where we play.

In the deep beyond sun's shine,
I lie there, hidden in secrets, defined.
Deep, where the crystal blue turns charcoal black,
And lifelines of lies break from light's slack.

Diving down beyond the reach of light,
Plunging into my horrid un-perishing night,
Then manifests that most frightening thing to see:
A mirror reflecting the whole of me.

Free verse is great,
when used by great poets,
but it seems that it has more recently become
a way for amateur poets
to be lazy.

To take opinions,
expressed in prose
and convince the world its poetry.
What is the beauty of poetry if not
in seeing how the poet commands
the language?

To write a sonnet,
To write a limerick,
To use iambic pentameter,
The poet must form the language
to fit the structure,
accomplish the meter.

The poet has to find
creative ways of expressing
a thought that fits within the structure.
Free verse does 'free the poet' to express ideas.

There is a lot of great
free verse poetry.
Because it allows
for an arrangement of ideas
without a strict form.

Sadly it also
frees the poet to be,
Well, un-poetic.
Is it a poem, really,
with not a single simile,
no metaphore, hyperbole,
no alliteration, no assoonance,
no meter, no rhyme?

If your not using
any poetic devices at all,
is this really poetry?
Or just prose in disguise?

When first you let your beauty go,
I saw a heart deep below
Layers of peanut butter
With brown sugar

When next you let your beauty go,
I saw a heart deep below
Layers of insecurity
And cruel words.

When then you let your spirit shine,
I saw the insecurity was mine,
Layered in confines
Of false confidence

When then you let your love show,
I saw my heart was shallow
Seeking external beauty
Missing your heart

When at last you shared your mind,
I knew then I was unkind
Demanding only the fine
Expecting swine.

Yet my presence you demand,
To satisfy your base command,
Do I stay and smile and nod?
Do I walk, and cry unshod?

You who've found love, I hope that you see,
The creative power of its majesty,
And do seek not by the power of Love,
To change once a hawk, into a dove.
Love's power is, the Pow'r above all,
To give response, To answer this call:

"Write stories large of thy life on earth;
Passing those on through giving of birth.
Birth ye a child, or birth ye a song,
The power of Love is thy chance to live on.
Antagonized by hate and Apathy,
The sin is letting these define ye."

This, the command received from on high,
A creator's demand: Go forth, multiply.
Multiply Love, multiply Trust
Multiply Joy in all of us.
Given to answer our quest for our why.
The Creator's answer: my love, multiply.

I live my life. I don't live yours.
I choose my set and dress my doors.
You'll disagree and share your thought.
You'll preach perhaps 'bout what I aught.

I'm glad you dare! I'll lend my ear
In hopes you'll share a new idea.
But if old rote truths are all you have,
I know them cold, don't waste your salve.

If that's the case, please save your breath.
Give me my stage, I'll play Macbeth.
Embrace your way? Perhaps I will.
Come truth what may but not until.

We walked through our youth filled time
Along a common path through life
I oft paid your tolls, you oft paid mine
Together we mastered our trail.

And you stood by me despite the wild and the sea,
Through both the straights and twisted routes.
And when off I forged for a new road home
You walked beside this fool, this me.

And next to you, I was glad to be,
As from your many storms you fought to break free
Though ruts and roots and thrown debris
Hampered your path, we cleared your way.

Then came that cross-roads, that vexed choice
Of different paths to follow ahead
And without even waving good-bye
We took our divergent roads away.

There was that day, I missed your voice
I forged the wood to find you on your path.
But I arrived on a path so strange to me,
I could not chart the course to you.

So back I walked to my own path.
And I missed you and I feared you lost,
So then, at each new crossroads I'd yell
For my old friend, but only silence came in reply.

Then ahead of me on my same path,
One day I met the one who'd share this walk with me.
What a joy to meet her on my same route,
Walking the same trail I had chosen.

So know, please, old friend, though our time
Met it's end, I walk now in joy
Hand in hand with a lovely soul
Who lights my path as I light hers

We chose separate byways long ago
But still I would like you to know
I found  joy along my new path
And I pray that you have found it too.

Ask and you'll receive - Be coy and you'll get carp.
Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and it might be a poem.

Winter storms are coming, keep the beer stocked.
Cooler-heads prevail - no one can argue with a drunk.

Family is all you got, don't ***** yourself, make babies.
A parent will love you forever, a child's love is more delicate.

When the world give you lemons,
Throw them at the guy who tells you to make lemonade.

