I think I've finally figured it out
Just what it is I am
No more than a rhymer of life
And one mind you, without a plan

I'm here to jot down the elusive word
As it comes to me
How ever long it shows itself
Or however brief

In hopes at the time
They make some sort of sense
And when it is I get to the end
I start all over again

With another subject
As one catches my eye
With another rhyme
That happens to scratch my mind

Yes, I think I've finally figured it out
Just what it is I am
A simple rhymer of life
That has hold of a pen

In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea
  Where the cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks
  And palavers of birds
This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave
  He celebrates and spurns
His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age;
  Herons spire and spear.

  Under and round him go
Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails,
  Doing what they are told,
Curlews aloud in the congered waves
  Work at their ways to death,
And the rhymer in the long tongued room,
  Who tolls his birthday bell,
Toils towards the ambush of his wounds;
  Herons, steeple stemmed, bless.

  In the thistledown fall,
He sings towards anguish; finches fly
  In the claw tracks of hawks
On a seizing sky; small fishes glide
  Through wynds and shells of drowned
Ship towns to pastures of otters. He
  In his slant, racking house
And the hewn coils of his trade perceives
  Herons walk in their shroud,

  The livelong river's robe
Of minnows wreathing around their prayer;
  And far at sea he knows,
Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end
  Under a serpent cloud,
Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust,
  The rippled seals streak down
To **** and their own tide daubing blood
  Slides good in the sleek mouth.

  In a cavernous, swung
Wave's silence, wept white angelus knells.
  Thirty-five bells sing struck
On skull and scar where his loves lie wrecked,
  Steered by the falling stars.
And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage
  Terror will rage apart
Before chains break to a hammer flame
  And love unbolts the dark

  And freely he goes lost
In the unknown, famous light of great
  And fabulous, dear God.
Dark is a way and light is a place,
  Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true,
  And, in that brambled void,
Plenty as blackberries in the woods
  The dead grow for His joy.

  There he might wander bare
With the spirits of the horseshoe bay
  Or the stars' seashore dead,
Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales
  And wishbones of wild geese,
With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost,
  And every soul His priest,
Gulled and chanter in young Heaven's fold
  Be at cloud quaking peace,

  But dark is a long way.
He, on the earth of the night, alone
  With all the living, prays,
Who knows the rocketing wind will blow
  The bones out of the hills,
And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last
  Rage shattered waters kick
Masts and fishes to the still quick starts,
  Faithlessly unto Him

  Who is the light of old
And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild
  As horses in the foam:
Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined
  And druid herons' vows
The voyage to ruin I must run,
  Dawn ships clouted aground,
Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue,
  Count my blessings aloud:

  Four elements and five
Senses, and man a spirit in love
  Tangling through this spun slime
To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come
  And the lost, moonshine domes,
And the sea that hides his secret selves
  Deep in its black, base bones,
Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh,
  And this last blessing most,

  That the closer I move
To death, one man through his sundered hulks,
  The louder the sun blooms
And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults;
  And every wave of the way
And gale I tackle, the whole world then,
  With more triumphant faith
That ever was since the world was said,
  Spins its morning of praise,

  I hear the bouncing hills
Grow larked and greener at berry brown
  Fall and the dew larks sing
Taller this thunderclap spring, and how
  More spanned with angles ride
The mansouled fiery islands! Oh,
  Holier then their eyes,
And my shining men no more alone
  As I sail out to die.

gets up from chair, and breathes in deeply

     people are made up of so many things, it's amazing

     1. Oxygen
     2. Carbon
     3. Hydrogen
     4. Nitrogen
     5. Calcium
     6. Phosphorus
     7. Potassium
     8. Sulfur
     9. Sodium
    10. Magnesium

  i guess paying attention in biology did pay off

    i remember when i was 11 years old my brother showed me a movie clip where Charlie Chaplin spoke in-front of tons of people

  he said "we think too much and feel too little".... i finally understand

and if you feel sad, i hope you can find a therapist, or i hope you can afford a 12 pack of beer at the liquor store to ease what you feel right then


