Here's to the...

Calorie counter
Long sleeve wearer
Excessive water drinker
Mirror believer
Professional over-thinker
Clever liar
Hair puller
Tongue biter
Thigh hater
Toilet bowl hugger
Magazine lover
Belly fat ****
At home cryer
Bedroom hider
Internet follower
Social stink bug
One sided therapist
Friend loser
Terrifying truth
Reality dodger
Space-brained
Nicknamed
Love rejector
Anxiety collector
Roller coaster rider
Personal antagonist
Perfection chaser
Hopeless dreamer
Nothing achiever
Unnoticed angel
Silent rainbow
Blood seeker
Soul-searching rebel
Wilting rose

She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

You can tell her from her song,
A divine ditty,
It sings true and pretty,
That lifts itself above the throng,
Singing to the children,
As the adults go blithely by,
Like they do when they hear a bird in the sky,
The adults are absent minded,
Spiritually blinded,
Playing games,
But the children are kindred,
They see her flames,
And dance in its fire,
To the adults' shame,
They dance along to her lyres,
Who among us can say they came?
To witness her fitness, suffice to inspire,
Love and eternal desires.

She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

She's writing alone,
Typing madly in to her iPhone,
Catching snippets of her mind's moan,
With inspiration at the fingertips she foams,
Half-assedly rolling smokes,
******* hard when she's taking tokes,
Finding ways to crack jokes,
Taking aim, cussing blokes
Taking wide and long strokes
That *** a whole in one,
She's not serious she's real fun,
A sizzling, smoking gun,
Who runs with the sun,
All at one,
Says it all yet there's so much more,
Can tell she feels it raw,
To love, pity and adore,
She begs the children and implores.

She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a town cryer you will surely find her,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off her soul's fire,
She's a troubador, singing for love,
Like a preacher, she's a beseecher,
Down in the precincts, sat at the ice rinks,
Sculpting and showing off, her skills as a teacher.

An ugly cry they call it.

What is so ugly about something that brings such relief.
As if all your problems fly away for a certain time.

You are limitless,
You can feel everything you tell yourself not to.

Tears are the cleansing of ones heart,
The dusting of ones soul.

Without those drops of water,
Everything seems hard and cold.

Daily walks would lead me down

The tourist laden streets

Where people from all walks of life

Would congregate and meet

Buskers, singers, ne'er do wells

Would work throughout the throngs

But in back of Giannis restaurant

Sat an old man sharing songs

He didn't sing so much as talk

His voice was hoarse with age

But a milk box and an orange crate

Were his table, chair and stage

His instrument, an old guitar

Scarred, battle worn and black

His guitar strap was as old as he

An old potato sack

He sat and played to nobody

He just let the words be there

His audience could be a hundred deep

Sometimes it could be air

His music was his lifes blood

It was everything he had

So he shared it with the people

And the people....they were glad

The tourists, stayed away though

They were more attracted by the flair

Of the buskers and the jugglers

Not this man who wasn't there

He never left to join the crowd

And to sell his songs to those

Who really wanted nothing more

Than to hear some manufactured prose

The people who he played to

Were just others from the street

They worked the bars and restaurants

And at night they'd find a seat

In front of this old bluesman

Sitting by his orange box

Playing his guitar by candle light

Taking in his songs and talks

He sang songs from the heart, I guess

About those who'd he'd met

He'd sing about a dozen songs

That would constitue a set

Then he'd open up his silver flask

And ******* two gulps down

"This here's just my medicine"

"My past lives just to drown"

He sang of Truck Stop Beauty Queens

And of Walks out in the park

He sang of people living life

Not just hiding in the dark

He sang of things so real you'd see

Their pictures in your mind

He'd sing of places and of things

That others would not find

But tourists, they just stayed away

Near the buskers blowing fire

While yards away this old man sat

Just like an old town cryer

His audience would leave a bit

of change for their free show

He never asked for anything

For this was his row to ***

At two though when the street shut down

He closed his show down too

But he always had an extra song

A special one for you

His music came from in his heart

He shared it without fear

For once it left his throat it was

A sound that was so dear

The tourists went to hotels

Once the buskers all went home

But he just moved his crate and box

He slept out here alone

He sang his songs of characters

Who helped make us his life

His words were sometimes gentle

While others cut you like a knife

His world was just that orange crate

And his music helped unfurl

The melodies in this mans mind

It helped him share his world

He knew some things and people that

Would take rather than give

He sang about the street people

Because among them he did live

His home was just a cardboard box

Behind Giannis bar

And if you want to see a real good show

You don't have to go far

It's just a little beaten path

Away from tourist fare

Where this little, old, shy

Bluesman sings to hundreds or the air..

