He writes loves stories of wonder beyond inspiration

and no one could ever match his wit, his art, his creation

No one could defeat him from the poet’s throne
                                 . . .
Though the king of composed literary

is a fool behind his work of virtuosity

a clown to his own emotions

describing love letters for a lover he has let go

those gone years be smokes
since your name is a candle
then be burned: your
mini-tiny-little-prayers

the air bear the bubbles of fate
an expanding times
will explode like a balloon

but I'm a clown at your party
folded up our memories, into
a globular on my stomach
— stab it at your will!

As artist I paint                   with colorful brush.
Dabbling with light            to launch my visions.


My breath expands me         inside grace and dreams.
as moment birthed life and thoughts echoed love.

I adore nature          with its birds and trees.
My sanctuary          where I feel oneness.


holding our kiss long   hearts become a-flamed
and inside sweet love,             we floated away.  


A clown I did see            blowing up balloons.
I went on the line.          I am young in heart.


An apple a day          keeps the doctor away
they say guess I will       eat a few today.




StarBG © 2017

I once trapped myself in an echo room

Said some words
Heard some words
Spoke a verse
returned a verse
I wanted to converse
With myself
Yet it made things only worse

What I expected
Was not what came true
For every me
There was a you
For every yes
There was a no
For every high
There was a low

And I grew suspicious
Of the vicious
Malicious
Tone at which those words were uttered
While my say was muttered
Watered
down
Spoken like a sad clown
With a frown
On my face
That grew deeper with every brazen
Contradiction that I got
Though paradoxical it was not

Because I realized soon enough
That I’m the one who said this stuff
And the reason I was being so rough
So tough
Was because I didn’t listen enough
To the different sides of me
All two, three
Or four, five, eight, ten
Perhaps even a thousand of them

Yet how do they expect me to!?
I don’t know what to do
I’m just lost and confused
In the middle of a tug of war
A war
“To determine who you are”

There's a tiger in my crotch
An iguana on my ***
And I'm not sure if to stand up
Or stay put like a reptile at the sun,

I'd be better off killing those two.
And I might do it,
If not, I might end up turning into a circus house
And live like a clown.

Pretty pester
The fist-bumping champion
Schoolyard jester
My all-time fixation

Classroom walls shake
When you guffaw and laugh
Makes my heart ache
When every tease’s a bluff

Beneath your grin
I long to find your glow
But it’s a sin
So says your burrowed frow

My heart wishes
In another lifetime
Pranks to kisses
With your hand locked in mine

The nightmare consumes me
Bringing forth fear and pain
Colors glistening off ur face
White and red mark you
As an outcast in my life
In the midst of darkness

Taking advantage of my sleep
Feeding into my fears of
These painted beings
The grin brings me to tears
Cowering under your big red feet
You're the Set-Up
And I'm the Punchline

The following poem is a generalization, on that, we can likely agree,
but this is the way that most Trumpists appear, to many a person like me:*


Dear Trumpists, I am here to say I think I understand
just what you're really all about across the troubled land.
It really bugs you, does it not, when walking in your town,
to see so many people with a skin of black or brown?

To hear a foreign language when the immigrants converse.
To see them in a headscarf or a turban makes you curse.
Their differences, their ways of life, you see as disrespect
and you hate being asked to be "politically correct".

Then one day came a savior shining brighter than the sun.
His name was Donald Trump and you knew he was the one.
You knew you must support him 'cause in every speech he'd give,
he'd validate your hate and he'd fit with your narrative.

"The Mexicans are rapists", "The Muslims seek to ****",
"Black lives don't matter quite so much". Such thoughts gave you a thrill.
Sometimes he was outrageous. You could not trust every word,
but vote for him you did because you felt you had been heard.

Well, now your man's in power and it's no longer fun,
with half his staff revolting (and that's in more ways than one).
He hasn't drained the swamp, it's just become further bogged down,
with all his slimy yes-men there to praise the orange clown.

He comes across as ignorant and looking like a fool.
He's subject to fact-checking and resulting ridicule.
The press, it has a field day and comedians rejoice.
His opponents have united and have found a common voice.

Dear Trumpists, I do understand that this has made you mad,
but sense and reason don't support the notions that you've had.
So you rant on social media with foul, insulting fits,
like a bunch of whining, shouting, howling, idiotic twits.

So Trumpists, don't you realize, your chance has passed you see?
Oppression has been in decline since the end of slavery.
So here's a new idea that I'd really like to share:
You might try something different by showing that you care.

Why don't you go extend a hand to those that you attack.
They might provide you insight that you desperately lack.
Just open up your heart and head and throw away the hate,
and America once more could be a nation that is great.