Big
Red
Empty
But not for long
Socks Rapidly shot in
Just like a basketball at the buzzer
Boxers next
Shoved and forgotten
Undershirts crisp and white
Blanket the bottom like snow
Colorful shirts
Folded and at attention
Mimick a soldier at ready
Are deployed in
The warzone

Long pants
Almost forgotten
But, not quite
Athletic shorts
Scrunched up
Ready to jump at a moments notice
Swim shorts are strewn over
As a makeshift barricade between
Regular and
Fancy
Comfortable
Collared shirts
Zip
Unzip

Another pocket
IN go phone chargers!
IN goes computer charger!
IN goes deck of cards!
As fast as the eye can see
Zip

Clip on
The black bag of magic
Toothbrushes
Toothpaste
Dental floss
Retainer case
Last but not least
The most holy of holies
Deodorant is
Gingerly, gently slid into place
All Effluvia of
The Travelers Trade
Zip closed

The Holocaust didn’t happen
Everyone
Knows that
Six million people died
A war was fought
Evidence was found
Testaments were made
The world was changed
But come on
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen

Those concentration camps were
Brutal
Those emaciated people were
Horrendous
Those war crimes were
Real
But come on
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen

Questions concerning
Reality
History
Fact
Fiction
All moot points
Because
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen.

You’re not addicted to Facebook
You only spend
Hours a day online
Checking on
How many friends you have
Making sure
You’ve poked everyone you can
Keeping up
With the newest profile pictures of
People you don’t even know
No problem,
You’re not addicted to Facebook

You still do
Follow your ex – she doesn’t know
It’s important
That you put all your parties online
Because you’re - Important
And just like everyone else
You’re not addicted to Facebook

Life’s too short
Not to share
Life’s too long
To remember it all
So you have the Internet
To catalogue
But you can’t ever leave
Because if you do
How could you remember those hazy times?
Let’s all say thanks
To Facebook
And it’s a good thing
You’re not addicted to Facebook

Because if you were addicted to Facebook
It’d just be another
Drug to worry about.

My home
Earth, USA, Poconos, Camp Ramah, Boys Campus, Bunk 12, Third wooden step
There is a hornets nest underneath- harmlessly buzzing,
we are drunk on youth and invincible
Peace draws me back.

Leaning back on the fourth step, the wood digs into my elbows but
I don't care. I'm too content.
In front of me is a sprawling bright green hill of grass
plunging downward with a strip of gravel leading to the lake.

Feeling the aged, warm wood beneath my feet is
cozy. The gazebo is at the apex of the lush hill;
it's falling apart. Cobwebs cover it and the wood is flaking, but
no one said home was perfect.

I tilt my head upward briefly to feel the warmth of the sun and then scan
downward at the square pool surrounded by a romantic chain-link fence.
Past the pool is a run down boathouse.
My first kiss was there. I told her I had a "secret to tell her,” tilted her chin with my hand, and kissed her.

A serene manmade lake sits just below the boathouse.
The deep blue waters
and the bouncing "blob” own my attention.

A picturesque scene… the lake surrounded by a dense forest at the bottom
of a giant, beautiful hill which houses for just a brief period,
some of the best friends I’ve ever had,
is home to me.
It is serenity, it is comfort, it is love.

Home has no definition,
but the third wooden step, bunk 12, boys campus, Camp Ramah, USA, Earth, gazing in the hot summer sun over the most
beautiful piece of land I've ever laid my eyes upon
sure feels like home to me.

If you need a reason to dress up
If you get out of bed without a purpose
If you are plugged-in until the lights are out
If you have anxiety
If you resist every temptation
If you don't smell the roses
If you don't pick your head up and enjoy every moment
If you don't express
If you don't live fully
If you miss it

You're living wrong.

So look beautifully
Stride purposefully
Shut it down
Live stress-free
Indulge
Enjoy nature
Bask in your surroundings
Speak freely
Live completely
Don't waste your time

And you may be lucky enough to die regret-free.

Near or far,
I'll be there.

It matter not where you are.



Think of me in the flutter of your hair;

leave not my memory behind.

For here lies my soul bare.