  *walks out the house

                       looks around and smiles

i found hope on the corner of arapaho and shiloh, it was 7:32 pm, i remember because i texted myself saying "dude you're finally happy"

no more desires of being dead ever came to mind

   i found out what a man i can be if i pushed myself and loved without regretting, without being scared of falling for things for the wrong reasons

i found out to learn everything and grasp whatever came my way even if it brought me to my knees

   i'm going to die fulfilled


                         i feel like rhyming, sorry, i'm not a good rhymer, but here i go....


          garden of green leaves
               glistening tress
   scented hives, buzzing bees
               we lie under shaded trees
    we pray to who we're afraid to deceive
             if we do, we rot even if we pleaded on our knees
    summer breeze, ******* and THC
            don't leave
  addictions are hard to let go when i love you like grinded holy mary ****
        


   i'm not a good rhymer, i think the song that goes like "versace versace versace versace versace"

was better than what i just w. r. o. t. e.

    haha.


   it's getting dark, i need to go to sleep

*turns off light

I will catch Harry Potter's ******
because life is match
lets take our pistols to unlatch
scratch them all till i die scratch!
i'll sew bad ideas  batch
i will detach because im crosspatch!
this is  final war to win, no rematch
i wont back down because i'll outmatch
this poem to bad people despatch!!!

(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)

My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!

Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!

I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone!  I felt such a clot!

Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot!  Making a fresh start,

I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other.  This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart!  Oh, how I cursed!

Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test!  That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell.  Truly, my forte is not

that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,

is important, and that’s why my knot
was  not reliable, but why I did not
understand.  Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.

Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!

Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****!

Whilst the sheepshank?  That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!

Rhymer. April 24th, 2018

Charles Bukowski
Died with a wife
at the end of his life
left a world that was rife
with the blade of a knife
And a soul filled with stife
And another word that sounds alike is fife.

a rhymer of old, like back in time
writing tales, which of course must rhyme
i just couldn't do it, for it wouldn't be fair
blotting my words, without  finess style, or flair

A STRANGE thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought
Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad.






































The south wind brought it longing, and the east wind
despair,
The west wind made it pitiful, and the north wind
afraid.
It feared to give its love a hurt with all the tempest
there;
It feared the hurt that shc could give and therefore it
went mad.
I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind,
I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had,
But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland
caught the wind;
I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went
mad.
HDR II
The Heart behind its rib laughed out.  "You have called me mad,' it said,
"Because I made you turn away and run from that young child;
How could she mate with fifty years that was so wildly bred?
Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild
bird mate in the wild.'
"You but imagine lies all day, O murderer,' I replied.
"And all those lies have but one end, poor wretches to betray;
I did not find in any cage the woman at my side.
O but her heart would break to learn my thoughts are far away.'
'Speak all your mind,' my Heart sang out, "speak all your mind; who cares,
Now that your tongue cannot persuade the child till she mistake
Her childish gratitude for love and match your fifty years?
O let her choose a young man now and all for his wild sake.'

I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,
Come and share my haunch of venison.
I have too a bin of claret,
Good, but better when you share it.
Tho' 'tis only a small bin,
There's a stock of it within.
And as sure as I'm a rhymer,
Half a **** of Rudeheimer.
Come; among the sons of men is one
Welcomer than Alfred Tennyson?

After seeing a Flea flee,
along with a fast fleeing Fly,
I wondered what Fleas and Flies do
if in fleeing, they flew into a flue?

Now should a fleeing Flea flee,
with a Fly that flies with flu,
does flying with a fleeing Fly,
free the fleeing Fly of the flu?

When seeing a Fly fly into a flue,
followed by a Flea with the flu
does it mean that the Fly that flew
by flying into the flue, was fleeing
from the flu or the Flea with the flu?

When a Flea and Fly are flying
is the Flea fleeing with, or flying from a Fly?  
or was the Fly that flew, fleeing from a Flea?

Or:

When a fleeing fly with the flu, flies into a flue
and a flea with the flu, is fleeing along with the fly
with the flu, into the flue, is the flea flying with
the fly with the flu, into the flue, or is it happenstance?

