You grabbed the rule book
And ripped it in half
Then you blamed
The other players of the game
For your own misery

You never did like rules.
You created your own as you went
But when things didn't go your way,
It was the fault of others.
And now you're alone.

Cheaters never win the game.

We're squeezed in a topsy-turvy
*****-ball world;
What's upside is down,
What's inside is out;
Your smile's a frown,
Your whisper's a shout,
And the flim-flam man
Just pitched a curve.
We're headed to second
After rounding third,
And first is stolen;
This game's absurd.
So, I gather up my bat and ball,
I've read the writing on the wall,
I've turned, running for home.
We've been tagged on bad calls.
We were safe, but now we're out,
Exiled, banished, conflicted, confused,
There's nothing good on the news.
The umps and refs have all been turned,
We've been benched,
We've been spurned.
Behind me,
Someone calls out,
     *Play Ball;

Love doesn't rhyme;
the rules imposed,
the frames we chose,
do not apply,
although we try
to tame its flow
we sink below,
we seek
salvation by escape;
we bravely dove
but there's the threat
of drowning

the rhythm
and the melody
it's giving us,
all random...
but do we
lose ourselves
to find them,
or is it them
we lose
to find ourselves,
I cannot help
but wonder...

What Is the heart of poetry
Rules, rhyme, meter, mood?
Length, width, depth, height?
It matters not what's in sight
Be it saintly or true crude
When a poet writes, poetry

Sure, I've ruined it again!
Follow me around like I'm the actual
And only problem. You'll eventually get yours!
So you think I'm the ultimate biggest of fools?

(Well, for once and for all, check yourself!)*

Nice people finish last, and there's nothing nice
About going around with personal problems, that I
Have to fit your personal standard, even when they
Are following all of the standard rules!

Rules, regulation and form, allows for the greatest accord.
A ruse, my elation, at the shore with the bravest of swords.
Let me explain, poetry should be like a storm, a war of the words.
But Treat every one like a worm: your encouraging your curse.
You can't move forward without inertia at your back.
It's just the set of rules that allow Us to teach that.
So yes, the form and regulations enable the greatest of sets.
But unless you use them you will just be a sadist at best.

She can’t walk alone
Her skin could not be shown
Her knowledge is useless
Her success is fruitless
Her earnings are not well off
She cannot trough
Her legs should not be spread
She shall not lie in any men’s bed
She better be home by six
If not she would be considered as ******* *****
Her opinion never mattered
Her dignity should never be scattered
Her thoughts and body should be innocent and pure
She shall not be dressed well otherwise she has someone to lure
Yet she smiles to herself as she wanders the dark alley
79th street valley
Her fingers intertwined with hers
Dollar bills over flowing her purse
She lies sprawled on the dead street her hands pulling at her risen skirt
Tugging at her girlfriend’s shirt
She munches on the Coney dog famous in Michigan
Leans over and whispers “at least there is 1 rule I have not broken”

A Way with words
A Way with wonder
A Way with thoughts
A Way with ponder

A Way with daydreams
and lucid reminiscence
A Way with bursting at the seams
with thought's threaded essence

A Way: The wrong way it is
for seriousness to attend
A Way: The wrongness from righteousness
of so many acceptences to bend