1) Poetry was a lot more poetic before I learned about what poetry was. Not is.
2) Poetry is like a plastic lemon or orange. And you can cut it but not eat it. But you can do anything else you want to it.
3) Poetry is the most beautiful failure there is
4) If poetry is honest then it is always better than what is seen as good poetry. And what is known as good poetry.
5) Poetry does not listen even when you say no. It will make you bleed.
6) The poem is a very hungry grave. A very patient grave. A poem is not poetry.
7) Poetry is not poetic. But it has something to do with fetish-ising the poetic. And ax has something to do with a tree, even without the violence.
8) Poetry lies and doesn’t do anything.

Darkness,
                                                                                                           in sometimes
                                                                                                           sitting aming
                                                                                                         areing
                                                                                                             ising
                                                                                                                   i'm
                                                                                                             from glades
                                                                                                          of chastely tiny
                                                                                                         beads pink
                                                                                                      about
                                                                                                                my eyes
                                                                                                      immeasurably
                                                                                                              welt slow
                                                                                                    moisture
                                                                                                             at this
         very




























































­

















                       a.

(A) rose within a garden of thorns sits still and glowing.
(N)ot to be prickly but to show a beauty that is over flowing.
(D)own the lakeside crystaline water flows.
(R)ising deeply, to a depth that no one knows.
(E)ventful is the sight created by a "Godly" hand.
(A) magnificent view to behold, an endless story written in the sand.

(U)nderneath a clear blue sky a lovely face sits beneath a tree.
(R)eading a penned story by an author, and that is she.
(E)ntwined, the words that cannot be written in rhyme, and only another tale to be made in time.
(T)o write another is to be done in a different tale.
(A)nd to write it freely is to be like ships preparing to sail.

From beginning to end
Rising heck and mayhem
I** love the way to make me laugh with your stupid jokes
Even though sometimes i may be sad you
Never ever mind
Dealing with the unknown future
Silly pictures of us when we were tiny
Happy times will always be in our hearts
I hate to say goodbye even though we will see each other in the future
Parting from you I can not imagine

My Mother .... This is how I write poety ...
And it rings until it almost destroys me ..
Another reason Ising and tell how I felt
Some'll haunt until I die .. But then free..
https://youtu.be/USiwUHsDETs?list=RDUSiwUHsDETs