You tell me! A little bit of fun!

Rhymer.  February 28th. 2018.

’Twas now the noon of night, and all was still,
Except a hapless Rhymer and his quill.
In vain he calls each Muse in order down,
Like other females, these will sometimes frown;
He frets, be fumes, and ceasing to invoke
The Nine, in anguish’d accents thus he spoke:
Ah what avails it thus to waste my time,
To roll in Epic, or to rave in Rhyme?
What worth is some few partial readers’ praise.
If ancient Virgins croaking ‘censures’ raise?
Where few attend, ’tis useless to indite;
Where few can read, ’tis folly sure to write;
Where none but girls and striplings dare admire,
And Critics rise in every country Squire—
But yet this last my candid Muse admits,
When Peers are Poets, Squires may well be Wits;
When schoolboys vent their amorous flames in verse,
Matrons may sure their characters asperse;
And if a little parson joins the train,
And echos back his Patron’s voice again—
Though not delighted, yet I must forgive,
Parsons as well as other folks must live:—
From rage he rails not, rather say from dread,
He does not speak for Virtue, but for bread;
And this we know is in his Patron’s giving,
For Parsons cannot eat without a ‘Living’.
The Matron knows I love the *** too well,
Even unprovoked aggression to repel.
What though from private pique her anger grew,
And bade her blast a heart she never knew?
What though, she said, for one light heedless line,
That Wilmot’s verse was far more pure than mine!
In wars like these, I neither fight nor fly,
When ‘dames’ accuse ’tis bootless to deny;
Her’s be the harvest of the martial field,
I can’t attack, where Beauty forms the shield.
But when a pert Physician loudly cries,
Who hunts for scandal, and who lives by lies,
A walking register of daily news,
Train’d to invent, and skilful to abuse—
For arts like these at bounteous tables fed,
When S——condemns a book he never read.
Declaring with a coxcomb’s native air,
The ‘moral’s’ shocking, though the ‘rhymes’ are fair.
Ah! must he rise unpunish’d from the feast,
Nor lash’d by vengeance into truth at least?
Such lenity were more than Man’s indeed!
Those who condemn, should surely deign to read.
Yet must I spare—nor thus my pen degrade,
I quite forgot that scandal was his trade.
For food and raiment thus the coxcomb rails,
For those who fear his physic, like his tales.
Why should his harmless censure seem offence?
Still let him eat, although at my expense,
And join the herd to Sense and Truth unknown,
Who dare not call their very thoughts their own,
And share with these applause, a godlike bribe,
In short, do anything, except prescribe:—
For though in garb of Galen he appears,
His practice is not equal to his years.
Without improvement since he first began,
A young Physician, though an ancient Man—
Now let me cease—Physician, Parson, Dame,
Still urge your task, and if you can, defame.
The humble offerings of my Muse destroy,
And crush, oh! noble conquest! crush a Boy.
What though some silly girls have lov’d the strain,
And kindly bade me tune my Lyre again;
What though some feeling, or some partial few,
Nay, Men of Taste and Reputation too,
Have deign’d to praise the firstlings of my Muse—
If you your sanction to the theme refuse,
If you your great protection still withdraw,
Whose Praise is Glory, and whose Voice is law!
Soon must I fall an unresisting foe,
A hapless victim yielding to the blow.—
Thus Pope by Curl and Dennis was destroyed,
Thus Gray and Mason yield to furious Lloyd;
From Dryden, Milbourne tears the palm away,
And thus I fall, though meaner far than they.
As in the field of combat, side by side,
A Fabius and some noble Roman died.

You asked me for a dance one night, ’twas late one New Year’s Eve,
and as I held you in my arms, your shape did wend and weave;
a sudden kiss as midnight struck (I thought it make believe) -
for stars and kismet ruled with zeal our lives would interleave.

I give to you the morning sun to dance within your smile
a flower wild amongst the stones upon a rocky isle
with hidden paths in ancient woods where we can walk awhile.