Memories and years intertwined,

A bond we do form,

Perfection I do find.



We have weathered many a tremendous storm;

you are as mesmerizing as a rose-

unbreakable, beyond the norm.



Our book does not close.

A new-separate chapter,
enter the future with dignified repose.


I wish you full bellied laughter;

for we will meet again after.

"If there was money in poetry,
I'd be a **** sight better at it."

- The Misguided Man

Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.

I rolled in Michigan
strapped to a kayak in the namesake lake
vision obscured by freshwater

I plunged under the blue surface
out of my element
panicking as a fish out of water- in water

I reached for the release and
missed
but grasped swelling panic

Dread thoughts of
the end...
my family…
last words…

Still submerged- somehow a semblance of sensibility surfaced,
unlike myself
frightening fantasies flitted-
shot like skeets in the sky and
peace prevailed.

I stretched through the moist blindness,
found the release- my sweet release.

Gasp air.
Freedom from death's clutches

I see
my unpreparedness for death,
ability to survive

Fifteen seconds to find my inner calm, my inner panicked strength, the depth of my composure
fifteen seconds for reevaluation

Fifteen seconds
submarine style
to find who I really was and am

Arguments are made
that safety and tranquility are the best mindsets for
education

But,
safety lacks motivation,
tranquility lacks demand,
Life's trials breed introspection.

Two clowns with tremendous feet
stacked upon each other
one a miniature of the other

these clowns have diminutive heads
plump bodies
pieced together

monstrous feet out sizing their legs
pigeon-toed outwards
with a big toe the size of a meatball

both have screaming faces
eyes set atop their heads
without eyebrows- but it's not unnatural

ether floats off the larger clown on the bottom
radiating from the knee and the torso sides
and shoulders

the larger built like a body builder
with massive shoulders
and a v-torso

the diminutive clown has massive ears and
skinny arms facing outwards with hooked fists
on rollerskates

the anger spewing from the larger lower clown
is parodied on the upper's face
they are both men

both squat, human
made of circles
nothing is a straight line in their make-up

niether naked
nor clothed
it doesn't matter

these clowns represent nothing
they simply are; they are in the world
but where, I can not say.

Four Weddings
Four Women
One Honeymoon

Spiteful Women
Lying through their teeth
Not too high/ Not too low

Just high enough to look innocent
Not high enough to lose
because you are a spiteful woman

You loved the food
You loved the dress
You loved the wedding

But you're a horrible person
and at your core
are a spiteful and selfish woman.

*"I'd give it a six."

Music is*

Pure exhilaration, inspiration, and ecstasy/
Uncontrollable drive and dedication

An uncontrollable but welcome smile/
A shot of adrenaline throuhg every vein/
The pulsation of an entire body

Every muscle fiber pulled taut by anticipation/
A crescendo of notes and chords fueling an emotional high

Butterflies, no- jetplanes in the listeners stomach/
Being headed from the lyrical content

Unification through the melting of souls

Rent apart by individual and intensely personal fetishes

Immortal...

Timeless.

Rapprochement
was necessary for survival

Handicraft helped
but shelter was not necessary as the world burned

To phase'out companionship
invites emetic death

Blazes hot enough to burn stars
smolder with sulfurous fumes

The flames burgeon illumination
as worlds are rent

All forms of hesitation are irrelevant with
society's abutments collapsed.

To pass freely was
never an option.

I'm not yankin' your chain, pullin’ the wool over your eyes, or any of that ****.
This is the job man.
Fly a plane, build a bridge, climb a mountain- do it man. Don't limit yourself.
Unless you’re not that adventurous guy, I mean, that's cool. No inner drive to be outgoing: That's cool, that's cool, I get it, stay with us… work at the Laundromat. There are so many benefits to a Laundromat. Good… well decent money. Not much real work, we operate machines, so whatever really. But the chillest part is, we get to see the creepy stains people have on their clothing... and have a good laugh behind their backs.
These stains tell stories.
Pilots are sweaty under their arms. This tells me they are confined, cramped, caged, we are free in our own little Laundromat world.
Bridge builders have industrial stains; no regular old machine will get those out. We are chillin’ working for the same pay they are at a quarter of the effort. Hikers are even worse. They are soaked head-to-toe in sweat for a view from a postcard- idiots.
It may not be as stimulating as flying a plane; as as helpful as building a bridge; as monumental as hiking a mountain; but it’s the superiorly important.
We are doing the world a huge service. Without us, there would be no uniforms for pilots, no clothes for the bridge builder, and no hiking gear for the mountain man.
Buck up, life could be worse, you could be a more useless guy with creepy stains who flies a plane- builds a bridge- or hikes a mountain and then overpays us at the Laundromat to clean his clothes.

