It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******,
of a dangling participle.

Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.

Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.

Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.

Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.

his name I don't know, might be Jesus
Mohammed Krishna Buddha Abraham or Luke
or duke for all I know, I never directly talked to him,
I am not sure he is a he. It might be
Luna or Aphrodite, Athena or perhaps Hella.
Hell I don't know whether he or she or it is a god.
It might be a Fairy.
Yet I keep (her him it) secret!
So no one can steal (?) him her it.
We often dream together. We
dream of peace and fairy lands fictionary places.
Ain't that weird?
Whatever this secret friend is ,
he makes me feel, see.

At 10:30,
Silence Dispersed,every edge withdrew with dark,
The moon  is pale,  still brighten as diamond spark,
At the tree, an owl hoots, at surface dogs barks.
Sudden,
I heed,   the sound of footsteps appears from the street,
exults my isolated heart.
My soul sing, my body dance,
the longing ends, desperate for having my lover's glance.
O! the perfume of him that mingled in air , I feel ,
O! the sound of his gentle cough , I am acquitanced.
O ! The heavenly night with him, that I will deal.
But O despair heart , you knit the misassumption.
The perfume you smell, the steps you hear ,
Just fictionary dreams and false perceptions.
Oh ! Control your glistening tears.
Yet, loose  you satraches arm , blink your awaitful sight ,
The lover of yours , cannot reach here in the darkened night.

I love you.
These three words can create a thunderstorm.

To the ones that falls quickly into the scheme.
They truly do believe the message.
So, it's so sad when they don't see, what the person after.

A man plot.
A man plans.
And , they listen to accomplish their mission.
All for the fact that they are hunters.
And women are their blessing.

To, a woman.
She lives by dreams.
Her whole world is based on fictionary hopes.
And when they come apart and she's brokenhearted.

She use them to address him.
Without understanding, he loves her.
But only in a different ways.

He know, by saying I love you.
Assist him in getting his romantic ways.

And it came about because of three words.
That will be spoken down through the times.
We all heard that love is blind.

If it were a contest you’d win dead to writes
‘cause I ain’t got the luxury of
standing at the mike all Starbucks day
and whiskey chicks night
Would rather watch you conflagrate
your audience into flames with your high
definition diction and flirtatious fictionary fables
You are more than your usual mainstream matador
red crimson cape flying with the electrocardiographic effect
of leaving your audience stunned on the kitchen floor
with their unworthy worded medical conditions
and redundant rhyme conspiracies
Need to get your monkey off my
back and go to rehab, but I'll be reading
all your brand new Mondays
in the winter of my meantime

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015

It was a fictionary universe
So dull I consider as curse
Non-aesthetic beauty it burst
Ligneous plants dying by the thirst

But 1914 happened
Where darkness was awakened
The people became a burden
Thy trust in this world was loosened

The fiction thought became a reality
Where money's slowly eating the society
Whom they thought gold as a deity
And power as the Holy Trinity

High on ecstasy
My heart, itself is a conspiracy
My opinion is my courtesy
Rather than to be twisted like the American chopsy
Infected Imagination is my report of the autopsy
Locked myself down, gained my own privacy
Some try to copy my flow, call it the piracy
Word coming out of my pen like it belongs to the dictionary
And the **** I write is no fictionary.
Not to be fooled by the words
I know the sound of the heart
I know the sound of the soul
Have a future
have a goal
I'm on the faster roll
Few laughing at me trying to stop me "LOL".
Furious than the python from Burma
My ****'s so hard it's been ******* the karma
I'm grinding so hard that I'm skipping the drama.
Thoughts so loud I can't sleep till four
Heisting the growth, chaos is what I'm hungry for
Thugging through ride
Thugging through the life
And I'm scoring for the more
Hardest in the core
Like I'm the 500 nitro express bore
Don't go through my summary
You might feel sore
Take a deeper dive and you'll soar
And no more I have to say cause
Not to be fooled by the words
I know the sound of the heart
I know the sound of the soul.
Getting pretty good with my game
Syllables are the one in blame
This might sound pretty lame
But I ain't the one to be tame
Going shotgun, 12 gauge to be frame
Yet again here I came
My beard is my mane
Lion to be particular, reach is the same
Neither I wanted the crown nor my name was in fame
Let me slow down a bit, I already lifted it like I'm a crane
One thing for sure that this is not the end
Cause now I've gone Insane
Ain't nothing much left to say cause
Not to be fooled by the words
I know the sound of the heart
I know the sound of the soul.