If ratios strike fear—
into every one in two,
half the world will be—
in abject misery.

Hello Poets,

I've noticed the 300 poet poem gaining some traction again,
And with all the new writers joining recently,
It shouldn't be hard to make stick.

But there'll still need be more,
When everyone on here has joined,
So I ask of you one thing,
Bring out all your artists wherever they may hide,
And lets make dream reality.

Floating water,
In between the mountains,
Lines of rime beside all through,
Glazing as blessed in the eve...

Winters and sunset,
Like sips of tea with cigarette,
On the rocks just us,
Lot of words, no varlet...

This pleasing moment,
Our talk and a Lil walk,
to our inn
With lot of Promises...

That river and sun behind mountains
are creating a wonder,
This place is beautiful,
But not u...

You are not beautiful but a magic,
Just waving a stick like a sorcerer,
And making anything aweful,
Just by your appearance,
So always be there, and I'll be thankful,
Unlike stones cursed getting seep,
Like all those air not stopping us to go deep...

To see the value within a woman’s eyes,
An evaluation that’s taken from her curves to her thighs.
A smaller waist,
A full cup to hold,
Does she exceed her value with her weight in gold.
She plays the game, you cross the line.
She craves the gaze, there is more to expose,
Her worth defined by the curve that she shows.

The reaper stands outside
But I am well supplied
For he doth not stand a chance
As i flex my wide stance
Reaching ranges with his lance
I stand here, learning how to dance

Rock n roll 101, here
Yes sit on the floor
do you see any chairs
shut up and listen
As once a wise man
Played of fingerpickin
Of havin no reason
To stay reason of men
To go. Rock n roll, 101.
All has passed through
And will see tomorrow
Here at beatitude 102.
Pull a chair to the front
And learn knee to write
As of all to letter to sal
Paradise in nowhere if
To stay welcome shall
Stay on the road to be
To all dear from as far
To go to or leavin from
A glad in heart of able.
103, the flower power
that won as all way is
From winter to spring
As the wise man note
In house of rising sun
Times i said my home
Far from new orleans.
104, punks even dead
Be better than: 105 is.
Of the wise instead of.
Auditu'e veritas muse.
Lessons to learn, 106  
Master pieces of souls
In heart if found way to
Have in right as milions
of milion fingers pickin
107 as the next of wise
the men are, to be. 108.

half of you remember cd’s
and half of you don’t
either way,
here it goes;

back then, I was living under rules so strict
it was almost impossible for someone to live.

no matter how much I tried to hide
or stay out of the way,
and no matter how much I tried to help out
and do my part;

I could never meet their standards.

what was good was never acknowledged
and what was bad was over-exaggerated.

basic existence was a crime
and the consequence was
always a long and
drawn-out
lecture

and as unsettling as
the home life was
I had my car,
the outside world,
and the hunger for
mischievous adventure.

and so, staying at home
was the last of my options
as I ventured out with no plan in mind
and a whole lot of time on my hands.

now, someone could easily get bored
with this formula;
I mean, you only could go out
to eat three times a day,
you could only visit friends
when they were around
and going shopping
was only a temporary fix
if you had money to burn
but this formula could also
be very interesting
if you’re creative enough
and you had
the knack,
the niche,
the crave
for something.

and so, I found myself traveling
to A LOT of local record stores.
I didn’t care how far away they were,
as long as it was reasonable within
the vicinity, if I knew about it,
I was there: Kiss The Sky,
Rediscovered Records,
Record Breakers,
etc., etc., etc.

I was always on the hunt for something obscure,
something no one else had and to me, it was like
gem or a hidden treasure I had unearthed upon the world.

my fixation for music was growing
as mammoth as the variety in my
cd collection.

music was becoming the sole foundation
to the underpinnings of my necessity:
it’s what kept me alive, out of trouble,
it was there when friends were not,
it fulfilled those empty spaces
it quenched my thirst for
wanting something more out of life.

I spent most of time, driving around, popping in one cd,
listening to each note, each lyric from beginning to end
before switching it out for another.

Lee Ving, Richard Hell, Darby Crash, Henry Rollins
all spoke out to me more with one verse
than all those lectures I had endured
from my patriarchs.

my cd book had become quite impressive
to my other bevy of like-minded friends.

and then it was stolen.

which crushed me.
but what’s done was done and
I had to move on, rebuild

and at seventeen dollars a pop,
my bank account was diminishing quite rapidly
as I tried to gain back what was rightfully mine.

I dreamt about becoming a thief
or a drug dealer to support my
addiction to music.

but not long after,
I had built a body of music
more vigorous with stout
than its previous
ancestor.

of course, there were a few gems
I still haven’t recovered
to this day from that incident
but thats beside the point.

the point is,
my folks may have incarcerated
my soul with diction and delivery
while they hid for themselves
in the oratory of delusion,

but
music was always there;
it was alive
it ran through me
it tickled my spirit
it shook my emotions
it boosted my endorphins
it got me pumped, it got me ready
for whatever life was gonna throw at me,
to face the cliche and to face repercussions,
I knew it was going to be ok as long as there was music
to fiddle with my nerves and provide comfort within my heart.

When you talk like this to me
I don't understand a word
Your lips keep flapping
I guess my comprehension
It's starting to get even worse