just when
  you think
that you
  know
a poet?

HA!

that's
   crazy talk.

you will
  never really
know
   a poet.

they don't
   want anyone
to really
    know them.

all a
   poet wants
and craves
    is their
next muse.

they will
  only allow
you to
  discover-
to have pieces
  of them,
only the
  pieces that
they want
   you to have.

no one
   will ever
put a
   'poet puzzle'
fully together.

even the
   poet admits
to missing
  a few
pieces of
   themselves.

and they
   are in
NO HURRY
  to find
them.

i am
  David
and i
  slay giants.

you there,
  in the
shadows,
   David
does not
     fear you.

to the
  contrary,
David is
  waiting to
slay you too.

one by one
  the
   long line
begins to
   wane.

your fleece
  was
no match
    for my
  ornamental
mane.

as David
   lives on,
he waits for
  false giants
to try and
  hinder
his way.

felling
  each giant
to wallow
  in pain.


'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'

so yes,

  it is indeed
    going
to be a
  new year,
new decade.

but;

  what oh what
in this life
   has pushed you
to fade?

  please don't
blame others
  when you alone
choose your fate.

slow your
  life down,
be rid of
    the haste.

a new decade,
  a new year
and you
  still will not
blame you.

  keep lying
to yourself and
  unhappiness
will continue
   sticking
to you
     like glue.

listen y'all:

  you don't need
a new year
    or decade
to change whom
  you wish
to be.

a change
  in year
means nothing
  if you put
asterisks on
   your conditions
of being free.

i remember when-

i enjoyed
chocolate chip
pancakes when
my doctor
allowed it

smothered in
2 pats of real butter
and drowned
in maple syrup

now?

after my doctor
took all of my fun away

now i sit here
with my dry
whole wheat
toast and a
cup of decaf

while dreaming of
chocolate chip pancakes with 4 pats of real butter and dressed in a life preserver so not to drown in a quart of maple syrup

Who am I kidding?

with a side of salty pork sausage and bacon

i'd eat my own foot if it were fried in butter and wrapped in bacon

"My life -part 1"( I told my readers that this was coming)This is poetry about my life.
There will be many parts to this piece of work.
I AM a loner for many reasons.
But I am a courteous, loving, a very respectful loner.
My fight for life before I was even 1 hour old forever instilled inside me, my loner mentality.
When I fight for something, I fight with everything that God supplied me.
I am often misunderstood but hey, that only propels me deeper into my loner personality.
What's underneath my motives, my skin?
From nearly being born dead at birth, I fight for everything from deeply within.
It's what makes me, me.
Something most of you hold against me.
But if you understood...
I am art in human form, in word, in emotion and ****.

==============
So;
before I was born, I guess that my Dad was cheating on my Mother with another woman or, so I have been told.

This affected my Mother's pregnancy while she was carrying me, putting both of our lives on hold.

Eventually I was born into an unstable world by a woman in distress.

I was born blue and barely breathing, nearly dead and my life before it began, was already a mess.

The "doctors" working hard to save me, but to save me from what?

A life that I have made the most of but the world around me makes me loathe so much!

as
starlight
rains
upon
me,

i
reach
for
handpicked
memories.

the
talcum
powder
moon
rubs
my
eyes,

ocea­ns,
their
waves
cresting
tsunamic
our
galaxy's
disguise.

its
beauty
hides
behind
the
stardust,

its
attraction
lures
mouth
agape
lust.

meteor
showers
are
a
cosmic
******,

the
moon
falls
asleep
with
a
few
soft
notes
from
a sax.

Moments are memories, delicious ripe fruit in a fruit bowl.
Memories are meant to soothe a lost and nomadic soul.

More memories were made last night.
Memories forever that will turn a wrong day into right.

Moments and memories-
Memories and moments.
Moments and memories,
life's most intrinsic components.

Đaviđ

i
wanted
to wait
for
another
kiss

but
your
lips.. .

are
something
i.. .
.. ....

i
never
want to
miss

i **** myself
a little more
every day,

knowingly.

my suicide note,

my dear john,
has long been
in my
poetic verse,

for those that
are keen enough
to comprehend.

be a beacon
in the storm

not the
storm itself.

deeply breathe in
each muse
that passes by
without hesitation
or wondering
why.

let it
cut you,
pierce your skin
and fully
let it in.

we are meant
to bear the
scars that
others ignore.

almost daily
we will
place ourselves
at the foot of
death's door.

i see you
fellow poets,
i feel the
pain and
the longing
of your own
tortured yet
loving soul.

just keep
the tourniquets
handy because
bleeding for
others is meant
to be our
life long role.

we love,
we make love
with unmatched
passion that
one never
soon forgets.

we are lovers
that when one,
our lovers will
never, ever
regret.

we lOve soooo
so much
deeper than
most others
could ever
comprehend.

we are poets,
born as poets
and we will be
poets right to
the very end!

i love you my
community of
genuine
fellow poets.

the words
that i splashed
upon this page
are truth,
and all of us
poets,
know it.