If you take offence, where none was intended, then yes, you are too sensitive.
If you now know you're too sensitive, don't whine, write a poem.

If you start a statement with, "I don't want to offend you" chances are you already have.
If you have an opinion no one asked for, its the perfect title for a poem.

Knowledge is butterflies in flight.
A doubting caterpillar needs
His faith in metamorphosis.
Without it his future: horror.

Mother gone this way before him.
Father gone before his time here.
The only hope: whispered instinct.
A still sound in the face of fear.

"Those who've gone before me", says he
"Loved me and wanted good for me."
"They willed me to believe in life
Beyond: the metamorphosis."

Every day, eat of leaf. Chew. Rest.
Do not wander ye from safety.
Heed ye these rules, follow the way.
Know ye that our decree's from love.

Brother tells tall tales, adventure
Excitement, a world of wonder
To have now! No waiting, no need
To wait, fear, hope. Enjoy it now!

Brother says: "metamorphosis
Is a tale made by those who want
To control and manipulate.
To keep us from pleasures in life."

Brother says: "The dark chrysalis
Is a grave, death, ending, final.
Now is time to discover.
What tastes good is the true good.

Only now do we have the chance
To learn, explore, see and enjoy."
He's eaten leaves outside the path.
Brother says: "they are juicy good!

Come all, leave this way mapped by those
Who want to keep you from juicy
Leaves and the whole wide world to see"
Brother says. "Don't hope, enjoy now."

Sister left the barque, left the safe
Path to the leaves mapped out by some
Unknown cartographer. Unknown!
She's not back. He hopes for her best.

But our caterpillar here, friend,
Has chosen the old dreams and hope.
To follow the path mapped to leaves
That nourish the body and heart.

He has chosen to believe that
The wisdom of age and instinct
Is more trustworthy than the word
Of youthful brother's juicy world.

His doubts he's cocooned in faith's silk.
These bland leaves he eats for promise
Of sweet flower's nectar beyond.
Today's toil for tomorrow's joy.

Doubt frightens. The chrysalis looms.
No control, nature compels it.
Unfair, afraid, the silk spins tight.
In pain, the world grows dark and still.

He faces his end. He must choose
To listen to the still, small sound.
Have faith he's not schizophrenic.
Believe in more passed the cocoon.

His ancestral council and creed
He chooses to embrace and trust
To face his end with dream and hope.
His doubts cocooned by faith in Love.

Butterflies are knowledge in flight.
For at their end, faith is fulfilled.
These butterflies their joy have reached,
Through faith in metamorphosis.

Knowledge is butterflies in flight.
A doubting caterpillar needs
His faith in metamorphosis.
Without it his future: horror.

Mother gone this way before him.
Father gone before his time here.
The only hope: whispered instinct.
A still sound in the face of fear.

"Those who've gone before me", says he
"Loved me and wanted good for me."
"They willed me to believe in life
Beyond: the metamorphosis."

Every day, eat of leaf. Chew. Rest.
Do not wander ye from safety.
Heed ye these rules, follow the way.
Know ye that our decree's from love.

Brother tells tall tales, adventure
Excitement, a world of wonder
To have now! No waiting, no need
To wait, fear, hope. Enjoy it now!

Brother says: "metamorphosis
Is a tale made by those who want
To control and manipulate.
To keep us from pleasures in life."

Brother says: "The dark chrysalis
Is a grave, death, ending, final.
Now is time to discover.
What tastes good is the true good.

Only now do we have the chance
To learn, explore, see and enjoy."
He's eaten leaves outside the path.
Brother says: "they are juicy good!

Come all, leave this way mapped by those
Who want to keep you from juicy
Leaves and the whole wide world to see"
Brother says. "Don't hope, enjoy now."

Sister left the barque, left the safe
Path to the leaves mapped out by some
Unknown cartographer. Unknown!
She's not back. He hopes for her best.

But our caterpillar here, friend,
Has chosen the old dreams and hope.
To follow the path mapped to leaves
That nourish the body and heart.

He has chosen to believe that
The wisdom of age and instinct
Is more trustworthy than the word
Of youthful brother's juicy world.

His doubts he's cocooned in faith's silk.
These bland leaves he eats for promise
Of sweet flower's nectar beyond.
Today's toil for tomorrow's joy.

Doubt frightens. The chrysalis looms.
No control, nature compels it.
Unfair, afraid, the silk spins tight.
In pain, the world grows dark and still.

He faces his end. He must choose
To listen to the still, small sound.
Have faith he's not schizophrenic.
Believe in more passed the cocoon.

