Pretentious prize life unwinding splendid endurants

Licentious Khidr illuminates in it neo verse lee

Like In tro vert eyes knott the sea spontaneously

Nature deceives one apple a time returned

When life giveth to empty pleas neatly

Even when don't make sense literally

Follow where poets pout analogy

About How the needy are poorly

Helped up off their knees and

Why wholesome matrimony

Is a holy introvert baldly

Hungry unquestioningly

Again, I find myself at home
The home I made last year
And while it hasn't changed too much,
That I have is my fear.

I loved this place and made it mine,
And tied myself to it;
But now that I've returned, I'm lost
And not like the rest, I admit.

Will I find my place? Or will that only come
With friends who are my home?
Am I isolated now, and is this why
My home feels so alone?

Perhaps this feeling soon will pass
And maybe it'll get better;
But for the moment, I'm alone,
And can't seem to find my tether.

I joke I make a great punch,
but if you knew me you'd have a hunch
something is very wrong,
when I am very gone.

I begin sinking in my chair
my emotions are very bare
I feel my heartbeat.

This liquid courage is a cheat
the after taste is not very sweet,
I drank a glass, or two
it's all gone a bit askew.

This liquid courage is a cheat
I still don't feel complete
I drank a glass, or two
maybe I don't have a clue.

I just wanted to talk without thinking
I didn't want to feel like I was sinking
everyone else in the room seems fine
maybe I should just grow a spine
but it's not even nine and my blood is half wine.

I think I'm drowning,
why is everyone around me frowning?

This liquid courage is a cheat
I just wanted to feel upbeat
maybe if I reapply my lipstick- wait, I'm going to be sick

This liquid courage is a cheat
it leaves you downbeat,
you need to find your own two feet

Get up the chair, brush your hair
and then everyone there will become aware.
Don't worry about what to wear,
because they'll all stare.

Be bare and share, you don't need this much liquid courage
but one small glass I won't discourage.

A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened

education is a necessity
but is placed as a luxury
i blame capitalism

it's the ache that blossoms between your rib cage
gnawing through all you thought was stone

it's the electricity that needles through your bones
slicing hope of ever holding a steady hand again

it's the violent **** of such a feathered nerve
shredding all that you wish to be settled

Basked by the hedge of sanguinity
The lead role walked on through 
Trails of trivia in casualty, but elegance
As we made our way through corridors
Testing potions in accordance to patience
There was always a goal to be arrived
Even though a mind or two had quit
The morning sun shone through panes
Illuminating their collective third eye
The dream swept through like a charm
All throughout the halls in the monastery
And into the facility of knowledge
With its rosy brume, in an instant
The wheel of the colorful cycle had begun
Once again, to turn without hinderance
I swept the dust off my right cheek
And said to the fair maiden  
What if we never pass this way again?
She gently smiled
And hastened to the next lesson

Today I poured away my favourite beer
for the long awaited tomorrow's already here
tomorrow I dust my feet and wipe sweat off my face
because finally I've finished running this race
tomorrow I bend down to my shoes and free my lace
pen and paper down, in honour of the moment I rest my case
tomorrow I pat myself in the back and wish myself luck
for seemingly bright is a future that was once dungeon dark,
After writing the very last word in Human Resource Class
tomorrow I'll finally take a deep breath and out, alas!
Another beginning for preference of not using new
tomorrow I've got tops to pop goat's meat to chew
tomorrow I'll dance to the rhythm of momentary serenity
I'll shout out loud from a three years' pent up insanity
to set free the monsters that had sieged my psyche
tomorrow my life changes because I'll start another hike
an adventure to nowhere for that's what I call everywhere
this life hasn't been my cup of tea, neither has it been my food
so tomorrow I say goodbye to calculus, albeit probably not for good
I've learnt not to think that the last page means the story is over
No! Happily ever after doesn't mean no more rolling in the clover
tomorrow for once in my life I shed a tear of relief
it wasn't a record breaking hike but I've overcome the cliff
tomorrow I credit tension and debit nonchalance
I've lost a drink today but I'll make up tomorrow
****** drained and deadbeat till the bone marrow
forget the agony of the fateful arrow of sorrow
tomorrow I'm the man with the whip, the legend of Zorro
A butterfly ready to fly straight out of the cocoon
the air caught within an overinflated balloon
tomorrow I start sailing the high seas once again
in the rocket ship of ambition, space bound shine or rain
for this isn't one of those stories of escapes so narrow
but one of years in a fortress from whence I get acquitted tomorrow

Wednesday 18th:
Should I be working?
University at 25 seems
so redundant when I stare
at the soft skinned babes,
who skirt the car park
in drunken bliss.

Should I quit?
Get a job? Maybe retail or
office work.
Some say I could seek stability
between the pages of spreadsheets,
sipping coffee with Susan on the
9-5.

Should I marry?
Set a date? They're all engaged.
Stones glaring back at me
like Polydectes eyes
from Facebook pages.
25 is the 'right age',
or so I've been told.

Should I?
I suppose I could.
Maybe I should. Or I could
perhaps
just do something else.