liar liar heart on fire
let me clip this one last wire
then youll fall down, ******* cryer

hang the noose
it'll be our truce
give me one more chance to roll a deuce

loving isn't hating
and promising isn't faking
please stop my heart from breaking

liar liar heart on fire
as it swings to stop the dyer
beat again and take me higher

look with those beautiful eyes
stop telling all of these lies
quit trying to deny

loving is whats made for you
you know me, i love you too
hating me just isn't true

liar liar heart on fire
give back in, to your desire
with a truth i will admire

You saved me in your moms car the other day
holding my hand just in time to stop tears exploding out from my eyes. Because I'm very claustrophobic and I ******* hate small Hondas.

You let me hold you when we watched Steel Magnolias with your mom crying in the back saying Im sorry I walked in on your movie, I'm such a cryer.

We went into your room to listen to vinyl and even though it wasn't what I expected, I love it all.

You answered all my questions about things in your room, and showed me your best fiends angry poetry on your wall.

You answered every question as if every item was a priceless  antiquity, even the bottle of Mardi Gras beads and how you watched a documentary about the people in factories who made them, and how you just can't bring yourself to throw them away.

I don't even know if this is a poem but I'll put it up anyway. It may not be poetic but ever word that passes your lips it's Hemingway and Emerson to me.

By: Cedric McClester

The situation’s dire
Quick someone,
Call the town cryer!
The president’s loose
And our nation’s on fire!
As we watch him
Up on the high wire
He's an unrepentant liar

Let’s unravel
The mystery
How much more of this
Must we see
To understand that
It shouldn’t be
In a land that
Calls itself free

For some it is
In God they trust
For others it’s
The President or bust
The latter engenders
Our disgust
Frankly speaking
As they must

Look at them all
On the carousel
Hyped up on
The devil’s spell
Look in their eyes
And you can tell
They’re taking the express train
Straight to hell







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2021.  All rights reserved.

im a jumper
im a thumper
im a bear
im a pear
im a hopper
im a stomper
im a eater
im a steamer
but i am not  a screamer
im not a cryer
nor a laugher
not a surgeon
not a garbage man
but i am me
and thats all that matters
me

I have to hold back my tears. No one can see me like this, vulnerable and not in control. 
They think that i can fend for myself, what do they know? Truth is im in need for their help, for their opnion and inspiring words.
For a long time it was me in the middle of the sandwhich. My older sister covering me, and i protecting my ypunger twin.
Its funny how the sandwhich turns into how my life is today. My older sister takes up all the spotlight, claimig it allfor herself. Absorbin all the attention until there is none left. I shake at the words she wont utter, like a simple please or thank you. How she would never help my mother how she leaves my mother fighting so hard, as she sits on the couch and jist watches. When my mother asks for her help she will make it more like a burden then helping out of respect. I will do any of those thigs in a heart eat just to take the stress off of my moms shoulders. But again thats how we differ...

As for my twin the one that i had felt the need to protect since we had been in the wound together 16 years ago. How can i put in words all the feelings she leaves on me? She is so irritable yet i yearn to watch her succeed. She is as slow as a turtle, yet sometimes shes as sharp as a knife . Some nights ill catch her talking to herself, it pains me to see her over think things. After so much effort of tryin to help her all i can do now is make beleive im sleeping, pull the covers over my head and let the tears roll down my cheek, burning it under their touch. She has this problem and the tendency to ovetthink thongs from the stipidest things to the most important. She lays them all on the same scale not considekg the dfferences betwene them . As muh as she overthinks , when she has an idea she lets it cloud her judgement.l
 I remember thst one time in our cribs its blurr but i still feel it in my blood. Diane had my moms attentiom absorbed for she was alsay a cryer even when her head hutt a lottle bit. Michelle  was sick with strep having my moms also and my dads granparents. Then my head throat and whole body was killing .. All i remmeber was keeping my mouth shut. And waitig for someone to come ask me how i was feeling. Which no one did.And still as i cry typing this no one will ask me how im feeling, for i have middle child syndrome

There has always been my family...