poets share their hearts and souls with all-

vastly
underappreciated ;

they try
swimming up from
the anchor
that ties them
to the ocean floor
just to break
the water's surface
and to

B r e a t h e.

but most sit by
on the shore
and watch
poets

~~~~~~~~~~~
    d°
        °
         °
       r°
          o°

        °
          °
       w°
         °
           °
          n°__________

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️👷🏿‍♂️

you are
  one star
and i
  am another
      star...

and yet,

   through all
of the
  stellar remnants,

interstellar gas,
   dust,

and dark matter
  in this here
galaxy,

  
  your gravitational
     pull has
never been
   equaled.

love... ..

  ahem,

love often

     shatters

just like,

   a frozen

red rose.

    fragments
of love

    everywhere.

her *******
were
tattooed
with the
word
desire

long hard
*******
emulating
gumdrop
spires


below her
navel....

was
appropriately
the word;

fire


'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️

From the wind it fell
Across my nose that I knew so well

Hints of warm apples and spice
Surrounding me not just once - but twice

An orangish hue now crossed my eyes
There on the steps is where the pumpkin lies

Crunching sounds with every step
Under my feet where fallen leaves slept

Hot chocolate steams the children's noses
Autumn is here as Summer finally closes

Football on Sunday, the kids back in school
Sauce on the stove - I need to be a rule

Shoveling snow before long - this I know
Stealing a kiss from your love under mistletoe

A Winter wonderland is the cozy I adore
In just a few months I will cozy once more

"because - she is her"



i love her because
  she is frail
yet,
    mighty like a
mooring against
  a hurricane's wind.

i love her because
  she can finish
my unspoken
sentences with an
exclamation point
  at the end.

i love her because
  she is beautiful
yet,
   never acts as if
she were.

i love her because
  she's a simple woman so faithful, honest
   and pure.

i love her because
   after church,
she's
  my sauce on
    an afternoon autumn's sunday.

i love her because
  she's
the one that i want
  by my side
as the sun begins to fade.

i love her because
  heh...
    they don't make
many of her.

  i love her because....
i am her drink,
  and she is -

the straw that stirs.

my crutch,
it got me
once again
this week.

the pain
left for
a day but,
at the bottom
of those
bottles were not
the answers
that I seek.

the one
person that
I feel could
relate,
could understand...

they'd rather
be angry
without
understanding
that,

I am just
a man.

the years of
torment that
I was put
through without
making them
feel like a
monster of
some kind

but whatever,
I have come
to accept my
unhappiness
and simply endure
this life until
God tells me
to leave it
behind.

I have never
run away
from
responsibility
of any kind

I go to work,
I pay my bills,
I stumble
sometimes.

I'm just
a man....

I wish...
eh,
maybe I
don't care
if you
understand.

What will be
will be

and one day
soon I hope,
of all of this
wretched life....
I will soon
be free.

Eventual
happiness
does await
me...

with Jesus and
nary a soul
to judge me.

out...
and
free,

at long last,
alee.

I mean,

I can write a country song about what a "hurricane" is s'pose to be ...

but,

I can't make her materialize and..
sweep her off of her feet ....

---------------

like a tree,

     i have

        lost all

   of my

          leaves.

but,

     as the snow

        dresses me,

    i realize that

       i am not dead

           but rather,

   i am simply, free.

        free to

    stand against

        every gale,

every breeze,

            never alee.

and i will,

     because even

         goliath - the giant he,

          was fell by

      by a mortal

         named David,

just like me.

sure,
  i've been
a fool
  before

but your
  whispers
in the dark
  will never
fool me
  again

Sometimes when it rains,
every step you take feels as if you are
stumbling through the darkest night.

A night with a thousand eyes watching you.
Watching you ***** for light.

Watching you undermine yourself even
in your brightest moments, with little energy to fight.

Sometimes when it rains,
perch yourself in front of a window.
Watch each drop of rain cascade
dramatically down your window pane.

Watch as a battered bird shakes it feathers,
takes off in flight and in awe you raise a brow.

Sometimes when it rains,
lovingly, acceptingly step out into the downpour.

Allow these tears from heaven to saturate every crevice, every part that makes you, you.

Just standing idle, arms stretched out open palmed, your mind takes off into a different place,
you see a brightly lit, open door.

Behind the door a rainbow,
a warming sun to dry your pain,
a meadow of amazing life and beauty,
enough to make a beaten down saddened man grin and smile ....a man that once so blue.

Listening, watching and feeling the rain has a way of spawning a divine inner peace.

It can wash away the stains of sadness and also allow you to hide one last cry from the world.

Sometimes when it rains no umbrella is needed.

okay;
now i see,

now i see
how this
place works.

it's not about;
the 'poetry'
you see
but rather,

behind
how many
other 'poets'
you lurk.

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️

In days of youth's yore;

to conquer while
striking a
winning pose
may have been  the
breath of life for many
a young man.

"I love you",
assertively whispered from
her moist and
fevered lips was,
a call of the wild
and a vindication
of one's manhood.

Her legs wrapped tightly around you,
like a spider that is spinning its silken
masterpiece around its paralyzed prey.

