WHY SHULD I LERN TO SPELL?
HELL,
NO ONE REEDS WHAT I SAY
ANYWAY!!! :(

Sing for the cool night,
whispers of constellations.
Sing for the supple grass,
the tall grass, gently whispering.
Sing of infinities, multitudes,
of all that lies beyond us now,
whispers begetting whispers.
And i am glad to also whisper . . .

I WUS HURT IN LUV I’M DYIN’
FER TH’ TEARS I BEEN A-CRYIN’!!!

i abide beyond serenities
and realms of grace,
above love’s misdirected earth,
i lift my face.
i am beyond finding now . . .

I WAS IN, LOVE, AND HE ******* ME!!!
THE ****!!! TOTALLY!!!

i loved her once, before, when i
was mortal too, and sometimes i
would listen and distinctly hear
her laughter from the juniper,
but did not go . . .

I JUST DON’T GET POETRY, SOMETIMES.
IT’S OKAY, I GUESS.
I REALLY DON’T READ THAT MUCH AT ALL,
I MUST CONFESS!!! ;-)

Travail, inherent to all flesh,
i do not know, nor how to feel,
although i sing them nighttimes still:
the bitter woes, that do not heal . . .

POETRY IS BORING!!!
SEE, IT *****!!! I’M SNORING!!! ZZZZZZZ!!!

The words like breath, i find them here,
among the fragrant juniper,
and conifers amid the snow,
old loves imagined long ago . . .

WHY DON’T YOU LIKE MY PERFICKT WORDS
YOU USELESS UN-AMERIC’N TURDS?!!!

What use is love, to me, or Thou?
O Words, my awe, to fly so smooth
above the anguished hearts of men
to heights unknown, Thy bare remove . . .

Keywords/Tags: Poetry, writing, chit, chat room, forum, website, social media, workshop, mortal, mortality, grass, multitudes, Walt Whitman, love, awe, serenity, serenities, grace, heights, Parnassus, art, spelling, grammar

Poetry workshop experiment

Gathering a crowd of pen-holders
Using colored inks, sheets of papers
Asking them to write a few words
Guided by a quickly- scribbled prompt
Asking them to make poetry upfront
With a dose of courage and imagination
Asking them to write a few random words
Telling them that they’re making a poem.

Finding an impromptu rhythm in two lines
Trying to grasp that pattern and persistently
Improvise to capture that flow that uncertainly
Found itself thought out and written on the page
Percolating the images behind the associations
Entering the subconscious minds of the pen-holders
Telling them that they have become writers.

Not on a whim, not just for me, but because
They were not given the consequence or cause
Of their talent but simply, certainly
The reassurance needed to write poetry
Without getting drowned in rhythm, devices and sound
Of what they have created they are undoubtedly found

Pen-holder if you are,
Take patience and courage
To write on your white page
You will discover a writer
If you persist and resist
Daring to trust the rush, the lust
To write, pen-holder, you must
Be aware of the unknown
Flow of words that can be sown

November 22, 2017
Lyon

Dark mountains and
stalactite tears
blending into cave
marks on the wall.
A funeral? But
warmth and belonging
and a community
of travel, hope, legacy.
Footprints on the ground.

The reign of the monarch Queen Amber
Was not in the least case mature.
When she needed a nap,
She’d rule with a slap,
So her mother up and overthrew her.

A quiet mechanic named Bone
Lived in his house all alone.
So he built a new wife
But she caused so much strife
That he rebuilt her into a phone.

Give me your happiness, so I may increase it tenfold.
Give me your limits, so I can help push you past them and become stronger.
Give me your phone so when the enemy rings I can hang up and block them so you don’t have to.
Give me the nights where we just danced in the street to our favorite song.
Give me the mornings where I wake up before you just to see you so peaceful in your slumber.
Give me the sight of you taking off your makeup.
Give me the sight of your blue eyes in the pale moonlight.
Give me the love I know you have, but you won’t let anyone see.
Give me the 3am thoughts you can barely speak.
Give me your demons so they can play with mine and leave you alone for a night or two.
Give me your lungs so I can help them breathe.
Give me your mind so I can soothe your troubles.
Give me your hard nights and roughest times.
Give me your aching heart and let me repair it the only way I know how.
Give me the ability to give you my heart, because no one else has even bothered to try.
Give me your body to place on a thrown, because my darling that’s where someone like you belongs.

I am words written on blank paper,
The words are there but no-one can see them until they are spoken.
The girl in the back of the classroom, unnoticed
Until she can open her mouth wide enough to sing with the chorus.

I am the one they call afraid
When Destiny knocks at my door
I can't find the words to even begin to say
I'm just not yet ready
But once I am, my God, I'm unstopable.

A ghost used to dance in my mirror--
she moved like a picture taken in motion,
though her dress remained still as the background.
But she has since stopped dancing and
grown bruises beneath marigold eyes.

Once, she whispered to me “It’s not your fault,”
but her breath reeked of rotten flowers
left too long in a molding vase--
her skin delicate as dried viscaria petals,
flaking and crumbling ever since

a man’s uninvited touch lingered there.
She stands pretty from across the room,
though her beauty is measured by the distance
I have forced between us--
five feet and counting.

I've got this
religion building up inside
I need to let go of the outside
though I know not which
voice is mine to find
I've gotta drive home
without a vehicle to ride
I've got to drive home

Where was it you sang?
I felt your low resonance
I felt you in the blood pumped
through my lungs
at one time
your breathiness
absorbed in my dreams
watching me sleep
Today, I'm gone

Today I am completely ******* gone--
I got this

The land is colorful,
Full of life and luster,
Continuous and forgiving.
Forgiving of me.
Forgive the love that is
Taken for granted in the
Relationships of your
Parents -
She takes the dagger
And follows her fate
Down the alleyway
To forget everything
That has happened
In her past fate -
Unnoticed.
She listens to the clip
Claps of her heels on the
Pavement
Down the alleyway.
Eternity is above her headboard
When she sleeps -
Eating at her dreams,
Waiting to be noticed.
She has writer's block -
Which is not writer's block
But a lack of faith in
Language.
She is sad -
Sad for the poor
And the ones who
Roam the streets at night,
During the twilight.
She goes to sleep
Thankful,
Although most
Think she is not.