And My Family.

Day 1

I was born.
This girl was born to her parents not knowing anything. Living her life through school and music with her sisters and little brother, this is her life.
This is her family.
This is my family.

9th Grade

I meet a girl, and she is the definition of deafening headphone music and larger than life punk rock music. These types of instantaneous connections are too strong to ignore.
I knew right away, we would be friends.
She introduces me to her friends and I find myself in a group hug of my new friends, people who decided to accept me.
This is her family.
This is my family.

10th Grade

The same girl is my closest friend. But I am not her closest friend. I feel her pull away to be somebody else, and that is okay. I will often run to her crying and sad and she will do her best to pick me up. And she does.
The friend group we have is more like home than the house I sleep in. I forget about my parents and find comfort in the arms of my friends.
I feel conflicted about which family means more to me.
I tell her, "I know blood is thicker than water."
She tells me, "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

...I have never heard that before.

Is this her way of saying that we are more family than anything?
Maybe we are.
Or maybe we were.

We walk together knowing that we are never giving up on each other.
This is her family.
This is my family.

11th Grade

I meet another girl. A friend of a friend. Jealousy builds. Attention is a fight nobody wants to lose, I have become the 3rd party nobody asked for.
Families are supposed to fight. But now my family is not one that will fight for our happiness back.

But I want to.

I always have.

But I cannot fix this because I am not the only person involved.
Why are we fighting?!

Day X

I wish I could take back my mistakes.
One friend describes her life connected to 4 people... one of which is no longer talking to her.

And that one friend is also part of my family. And if losing 1 of 4 people you love is a tragedy, than for me...

It is losing 1 out of the 2 people I have left.
The two people I care for most will not talk to each other. And I am the biggest mediator the world never needed. But I cannot let go of either of the two people I love and care about.

I initiated the disaster. I started the dominoes. And I will pay for it.

I have to.

Nobody expected this catastrophe to affect me, or her, or the boyfriend, or the girlfriend, or the best friend, or the lost friend...

The victim
The aggressor
The manipulator
The cryer
The coward

Me

I cannot fix this with my own two hands.

I look at the two people I care for most.
They will not talk to each other.
And to a point, it is my fault.

I look at them.
We all had to suffer and bleed for this covenant of friendship and family.

This is their family.
This is my family.

This was my family.

I am a liar,
At least that is the truth,
I tire myself with endless fire that burns within me every time I lie,
So I say to you,
You who defend me,
I may be a liar,
But I am not a cryer,
I hope I will retire from this hole,
But it gives me an endless desire,
To continue feasting on the warmth,
I am a liar,
And liars will never get higher then the ground,
Where we feel dryer than being higher,
I am a liar,
I liar to be,
I liar forever,
I will always be the liar.

In the proud of the night
(well past the community allowance of social mirth)
curfew has been ignored on mass

The town is flooded with its near full population
on the streets

A tension

Intelligence is lost in the mob formation
all tender that something is frowning
that a ‘big thing’ is about to happen

How do you speak out in this field ?
Town Cryer
An old fashioned post but still held
Professional,
he strikes out a pound against the atmosphere


Might I hold your attention Good People
Gods People may I bend your ear ?
Upon my authority
Mark my words
And
As Goodly subjects of our fare town
I ask that you return to your abodes
Account for your household
Barrier your threshold
Tend a warm hearth
And wait out this night
Praying as family
As unit bond
And union under Gods kind eye


The Cryer has given direction
Repeating to all the gatherings he comes upon

By his office he has told them to swear off

The public move
Infected by the nights vibration
Addled and inflamed
Disperse
Crowds coward together
And relax apart
Walking foal, new to footfall
Unsecured
Sparks in the dark
Unguided and untested
Weapons into the criminal night
New spawned characters
Fused
Laughing giddiots,
scolders,
prancers
Diners, not surgeons
Fledded on venoms
Sense riders

As their individual monsters grow they distance one another
They pepper
Repeating the town
Strays of mess opportunity
Few go straight home

A remattered night is made place
An unpracticed costume horror
No dress rehearsal here !
A remattered night is made

I'm a lyer
I'm a cryer
I'm a sigher
I'm a lyer

One thing about nature is
You cannot lie.
Unlike history books in front of us
they're simple like the mind.