Poetry is not a joke
Wanna get metaphysical?
Wanna express yourself?
Wanna be real?
Wanna let the world know your pain?
Wanna let the world feel your happiness?
Wanna share your triumphs and tribulations?
Do it.
Live, love, feel, share.
Poetry is a joke; the punchline is, that it's the most important joke ever told.

The zone, is another world, another state
Not zoned-out, zoned-in
It's deep -- the words flow from a source like a never-ending waterfall
It's etheral -- the subject matter comes from everywhere
It's outlandish -- some of the things you write may seem... odd... but that's fine, they are odd, you are odd, you're zoned.
It's death-defyingly wild.
It's right -- because when the words flow, when the topics abound, when your writing is freeky – it means you’re expressing
Being in the zone is pure expression
Like a factory line - the poems just churn out.
Not processed pieces, works of art.
The zone is a private Italian workshop located in your mind where suits and sportscars are replaced by words and stanzas.

Definition: Poetry that does not rhyme or have a regular meter
Free verse is not just poetry
Free verse is an expression
Free verse is an escape
The beauty in free verse poetry is it's lawlessness
Poets become Jesse and Billy; they break rules, they break hearts, they break tradition.
The difference is their words are far more cutting than a bullet can ever be.
The beauty in free verse poetry is it's adventure
Poets become Columbus and  Sacagewea; they break barriers, they explore new lands, they become wild.
They explore the boundless blank page rather than the limited natural world.
But the real beauty in free verse poetry, is it's structure.
The structure of a free verse poem is new and varying every single time.
The reader not only yearns to find the meaning of the poem, but the dual meaning of the structure.
Definition: self-expression and puzzlement of the mind and for the soul

Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters and quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction

We brush lips
we brush hands
we brush lives yet
never pressing the surface
we never press our passions

We need to press our lips
we need to press our ambitions
we need to press our hands
we need to press our lives into symbiosis.

We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
what happens once the surface is broken

We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.

I’ve been cured of my passion, my drive, my power.
Where has my sickness gone?
The push behind my brain, the pressure upon my artistic uvula has been relieved.
  
I threw up words, stanzas, poems.
I barfed- poetic-*****.
Pure-unadulterated *****
I was content, fulfilled- or rather- emptied.
The bug has flown from its host; my well has run dry

I don't wish to be cured
I want to *****, puke, ****- more lyrics than ever before.
The world is in need of sick poets, deathly ill individuals.
What sick vaccine is eradicating our precious uncommon cold?

A cleansed world is one without expression, without freedom, and without the most beautiful and necessary illness we fondly christen as: Poetry.

Volcanic destruction. 2 words
A volcano destroys the citadel. 5 words
A tiny volcano destroy the movie-set citadel look-alike 10 words
A paper machet volcano spurts water and melts the miniature ice-city for a home movie 15 words
Did i amplify or detract?

Don't wait.
Go farther.
Don't wait.
Go bigger.
Don't wait.
Go deeper.
Don't wait.
Go grander.
Don't wait.
Go explore.
Don't wait.
Go learn.
Don't wait.
Go live.
Don't wait.
Go love.
Don't wait.
Go

Words can be sprinkled over anything
They describe, they encompass, they detail, they define, they refine
They express love, they make love, they end love, they are love
Words shield children from the harsh and expose men to the truth
Words are like gold powder covering a varnished surface.
They make something already slick- glisten.
Venturine is to wood as Words are to the world

