Today these feelings are billowing
                        like a prevalent arbitrary
       tension
            of poets as elves
Is there any
              thing new
                          to be proud of  
                          a words structured in an order
                                  peculiarly pleasant
                              refind enough
                                 just and justified
                                                       as
                                                      the right chord
                                                                ­              is
                        as a melody of a classical piano
to be laid down on a virtual array
of a poetry realm
over                                                       ­           ((  night  I've   danced

beautifully   with you  ))


      laping     erratically      striking    
harsh      on   hearing           nerves system

embrace thy emptiness
                                  to write is to discover
                                        to arbeit machts mir frei
praying for minutes for a pasus that's not so
     poignantly  s  l  o  w
                   after

                    hysterya of bumping crazy chords stampede
fades

hope         that you are looking as nice as a well nurtured horse
horhe
     hi **  
            four legged friends are a balsam
for our torn souls

wrecked emptyness is eating me alive
                 as a wicked
                      bewilderd beast

you are a honey jar
tilled with a bunch
     of naughty
    mischievous
sunny rays
                      tickle tickle
                             maroon and gold sweety
                          
I need a bachelor
I needn't think unappropriate
I need to breathe I need to breathe
I needn't think about parasympathics
A n d D a m n   I n e e d B a c h

take me away before my life crashes.
don't make me stay in these filthy ashes.

help me refind the me I once knew
help all my long lost dreams come true

for hope I'd give my everything
for hope I'd sell my soul

for love I'd do nearly anything
with the heart he once stole

I have it now in my chest
broken, shattered, put to rest

So life carries on as it used to
Before the elephant came into the room
Triviality demands my attention
For the hours it desires to consume

The world shows not sign of implosion
the radio keeps blaring its sound
But though not a sentence is spoken
a sinister weight drags us down

At 8 I'm a father of two kids
At 10 I'm a leader of men
At 5 I'm the husband of one wife
All this, from inside my pen

The software of life has a glitch
Despite compartmentalisation
An elephant speaks without speaking
My deep deep need for salvation

I long for a life without cracks
Somewhere joy doesn't feel quite so wrong
I long for the walls to come down
So the whole can refind its song.

Has my melody left me?
Has the music left my soul?
Has the creativity I once had,
Has it taken a heavy toll?
Can I crawl from this hellhole?
Regain my strong role?
Take back what they stole?
Refind my own control?
Will this be rigmarole?

the relation is starting to go wrong, when you no longer get along
when you start to bicker and fight, and things just don't seem right
when the " i love you " becomes fewer and far apart
and those words don't come from your heart.
when you both find fault in all that you say and do
and it's time to find someone new.
you try to salvage all that you had, but the relationship
has just gone bad.
it's now the time where you must sit and talk , and tell all
your feelings before you walk.
you're both feeling the pains that this breakup brings
but you feel it's the best thing.
you don't want it to get to a point of hate , so you must
break up before it's too late.
the pain and anguish is seen in your eyes, as you both begin to cry.
it started off as a fairy tale romance and you both felt it had a good chance
you're both now sitting at the kitchen table wondering if you're willing and able to give this relation another chance to refind that lost romance.
you find your hands reaching over to meet and your hearts start
to skip that familiar beat.  your eyes make contact and your hearts
begin to melt recalling all those feelings that you had felt.
many things are said in anger and stupid pride pulls us apart
but that's not what we're feeling in our hearts.
many times a relationship can be repaired and sometimes not
but in this world what else have we got.
you get up from the kitchen table still holding hands
and talking about making new plans,
( you learn to grow strong when you both admit that you are wrong.)
there's a lot of people you can live with , but only one you can't live
without .
(C) L . RAMS 070915

And all you can do is try your best,
And all you can hope is that
The rest of the world tries that too

pray you don't bruise easily
And count away your latent anger
1,

2,

3.

And I bet you think that I sound meek
Well I probably do, I'm possibly beat, but
I refuse to be defeated by the hollow
Sad sound of sorrow.

So I'll count my bruises easily

So try to just get by
In peace

Cos you mustn't give to sad
And you shouldn't bow down to the
Bad **** that they play on that
Radio 'just for you'
See you shouldn't give in to sad.

Gotta refind a warm shoulder
Dry your tears
Spill your fears
Lean in and
Find your grin
Again.

