They pat me on my head and feed me some food
When I run into the rain to fetch them their fruit.
Dripping on their porch, I give them their prize
Then they close their door as I remain outside.
My tail no longer wagging, "Good boy" they call me
But I am a watered melancholy watermelon collie.
What part of any of that is good?

the hens
have raised their fowl fists,
protested the pecking order,
debated the Cuckoo Clucks Clan,
and started a coup in the coop.
they have a bird's eye view from their fort,
truly an eggcelent perch to reside in while they gather resources and
duck when enemies fire.
joining is a nestcessary evil to end the corruption.
so, my dear,
please don't chicken out.

Oh, the primary color that makes me feel,
How is it you compose me to seem unreal.

The way you make my lips pop,
And how often we make traffic stop.

I think of you when I rage,
Occupying my mind, while on rampage.

The thought of passion brings me to you,
With roses entangled around, if you only knew.

Garnishing my physique in extravagant ways,
That ruby you put on my finger, wow, I must say.

Wrapped around my skin, vibrant as ever
Red, you make me feel oh so clever.

Dominate, what you are perceived to be,
But warmth, is what you bring to me.

Running through my veins, and pumping my heart.
This life you're giving me, please never part.

On, Valentine’s, the day that is ours,
We’ll lay back, and stare up at Mars.

Red, there is no doubt I love you, my body in it all,
You add meaning to my life, and that will never fall.

The End.

Wings of darkness float my way
I am the ocean, a sprawling black mess
But I still can't sea
Harsh orange rages on forever
Words are scattered like puzzle pieces that won't fit
Colours unravel whether or not I want
It's too much, trying too hard to be victorious
The whispering, the endless laughter, it's driving me to a pit
Pain takes flight as a member of a controlling fleet
Embracing the full fury of a blackened spiral
To slowly drag me away to a chamber of scorching heat
Everything feels so painful, yet I don't stop it
Because it's glorious
For one moment, I feel triumphant
Soon the feeling will drag me under with it
But to hell with long-lasting pleasure
Serenity
Happiness
Wings of darkness take me away

i fall in love like i get sick
it happens on some idle tuesday
after a night in the rain

come sit at my bedside
and have a cup of tea
i'm a little low on love
and more than low on vitamin c

i kiss like i cough
and i **** like a shiver
with a wheeze
and a nose running rivers
i'll wear my heart on my sneeze

With Poe-try you can surely
get your Words' worth
So many words are waiting
like a Wolfe at your door,
for their Cummings into being.

If you listen, they Pound
upon your brain
They Lamb-aste your viscera,
making you Nash your teeth.
They create a Millay in your head.
So many shapes, so many Hughes

Lusting for Moore they Lear
at you when you least expect.
Look back at them!

Like Frost upon the windowpane
they write themselves,
then, when all is said and Donne
melt away too soon.

Grasp them when you can.
Put them in a Rowe
Taylor them to your muse,
use your Whit, man !

What is that which looms on the horizon?
My own response so carefully crafted.
Designs that I have embroidered eyes in
to see my own hand-sewn chaos drafted.

Your stitch-in, flowery language lacks work
and your seams seem to lack proper binding.
My dear, I can't accept mangled patchwork,
it's clear that you needle more reminding.

It's funny how you tailored your response,
yet you didn't know of the fabric's face
that laughed as you fabricate and ensconce
yourself in lies as delicate as lace.

You have barely weaved a good running stitch
Don't curse the seamstress who seems less stressed, witch.

My poetic aspiration
Is to become:
A Jack of all styles
And a master of pun.