His ancestral council and creed
He chooses to embrace and trust
To face his end with dream and hope.
His doubts cocooned by faith in Love.

Butterflies are knowledge in flight.
For at their end, faith is fulfilled.
These butterflies their joy have reached,
Through faith in metamorphosis.

Feet shod in mud
From chasing frogs
And dreams in a
World all his own.

Sweat pouring out
Young pores chasing
Flows of futures
As yet unknown.

Tight embraces
Of soon strong arms
Swelling pride in
A father's heart.

Wood and leather
Worked to tough threads
Of faith in his
Aspirations.

Grass stains on knees
Bending the world
To his purpose.
Moved by his dreams.

Anthems of hope
Sung in his heart
Lifting dad's soul
to love's high planes.

Secrets of love
And compassion
Modesty hides,
Are known to all.

Pursuing his
Dreams in mud-soaked
Worlds of slick frogs.
His world to own.

Two screws in a week have turned loose.
Upholstery? It's needin' a boost.
So off to the carpenter's place,
A quick calming break from the rat-race.

The best looking go daily, you know.
Always ready for their final show
Though weekly's required
to keep ruddy and clear,
Pity those going but twice a year.

Seems like he can fix in a jiff
A heart that has hardened too stiff;
And when soul's window pane
Has grown cloudy again,
He'll wash it and call it a gift!

The Now is a penny spent for a past
Once spent, it's gone for good.
Dreams and joys and sorrow's tears,
All payments to the builder of When.

So you can spend your Now on worry
Or choose to spend your Now on joy.
However you choose to spend it,
It's building you a When.

There's no deposit, no return
There's no second chance at all
For Now buys you your memories-
The bricks that build your story.

We've only one power over the When
One power, just the Now we spend.
So live your Now, for now is when
You build what's left at your life's End.

Emotion is a wild beast, dangerous and unpredictable,
But when it is collared by reason and trained by self-discipline,
it becomes our greatest strength.

You were a part of my soul.
A part I gave with joy
So to see your life unfold.

Then came the horrid day
When you poured that part away
In blood from your cut veins.

I miss you so much
My princess, daddy's girl;
Your gentle kiss goodnight.

I wish that my love
Could have healed your despair.
I wish that just love was enough!

But my love could not.
It was not enough to save you
From that monster they tried as a child.

From that evil boy
Who ripped up your mind
As he tore your dress away.

My heart stills hears your screams,
As he was eating your soul
"Daddy, please, come save me."

I could not save you!
NO! NO! God NO! Please!
Not my precious child!

I come now to your stone
Because I want you know
He's buried alive, far from you.

And all that is left
Of my soul is now gone.
The full price for my vengeance's reward.

Guy who's like me
She says would be
The perfect man for her

One who writes sonnets
Love writ large upon it
She says she would treasure and keep

Courageous but kind
A deep thoughtful mind
She claims that she seeks for a mate

Romantic and loving
Respectful not shoving
She lists as her prerequisites

Found me last week
Took a walk on the beach
And sent me home packing today.

She says that I was
Too 'gushy' because
A courageous romantic is weak.

I'm no perfect saintly man.
I'm nothing like a Peter Pan.
And my mistakes I oft take out,
By sending you a wicked shout.

And when I've really f'd things up
I spew my venom in your cup.
With wicked silence, evil eyes
I work to hide where true blame lies.

But no full-on self-delusion,
No raged satanic collusion,
Will hide the fact that it's my fault
That I'm not proud of me.

I fail to be the best of me,
That image which I'm built to be -
So on I jump that train of blame,
A ride designed to stop tear's reign.

I know there's hope, I know my heart's
Not wicked, just tearing apart,
Not angry, growing passion's fire
For those whose love I most desire.

You may never understand me,
                          explain me or remake me.
But you love me and you hold me
                          and you give me all I need.
You who often thank me,
                          praise me, craze me,
I love you and I love you
                         and we will always be!

We once two - became one,
                         a whole one, a true one.
Always you beside me,
                         inspire me and desire me.
Never shall you be,
                        without me but within me
For I love you and I love you
                        and we will always be!

To still silence was the call-
Was post upon the wall:
"Dollars need be dished,
for poets to be published."

But today the bells do ring
Today again, poor poets sing
For the generous and the rich
Paid our share--thanks Buffy, Mitch.

Now it's up to us, my friend-
Poor poets now we must send
Sweet music that can sound again.
Be worth price, or at least intend.