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 Aug 2019 Waynepatrick
 Aug 2019 Waynepatrick
That feeling you get
When you finish the show
Before anyone starts clapping.

That feeling of breathlessness and accomplishment all at the same moment.

That my friend, is what we march for.
I just finished band camp 2 weeks ago and tonight we just had our first rehearsal and I've got to say, this has been the best time of my life. I love these people and I can't wait to spend the next 2 years with them
The years need not remind
I am growing old
my major chord has been struck
the minor now takes hold--

dimness sets in to replace the once-shining light
winter has rushed in to ****** me to its unforgiving cold
my fading note vaporises in the thin air of the deepest night
the last page of my life has been read and my story will be told.
 May 2019 Waynepatrick
All you need is fair a heart,
And mix that in, with pure of mind,
Sprinkle in romantic thoughts,
And add some love, just use the rind,

You'll need a pinch of *** appeal,
And just a smidge of naughty thoughts,
Room temperature is always best,
For when you take your clothing off,

The kindest words work best this way,
And don't forget to blow a kiss,
And mind your mood as you begin,
And don't forget to make a list,

A candle red, with rose oil rub,
As much as you can muster up,
Mix all of these together well,
Voila!, a recipe for love.....
A very playful take on one of my many love spells..

(C) [email protected] 20/04/2019
 May 2019 Waynepatrick
I tried not to look into your eyes
Cuz I knew if I did I'd drown
I swear
I tried harder and harder every second
But I ended up reaching the bottom.
What makes a poet ?
That was my thought
I mulled it over and
Came up with these oughts :

Late nights with
coffee , tea or beer
Perhaps harder stuff
Whiskey , smoke or gin clear

And the struggles and pain
as the birth is exclaimed
Blood , sweat and tears
Falling as hard as ice on rain

Confessionals made
As black on white page
Love , death , fears
Even extreme rage

One who struggles
with the a's and the's
Should one even use
The apostrophe

One who's words
Gel by the witching hour
Words full of promise  
Warnings so dour

But perhaps greatest of all
Before even the start
One must have
a true poet's heart
-for Zukiswa Mvunguse~
and for
~ Jul,
who once again,
loved each line best~

having already deduced that:

“the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloratura”^

the titled alliteration teases him into thinking
there, is more to be said,
more to be prayed,
the unplanned lesser lesson is as-of-the-yet unlearned,
and the sunburst of a full fledged
lying-in-bed born from a static spark of kinetic energy,
awaking in an unfamiliar bed
or a too familiar state of mind,
begs for birth and vainglorious death-by-anon/amity
of another poem  

I have written poems commissioned,
“write about suicide,” asked a friend,
“take this word and artfully knead it,” once, was once an oft request,
twisty manipulate your scheming resources into
finely assaying a field rock raw,
laboratory mind-mine it into an essay that delve dives
where you fear to treacherous tread,
resultant, an awkward prayer, now, a valued mineral

no poem is truly planned and no prayer ever truly answered,
but as you compose, pushing the last, next word
ever farther to the right,
you self-confess, expecting no absolution, that the poem,
this one as well,
and the next, and the next, and the next

has always been planned since your inception,
always a prayer asked, and in creation conception,
answered even if not directly answered,
in the bare minimum asking,
is the answering,
is the planning,
is the poem and the prayer,
is his owned
spontaneously born at 7:57am on
Sunday, March 24, 2019

read her poems.
 Mar 2019 Waynepatrick
 Mar 2019 Waynepatrick
What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The loquacious ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these tricks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unclicked, abhorred


Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Changed up way
After line
Of synonyms


What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?
Only halfway cynically written, I swear!
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