the trees
wrap themselves
in slumber.
birds try
to fly away
from december.
winter comes
and schoos away
my loathing
of summer.
i wish
summer never
had to be.
summer is
obnoxious
loud and *****.
nothing beats
a crisp white
winter's beauty.
the summer's
rank and stank
of people and
garbage lined
streets.
individuals
in sandals
offending us
all with hideous
troll feet.
when i die,
i want to die
in winter please.
i don't want
to die in
summer's
smelly person
breeze.
i'd rather go
in winter's
crisp and
fresh clean
freeze.

'Yours and everyone's concrete-poet'

life
will
*****
your
hands,

it will
*****
your
mind,

it will
*****
your
spirit,

but-
don't
allow
this
life....

these
people..


to
*****
your
soul.

depth appears
to be elusive
en masse.
shallowness is abundant like weeds in the grass.
beneath the
Pacific ocean
is 'Challenger Deep'.
the deepest of
all deep waters
at 36,200 feet.
and then you have the sea of Azov at less than
3 feet which could never refresh a wanting soul,
in a sultry summer's heat.
depth is mysteriously different,
filled with
hold your breath unknowns and
butterfly intrigue.
listen to depth's secrets as it crashes against the shoreline.
depth has so much to say
in so little time.
the shallows have no ability nor care to hear depth opine.
they stand in a puddle,
on surfaces
they dine.
dare to breach
depth's surface
and be fully ready to sink.
depth and substance are
the two most exquisite qualities,
be it in
a person
or a poem
in ink.

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

Over thinking life
can leave you sinking.
This started as 10 words
but got me thinking.

Losing sleep over
the day that's been.
Instead of looking to tomorrow
and what's yet to be seen.

Dwelling on something
someone MAY have said,
when you could be sleeping
in comfort in your bed.

Drinking to excess
over matters of no control.
Or turning silver haired
for not reaching a goal.

We're not all entrepreneurs
or a self made millionaire.
Look at President Trump,
who'd want his hair?

Try living each day
like a fresh start.
Sure, it may end like crap
but listen to your heart.

Celebrate your uniqueness.
Let off a bit of steam
at the end of each day.
Think positive and, dare to dream.

writers
write

poets
poet

Sleeping
Under
Night

My parchment
  is the sponge
for all of my thoughts,
good or bad.

If I were to wring it out?

My thoughts would flood
this universe.

Every day I drown inside
every page of my
journal.

No need to save me from me.

poetry died,

when you died.

invigorated
  i awaken
     each morn'
with-
    nary a word.

some folks
  will never
    understand.. .

a
  wing flapping
    morning bird.

as dawn
  breaks
    the horizon,

i have
  the energy
    of a hurricane.

i attack
  the fresh day
like an
  onslaught
     of rain.

the rain
  gives me
   the chance
to lick
   and groom
       my
messy mane.

   i leap
from my bed
  with a
    scratch and
a roar.

  i am what
   you call
a "bion"

  a word that
i am sure
   you have never
      heard before.

as an admitted
  pluviophile,

    the sounds
of morning rain
      excite and
arrest me.

   these things
i speak of
       are free.. .. .

    as a poet -
our frame
     of mind is
always front
  and center.. .

   we are
       open books,

we are doors
  that need

        no key.

in life,

   we just
feel things
    more deeply.. .

           better.

in today's
world,
you
'get together'
why?

to sit across
from someone
that you
barely
even know
any more,
and perhaps
more troubling
is that you
don't even
care to?

to sit across
from someone
that rudely has
'earbuds' or
headphones
covering
their ears?

to sit across
from someone
that has their
face buried
in their
phone like...
you're not
even there?

Helloooo...
I am right here!

no thanks.

i will pass
on those
'get togethers'
with folks that
it seems have
turned into
total
strangers.

once, twice,
three times
a year?
i consider you
a stranger.

and then,
when we
'get together'
you have music
blasting in
your ears and
your face
buried in
technology?

no thanks.

let's just
continue being
strangers....
thank you.

no need for
awkward
silence...
no need for
feeling alone
around a
crowd.

no need for
a feeling of
needing to
be drunk
to deal with
this complete
waste of
time.

heck, i can
have much
more fun alone
getting drunk
and writing
poetry and
having a
functional,
creative
and
entertaining
'get together'
with...
me, myself
and i.

so,
"why even bother"?

i'm not
  impressed....
with your
  'get togethers'.

when you

   f
     a
   l
       l

in love
with a dreamer-

don't forget
    this truth.

you also
    f
  a
      l
l

in love

   with their
nightmares too.

Blah blah blah with her...

She loved to be eaten.

And she loved a hard long ***** that well....

others took notice.

I wish not to wither from whence a region is in the throes of the season of death.
Salted roads, unknown footprints in the snow and minus a breath.

Lifeless trees against the canvas of a grey and slumbering sky.
I wish to leave when life and robust colors once again make love to thine eyes.

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

with a
    deep breath
he inhaled
  the
christmas
  lights
and snow
    as he drove
in the dark
  with a
broad smile.

  the next
morning,
   he was
dead.

Above the canvas a stuttered quill.
A mind sits thinking, not overflowing just full.

So many thoughts,
so much to write.
So many emotions I always have to fight.

I'll take a deep breath and then think for a while.
My aim will be happiness and to give you a smile.

I write my poems for both far and wide.
I open my heart for you all to peek inside.

Then when my quill, I lay finally to rest.
My peers and my lovers will be my final test.

i graze
your
lips
with
a
drive by

your
eyes....

so hungry
asking
me why?

anticipation,
wetting
yourself
longing
for my...

leaving
you
and
knowing
that
this
is not
our
last
goodbye.