Regaining our breath together
as our sweaty bodies glisten in the light of
an August's 2am moon.

A beauty that I  never wanted to conquer but one, that I just wanted to savor and to...

never forget.

Was it love?
Is it love?
Is this love?

Forgive me for a moment but, about this?
I am just...

*white flagging it

I
miss
what
once
was

Down by the refrigerated
box cars in the old train yard, under the quiet overpass on a cold and dreary October's night

A hobo and his stray dog Max, warmed my chilled bones by showing me with their cuddled friendship what love really means

The world may have abandoned them but, they had each other and that was all that mattered

The hobo's tattered coat draped fully over Max and partly himself, to cover themselves from the night's frost

My eyes leaked for them but they warmed my heart

Unknowingly to them, they were a genuine inspiration

If
only
today
were
yesterday

i love her because
  she is frail
yet,
    mighty like a
mooring against
  a hurricane's wind.

i love her because
  she can finish
my spoken
sentences with an
exclamation point
  at the end.

i love her because
  she is beautiful
yet,
   never acts as if
she were.

i love her because
  she's a simple woman so faithful, honest
   and pure.

i love her because
   after church,
she's
  my sauce on
    an autumn's sunday.

i love her because
  she's
the one that i want
  by my side
as the sun fades.

i love her because
  heh...
    they don't make
many of her.

i am her drink,
  and she is -

the straw that stirs.

pure,
budded
and
unopened.

snow
kissed
tongues
with
white
icy
wh­ispers.

bonfires
of
scented
cinnamon
sticks
and
apple
rinds.

eskimo
kisses
nestled
in tightly
wrapped
arms.

logs on
the fire
glow against
the
bronzy
autumn'd
sunset.

dripping
from the
weathered
eaves....

the remnants
of
what's pure.

I feel so damaged.

When will people stop looking for me ,

only when they want something.

I don't need a fragile sticker or tape wrapped around me.....

I'm already broken.

Shake the box and you'll see.

spare me the
painted face
of liability.

make love
to me with
the face
you were born,
naturally.


'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
-👷🏻‍♂️-

Oral pain relievers

         laying in bed,

a hospice bed.

               Favorite meals brought by

                     comers and goers.

Sadness

       pity and low voices are popular.

              Methadone given

lorazepam given

                 a walk to the downstairs bathroom for Pops and I.

        Phones ringing

              California and across the country relatives calling

                   a brother dying of cancer in California as well.

         We pretend to sleep

but,
    
    . ...       it's time for pain meds.

Higher dose of methadone hospice instructs us...

       we comply.

               A new day has dawned

and-

                    trips to the bathroom have stopped.

      Time for a catheter hospice asserts to me,

               I struggle with this decision

      do I invade my Pops even more ?

Ripping myself to shreds,

.......       I reluctantly agree.

I lie next to my Pop's bed on the floor

       dawn has yet to break,

             pounding on the handrails of death's bed is Pops....

                  I need to get the fxxk up !

       I need to *** !!!!

who the fxxk is holding me down ?!?!

             I destroy myself further for Pop's catheterization.

                  For one
hour Pops angrily pounds...

      Higher oral dosage of lorazepam hospice asserts,

               finally the pounding stops

......I break down ,

       telling my older brother that I need him to help me with this ...

              Dawn breaks and Pop's pain is a 7

              the time for ports have come....

        one in each of Pop's arms and upper thighs,

       Methadone is now morphine.

People still coming and going,

        but it's Cindy, Cathy and I that will not allow Pop's end in the hands of strangers.

              Morphine in one port

lorazepam in another...

Morphine becomes tramadol

              breaths become faint...

I lie next to Pops on the green carpeted floor.

                   End stage is over...

it's ended-

       I have lost my Daddy

the cold stethoscope tells me that my Pop's life is over....

          I am amputated limb, numb!

Questions amass from strangers

              a stretcher opens on my Pop's white ceramic tile foyer floor....

               a black body bag unzipped and my Daddy placed inside of it..............¿¿¿¿

      zipped up-

           my mind blacks out from there.

             I finally, weakly stumble to the kitchen and see all of the medications we pumped inside my Daddy.....

           it's clear that we fought hard against end stage cancer with Pops but at what cost to me.....

         for life?

Imagery never alludes me,

           it's a replay,

a broken record,

                        that will never stop,

      .....until my end days....

and this I know !

Vulnerable,
   prone

... naked;

    there you were.

      My heart
racing,
         my lips
dripping
       of drool
and
         my mind
    Pre-
      climaxing
   as my hips
buck.

     Tasting you
now
        overwhelms
              every
   thought that
I am capable
             of thinking.

Your ******
     calls my lips
        to have my
mouth and
            my tongue
take your
      ****** as my
         prisoner.

  Together,
we ride the
        waves of
            ******
and ****
     one another down like
        a double shot
           of whiskey.

You're drunk...
    I am drunk
       on our
whiskey juice
          of love.