One might question the simplicity
that controls us everyday.
The mind means well this I know
in every possible way.

No matter who you are
or what you might have done.
I believe our mind
it is simple in it's one.

Spend some time outside
and soak it all in.
Let the wind possess you
and take it's words within.

Love is a thought
that possesses my mind.
I pray and hope every night
to find one of my kind.

Outside makes me happy
even in this winter weather.
I know I will find a man
comforting as my winter sweater.

So today I will praise this grey sky
because it is true as can be.
The birds are chirping loud as loud
and still I think about Steve.

How come every
     Sick
           Abusive
Dark

Love song i hear
Reminds me
Of you

The fear
The essence
You hold
      In
     Me

It's not beauty
It's disgusting
Im disgusting
     Stop

You say I'm not
*** you know
It's ******* disgraceful

It's not tasteful
You inside me
But i take it
    Burning

Whisper my name
Surround me
Scream in shame
      
Noones to blame
You're a demon
Crawling about
        My skin

Swim skin deep
Keep me warm
You hold me down

With a frown
I'll sing a song
To honor your name
           So lovely

Am i keeping you
Or do you keep me
I thought i was a fighter

In the mirror a cryer
To others a lighter
Within it's burning
         Empty

Oh but of course
I see it now
You arent me

You're just the terror
And screeching
That rests within
        M  e

Hello poetry
Is a place
For dreamers, realist's, believers, trolls, soul's, spirit's, tarot's, screamer's, bleeder's, laugher's, cryer's, want's, desire's haiku's, free writing, anger, love inviting, all enticing, all poetry, Shakespearian's, poe-soul's, lord of the ring readee's, fashionista's, prophetic poetry, weirdies, goofies, strange one's, disgusting things....
All real
All MAKE BELIEVE...........
This is a place
Called hello poetry.......
And as for me
I'm just writing for mine queen....

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

the glorification of the city
as if in its midst we can find some hidden truth through the smoggy abyss of lost humans
that we. you. lonely tired bags under your money maker eyes broken in this way and that. and i. crumpled arms insecure cryer
//let me keep this to myself.

I'm not a cryer...
Much worse has happened in my life...
Yet here I am crying over you..
I'm good...
Don't text me in the morning.
I have unrealistic expectations...
Excuse me... I mixed up lust with love...
You are beautiful and I am broken...
It's ok... you owe me nothing.
I'll be fine..
I'll be cold...
Don't worry about it.
It's just my heart.
That ***** can take a beating...
Sorry that I interfered in your life...
It won't happen again.
You've got me crying.
Some 28 year old strong, determined, beautiful you made me cry...
I'm harder than that... harder than this..
maybe I thought we had something.
Apparently we don't.
And who am I kidding?
This would never have worked.
But I'm still crying,  by myself,  to myself and part of me might be breaking for you...
you'll never know..
I'll just be gone...
I can't keep doing it...
just know it's all I wanted...
be happy.. because that's what love is.
you made a choice, and I can read between the lines.

E.J.M.

I'm not a cryer...
Much worse has happened in my life...
Yet here I am crying over you..
I'm good...
Don't text me in the morning.
I have unrealistic expectations...
Excuse me... I mixed up lust with love...
You are beautiful and I am broken...
It's ok... you owe me nothing.
I'll be fine..
I'll be cold...
Don't worry about it.
It's just my heart.
That ***** can take a beating...
Sorry that I interfered in your life...
It won't happen again.
You've got me crying.
Some 28 year old strong, determined, beautiful you ....made me cry...
I'm harder than that... harder than this..
maybe I thought we had something.
Apparently we don't.
And who am I kidding?
This would never have worked.
But I'm still crying,  by myself,  to myself and part of me might be breaking for you...
you'll never know..
I'll just be gone...
I can't keep doing it...
just know it's all I wanted...
be happy.. because that's what love is.
you made a choice, and I can read between the lines.