I am weak
I'm sometimes meek
But, I'm not beat, because
I refuse to be defeated by the
Sad sound of sorrow,
I'm gonna hear the sun of
Tomorrow

drown that din

breathe in and try

You mustn't give in to sad
You shouldn't bow down to bad

*Just Breathe

It's 9:17.
It's night
And I still go to bed crying
With you on my mind
and I still go to bed in agony
of the memories I refind
and I still go to bed writing poems filled with pain
because of a constant loss

This loss that remains is constant
and the thought of you stays and is stagnant
The suffering wallows me and the depression follows lead
It's been over a year and honestly I fear that maybe im insane to even shed a tear
and to think you dont even have a sense of the time, it's been a year
and when I speak, you barely ever even want to hear

you're wallowing in your own self-doubt and love stories
not thinking about the doubt that you leave in others
what love stories you are a part of and the perspective that they may lead, following you
I remember always rhyming love with true and love with you and quite differently than my heart may tell
true love doesn't come with you, you aren't true, you can't even find truth and meaning in the one constant that you
always fall back to

They were sipping lemonade
through a striped straw
A woman with a huge smile
was buffing the polished floor
There were a couple of guys
as we walked through yesterday
they noticed me in an instant
as I looked at their display.
They asked me if I was alright
They were extremely kind
They were also very polite
knowledgeable and refind.
The arcade was busy
together with the excitement it brings
I glanced at those men
and I noticed they had wings
They were angels
send by God for sure
They were helping those suffering
and  those that were poor.
They were definitely angels
angels that touched my soul.

/to recraft, if not to refind, the thrill of rhyme in poetry, as if it were a sleepwalking happenstance of: déjà vu... coincidentally, in some countries, they'd rather teach memorisation of poems than of soulless mantras in bones without marrow... rhyme as... happenstance, rather than a pedagogical drill, which would wake even Beethoven from the resounding, fading out, echoing... tennis match instead of orchestra phonics... termite lingo, for nothing more than: hello, my name is bob, insignia safety.

yep, went to a Puerto Rican *******,
a Bulgarian, a Romanian
and a Ukrainian...
because... apparently,
all the engliah girls were recovering
from a moral hangover...
or saddled to the baby-sack
aged late teens,
since going to the gym was no fun...
forget about womanising...
walk into a herd of nuns...
and you'll be circumcising
yourself, using nothing more than,
a routine check-up
at your dentists...
           ******* hybrid chastity belts
those "Rodin" marvels worth
of ****** / dodos and butch Panzzy
wha-wha "boys" in leather
and acne, could become...
    and never allow language to succumb
to a poetry with a: death to language
by rhyme...
      fluid as god's given amber (beer)
and ambrosia (milk)....
       that spontaneity of rhyme that's,
actually rare to find...
    unless I interrupt the narrative,
don't give me 2 x 2 = 4
     with roses are dead,
      violation of the blue rule:
   rhyme in poetry,  in reality,
is like a *** note...
               easier toying with "arithmetic"
in puzzle...
or rather: women sooner remember
kindergarten rhymes...
      no wonder,  antagonism
of St. Thomas' gospel...
              at Hel, a curvature,
and dead end...
                              i am apparently to
be bound to despair...
            sieving lies like ****
through the regurgitating gobs
of flies...
               plenty of leprechauns
dancing the jiggle in the pope's
2nd take on a soupbowl;
should he ever mind to retire
into clemency,
   from the bombast and opulence
of peacocking perched,
prior to...
           a "necessary" memory of
ancient Egypt,
    translated into a framework
of erasing today, and conjuring up
tomorrow.

This reminiscing thoughts keeps flashing through my mind,
They come so fast that i couldn't unbind,
And then leaving me exploring through my memories hoping to refind.

And then comes the confusion,
Did it really happen or was it just an illusion?,
Leaving me between path of cession or elusion.

I am always beating myself hard to remember,
Did it happen in October or December?,
Can't remember but these thoughts are just a peturber.


Sometimes,i feel the thoughts are true, sometimes feel they're false,
The confusion is even worse than the thoughts hauls,
Maybe i should call it a tralse.

Where is equality in distance
between Time and Space?
Ten years to one mile
seems about right.

Thirty years ago we were in Kilburn,
three miles west of here,
acting out our early twenties
with hedonistic disdain.
Clubs and bars would *****
us out into the night air
and we would scamper off
like single ants, unsure where
we might refind the scent.
All those roads are still blurred.

Perhaps I will make
sliding box puzzles
from obsolete copies
of the London A to Z.

I read that the majority of car crashes
happen within three miles of
where the driver lives.
Isn't that self-evident?
Aren't most journeys
journeys to or from home?