I would give her
my life for
just one kiss...

and yet

sadly,

I am still here.

there may be
  more life
circulating around
     the inside
  of a
winter's
   slumbering
tree...

   than me.

i.. .

   i feel dead
already.

You ask of others,
what you are not willing to do
each time you ask another to love you...
when you do not yet love yourself.

(For if you did, you would not ask)

And yet each day I watch you wander,
walking the lines of someone else’s shores,
searching for a foothold among rocks and sand.

Though within you there are boundless oceans
with light and hues you’ve not even yet imagined,
that remain completely unexplored.

You’ve not begun to swim their depths,
as you are too busy trolling the shallows
of someone else’s refracted image,
of the self that they don’t know.

Worry not about painting the sky
with someone else’s color
and find now your own palette -
the one that is yours uniquely
not yet discovered, for it will
only be found when you
find it within your self.

Journey within and you will see that
the kingdoms that you are seeking are
also seeking you.

You are the ultimate mystery of this lifetime,
the grandest adventure of them all,
the undiscovered continent hiding in plain sight.

Love has not abandoned you,
it is within you waiting to be discovered,
please stop asking others why they won’t love you,
and start asking that of yourself.

I can't see you, but I see you.

I don't know you but I know you.

When you let me,
I will love you
just as deeply as you love yourself
and we will swim your oceans together.

Love does not make you vulnerable,
it makes you invincible.

L
O
V
E

Is

Not just
   something
         you say

L
O
V
E

Is

Something
      that you
            do

yellow eyes
kick the ball
jaundiced lies
walks into walls.

blue and black
discolored skin
bruises of attack
violence and its din.

red fingers
shave and a shower
trickled blood lingers
lights off- i have lost power.

green emotions
stand in the doorway
envied poetic devotions
snow was a storm today

orange peels
there's candy over there
i left flats on the wheels
staring coldly without care.

purple cheeks
blackened hands
rotting flesh reeks
body heat this icy land.

brown water
sewage is often words
prose sometimes falters
flight of poetic birds.

white button shirt
teeth full of decay
feelings often hurt
sweetness often stains.

black mist
under the bed clown
death has no list
smiles are upside down frowns.

just about
everyone
thinks that
they have
a
"good heart",

just about
everyone,
right?

me?

i think
you're
full of
****!

your
intentions
may be
good but
you know
the
ugliness
that lives
inside
your head
every day.

stop lying
to us
and
better yet-
stop
lying to
yourself.

you have
to live
with
yourself...

and
thankfully
i don't
have to.

i'm beyond
weary of
the...
"i'm such
a good
person posts".

"i do this
for people-
i do that
for people-
boo hoo.
****!

for Christ's
sake be
honest
with
yourself!
you're not
fooling
anyone
but
yourself.

remember
that.

last i
knew,
Jesus Christ
died on
the cross.
None of you
are
Jesus Christ!

stop
the
charade.

thanks...

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

You may,
  sit upon me
and ride a ride
  that you feel
deep inside.

  Sitting upon me
    is an ******
that...
   you will
never hide.

advice
from ghosts
is advice
worthy of a
  cemetary's
ghost hunt.

the depth
that i
think of
is not
measured
in feet.

depth
is a
measurement
between
each and
every
heartbeat.

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

When you are happiest.
remember it.
If you were happy once,
it can happen again,
if you allow remembrance?
Storms of different levels
pass through our days.
Some linger and rage forever,
or so it seems.
While others race through,
like a thief in the night.
Never allow these storms
to destroy the sunshine you once knew,
your remembrance of happier days.
The sun will never shine
as much as we all hope.
Alas....
It's easy to forget the sunny days,
and the storms we seemingly never forget.
But ,the one thing you can never allow,
is to allow your sun to permanently set.

Eyes peel open    -        
my nostrils tingle -
as the smells of soil and sweat
                          permeate the air.

The heat and humidity is unbearable    -
breathing shallow -
            movement restricted.

I only wish to wipe the sleep
from my eyes -
who would prevent me      -      
              such a simple request?

Anxiety billows for                
a brief moment      -
surrendering complacently -
as the frequency of
my rising chest
                                    slows.

I sense my sightless eyes
dimming                                -
resting shut -

I am so tired...
                    over the fence they go -
one  -
           two.        -
three...
                  their fleece as white as snow.

we have
all tried to
"drown our
problems",
right?

the problem
with trying to
"drown our
problems"?

our problems
are better
swimmers than
we care
to admit.

they always
float back
to the
surface.

It's like watching the sun melt into the horizon at sunset.

It's two sets of eyes locking into one another's like neodymium magnets.

From afar you, yourself, anticipate the moment that their lips taste the others.

Chemistry builds as does the heat now watching two, impassioned lovers.

The moon could fall right next to them and they wouldn't even notice it there.

Loving deeply as one, which once were a pair.

Gasping for breath,
they are now each other's air.



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

the lights
  are going up,
the decorations
   too for my
grandson.

if not
  for him
i wouldn't
   even bother,
my life's light
  has been dead
since i lost
  my own father.

i'd love to
  thank his
mother for
  giving me,
a light of life
  for me - all
sparkly and
   Caleby.

without him,
     i'm not sure
   where i would
be in my life,
   but with him...
i get to put up
  christmas lights.

thank you for
  my everyday
gift and
christmas lights,

because;

   for him...
every day of
  my life.. .
i will fight.

'Yours and everyone's concrete-poet'