E.J.M.

One day exploring I came across a soul
About as famous as one could in life be
Alone as that what she wished at the tie
To escape the prying eyes and to feel free

After talking just awhile trust was born
And with my vow never to mention a name
I spent the longest time knowing her
The full moon shone the dawn sun the same

Longer deeper trusting honesty became one
Just so to be themselves first time in ages
Almost impossible for them not to be so
Famours but lonely personal book many pages

To relax undress disguise by candle and fire
Simply to be with another no autographs desire
Not young deeply sublime a soul became the cryer
Abandon trust release of feelings in public brier

My word remains as is still untill I one day die
A soul so very known yet lonely as could ever be
To love such a precious gem as I did back when
To have known the release love as deep as the sea

terrence michael sutton
copyrght 2018

☎ ☎ ☎ ☎ ☎
In this weird America we jump back to pray, mason Ronald Reagan
could've "married" Clancy, not Nancy, making ****** ****** okay
as fellows laying men hearkens back to the hidden hand's occultical
rites of jabbing ritualistical plant mendicants stylized entheogenical
from graphical zero-order marks that temporize ape traits eugenical
It is on the rug from the litter box so I am self-assured that it is crap
which is easier to ret up than rhyming verse which ain't no easy nap
with veins popping out my head through this back assward ball cap
Attack-strikes against ******* can't lift Iberian Moors from the mire
nor re-animate homosexy Mohandas Gandhi from his funereal pyre
so that I could make bread selling his burnt-up ***, enough to retire
like that Nancy-boy: the forever-prancing-man-kissin' *** Jon Cryer
whose romantical lust for John Travolta entails proctological desire
that digs northwardly east from Oceania's fantastical rim-job of fire
to recruit boys for **** movies as Kelly Preston's a pig-***** denier
regarding her husband's penchant for tweaking her 2 **** with pliers
to make 'em more pointy like the pointy knobs that are Talia Shire's
guns that try the souls of reverends known to be well-practised liars
who fly in the face of pilots uncertified to be bona fide blimp flyers
despite the love-child ******* lazy Jimmy Swaggart begets or sires
as he has got the street-smarts that knocking up a ******* requires
& the fatherly touch that, for girls just off the bus, calms & inspires
when they get $10 from a John named Billy amongst *****-buyers
The flat Earth is the repository of human life-force & soul reflectin'
God's list of Man's anatomical parts that puts a *****'s eyes & hole
on an equal plane that rises to eye-level along a line that's horizonal
I fell off the toilet in mid-**** twistin' my ankle sprained, hey let us
fund ditzy N.A.S.A. with its nutty assumptions stupidly ascertained
via Antarctic moon rocks that Wernher von Braun secretly obtained
to ensure that the orb Earth masonic joke could be widely sustained
in the boyish minds of men with whom a Boy Scout logic remained
as a black blemish on the pox-scarred lame & the tattoo-ink stained
& the hepar-diseased mufflers diving with mermaids who refrained
☎ ☎ ☎ ☎ ☎

Lemons fall from fig trees higher
I can’t hear you feel me cryer
Tell me why I always like to try
Cut my leg you said it’s my thigh
There’s all the places I want to be
Take my hand or fall for me
It’s always the wrong wall
I’m too busy for the call

A HUMAN IS CRYING

dog is dreaming
under the piano asleep
across the foot pedals

clock announces seconds
in a loud hear ye hear ye
town cryer's voice

bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass
of a cracked window pane

Time is defeated
a human
is crying

Time is different
for the clock, the bee
the crying human

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief
his brother is dead

somewhere in the journey
around the sun
he has left the planet

Earth
continues on
without him

he sees his brother
everywhere
strangers wear his face

walk with his gait
almost expects to hear
his voice in the dark

at the turn of the stairs
sees him many times
in many mirrors

or in the back of a spoon
his face trapped
in a cobweb

always appears
as if...as if
he has just left

the room and will be back
any second now
but: he isn't. . .

dog is still
asleep
under the piano

clock has run out of time
the silence is
terrifying

the bee it seems
is dozing
on the window ledge

the human is
crying
crying