Poem to a Friend
Dear Friend,
I'm lost. No I’m not, but I’m clueless and facing huge decisions. My heart is in one direction by common sense tells me another. Does money outweigh artistic freedom? What defines happiness? Where am I going? Do I need to decide now?
I'm not looking for guidance, merely an ear. Life is staring at me. I want to ask for help but I know I'm a hell of a lot better than that. I know I'm stronger than that.
But I like to think back and reflect, it's cool man, thinking of my childhood. When I was younger it didn't matter. None of that **** mattered and that made life so easy. A job meant dressing up as a fireman and laughing- not a 9-5. What is a 9-5? Am I ready?
Time will tell.
I'm going away soon. Life matters. Life is hard.
I'm not depressed. I'm not dying. I have just been hit in the face by reality.
The best part is, I'm man enough to have a strong right hook to throw back.
Look out world, look out strangers, look out mystery, I'm here; and I'm excited.
  
Yours Truly.

I fell out of orbit- this was the end
Rocketing back to the ground
My life flashed before my eyes: this chance a god-send

A curious calm was to be found
A fine continuous existence
An old-faithful tape: I was rewound

Life was not a game of subsistence
Nor a rat race for wealth
I lived with ordinary consistence

I can not complain; I was fed and in full health
But neither can I rejoice in a titanic victory
I flew under the radar- living a life of stealth

Not that I needed a majestic mystery
My life was customary
I felt no compulsion to add to my family history

I am the testament to the half-sweet cherry
I am not complaining, I have lived happily and well
I closed my eyes at the end of the dive and was glad i lived so middle-of-the-road non-contrary

Reflection and total repose
My life I happily do expose.

Prosperity requires the fortitude to be cruelly decisive and cuttingly deceitful in every conceivable endeavor;
Cruel and unrestrained ambition will lead to life in the lap of luxury;
Duplicity and dishonesty lie with success and supremacy;
The mixture of forceful action with lurid lies results in a beautifully tainted cocktail.
Would you drink...?
Do you believe...?

Let a poem seep into your mind
Let a poem absorb into your conscience, subconscious, and soul
Let the craftsmanship of words take you to another world
Do not be afraid to read
Do not be afraid to write
We are all poets.
We are all entertainers and audience members
Entertain the thought that poetry is more than a word
it's a feeling
it's an emotion
it's a way of life
Entertain a Poem : let a Poem Entertain you.

I arose
             I was rich
I was robbed
                        I won the lottery
I went to bed.

I arose
             I was married
I had a passionate affair
                                           I had a divorce
I lost the house
                            I kept the kids
I went to bed.

I arose
              I got into college
I went to a party
                              I drank
I lost my virginity
                                 I was photographed
I had my acceptance reneged
                                                     I won't have any student loans
I went to bed.

I am a Falsehood
I am naive
I am humble
I am self-effacing
I am diligent
I am a narrow minded
I am an anarchist
I am scared
I am alone
I am docile
I am ignorant
I am a liar
This is not me.

A party in the jungle heat,
he is sober,
Like always.
Just one drink...
Come on try it...
No.
One, please, do it with me
No
Don't be left out
No
Just one...?
...no...
One.
Capitulation First Sip.
Fruit juices of the jungle- strawberry sweet with that telling aftertaste
no regret.
Sip.
Gulp.
First cup finished
He is Tipsy.
Secnd cup finshed
He is Buzzed.
Pride, He has lost his inicense, He is growin' up.
The only limit is dere are none...
Three cups in and the sweet nektar is gane,
One half a Loko next – grawss.
The world tips.
One half a wutr botle goes very fastly - no flavor at all
The world blurs,
Cut to couch 3 am
He tiiirrrred, He fulll, He is full-on drunk.
For the first time in sixteen years, he is a wining-confused-inarticulate baby.
Pillow on his face to hide from the lights- not the shame- just the party that needs to be over
He wants sleep, but the spins keep him awake.
The rumors abound: "He assed out on the couch."- not true.
Alcohol fueled lie.
Alcohol distorts perception far worse than a few rumors can hope to encompass.
Alcohol turns your average teen into a
Thrill-seeking
Death-defying
Lady-killing
Frisky-living
Idiot.