Mind loaded like a gun..
Heart seeks like a Missile
Mouth shoots off like a Poetry Pistol
Velocity from verbs..words will drill
Into your mind giving you a mental thrill
There's a bang in my slang
Sting venomous when stang
Songs are sung this one I sang
Pieces of my soul my words are true
Writing these bullets shooting at you
In war of words I am a General
Topics range from Vegetable, Animal to Mineral
Endless ammunition arranged in rhyme
Rhythmm And Poetry  machine gun of the mind
Hammer cocked..pull the trigger..bullets whistle..
Words glow from my soul shot from Poetry Pistol..

H aven for those who’s words are never read
E ven though they pour their souls and very
L ives and spirit through their pens or
L et their fingers nurture beautiful tomorrows
O n the keyboards of their creativity.

P oetry is the blood that pumps
O ut wondrous magic from those fertile minds that
E nds up on a glowing screen or printed page, in hopes
T hat it can give birth to a long awaited
R ennaissance in the thinking of the world, and create a
Y earning for a better way to live and love.
ljm

Someone told me
you can't write (p)oetry ab(o)ut things
you don't want to romanticiz(e).

So for a long (t)ime
(because of w(r)ong people like (y)ou)
I d(i)dn't write drunk,
becau(s)e the(n) I c(o)uldn't
guard my feelings.

But now I'm drunk as hell
and no(t)hing in my life
is close to romantic
and I don't have to explain to you
why (b)oats, oc(e)ans, and words
are the only things
that e(a)se my open wo(u)nds.

I don'(t) have to tell you why
I don't scream or cry or f(i)ght
when I think about how many of my (f)riends
killed themselves.
I write instead,
and it's not romantic.

I am not
in love
with words.

I am
in love
with them
and they're no longer here,
breathing, holding my hand,
and singing me songs about rivers
and how we'll always find each other.

But we won't,
because there's not a
single f(u)cking romantic thing
about how I'll never hold their hands
again.

So I drink,
and I write,
and I do not (l)isten
to people like you.

I don't want now
to
forget you
but I need
a silent night;
& I am
frightened by the poetry
you've blinked into my mind
& now it's been that i can't
want you
how it
tortures
both my thighs
I have to
pretend I don't love you
& none of it feels right
I'd like to
untie & u n d o
all of the knots that tie me down
to knuckles that you've used
to smooth all of it out
but all your
smearing won't remove
it only
spread it all around
& while you sleep so
far away
I've had to learn to breathe
face-down

My words don't Shake like William's,
nor, do they Frost like Robert's.
×
My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's,
nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's. 
×
I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's,
nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's.
×
My words are far from an Angel like Maya's,
 and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's.
×
Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me.
×
(sumairu•¶oetry)

Poetry
  Oetry
     Etry
       Try

Try to think
Outside the box

Try to be
The most creative

Try to use
A hidden talent

Try because If
You do not

The world may
Never hear you