You lead me by the hand through nights into the waking days,
through swinging gates in mirrored walls and through the midnight haze,
through castles built in sandbox realms in children’s yesterdays.

I give to you a ragged doll, a puppet on a string,
a ride upon a rocking horse, a swallow on the wing,
a ribbon trailing from your hair, a red or scarlet thing.

You whisk me from a valley deep wherein a black wind blows,
and tracks upon the empty trails are hidden by the snows,
to share with me your secret thoughts and steal away my woes.

I give to you a silver flute, a whistle on a chain,
a drummer boy with dancing feet, a sugar candy cane,
a window flushed with foolish tears mid pitter-patter rain.

You lead me from entangled streets inside a circus town,
subduing smoky memories that haunt this wistful clown
by quelling plaintive melodies and sorrows that they sound.

I give to you a penny plain to cast upon a dream,
a streaking star inside the sky, a bridge across a stream,
a teddy bear with tattered ears and berries dipped in cream.

You show me how a rainbow lightens distant liquid lands,
where dew drops paint the purple leaves deserted on the sands
on roads of simple wonderment within your slender hands.

I give to you in winter’s chill my ragged scarf of thread,
a dripping ball of candle wax on fire blazing red,
and offer you this smitten rhymer’s loving arms in bed.

You spin me tales of laughter, yes, of laughter on a spree,
of laughter restless in the sky, of laughter running free,
of laughter dancing, skipping wildly far beyond the sea.

I give to you these careless words, arrayed in broken lines,
adorned, my love, with tempest winds and teardrop salty brine,
in cups of youthful passion steeped in desolation wine,
and promise I’m forever yours...  if only you’ll be mine.

Rhymes

And the rhyme says,
all the long haired rhyming people, must go,
so I put on a short wig,
and went in to ask why.
I'm a fine young rhymer,
please let me show.
Took off my wig,
and asked him to give me a try.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
And the rhyme says,
anyone caught not rhyming,
will be shot on sight,
I jumped the fence and gave a yell,
hey, I know how to rhyme right.
Non rhymers won't let mother nature in,
they say not to rhyme is considered a sin.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Hey man mister, can you read,
my rhymes are all that you'll ever need.
Must have a paper and pen to rhyme,
watch me write as I enter my prime.
I don't need a membership card,
my rhymes will keep you on guard.
And the rhyme says,
everyone down here is welcome to stay,
but when Lucifer passed the plate,
I had no money to pay.
So I got my own pen and paper,
and made up my own little rhyme,
So I decided to sell my soul,
the Devil will make me feel fine.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Sorry for you, but I'm out of time,
do this, do that, cant you read the rhyme.

The Many Stages of Life.
Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!

Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:

A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.

Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.

A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.

It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.

In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.

Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.

Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.

Heaven be praisedACA, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.

After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.

When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!

Rhymer.  May 23rd, 2018.

As I viewed the view I could see you, a ewe and a yew.
Then I saw the ewe, under a yew, was looking at you!
But that ewe under the yew looking at you, was a view
which begged the question as to why, the ewe under the yew,
was looking at you, and what was its view of you?
Did you see that ewe under the yew, looking at you,
or did you only see the yew and not the ewe looking at you?,
or was it only the ewe looking at you, and not the yew?
I ask this of you, for I cannot ask the ewe standing under the yew,
nor can I ask the yew, under which stood the ewe,
who was stood looking at you.  So what’s your view?  
Do you, take the view that the ewe, under the yew
had nothing to do, and was simply under the yew
so it could look at you?  Although I’m sure the yew
had nothing to do with you, neither did the ewe,
that was looking at you, from under that yew!
Maybe the yew, under which the ewe stood looking at you,
was a convenient yew for the ewe, to get a good view of you?
That’s my view, as to why the ewe stood under the yew to look at you?
If you know, please tell me do, so I can forget my view
of the question as to why the ewe under the yew, was looking at you!
Then I can bid you, the yew and the ewe, a fond Adieu!

Rhymer.  April 21st, 2018.

I
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire,
And I am shrunken to skin and bone,
For all my heart has had for its hire
Is what I can whistle alone and alone.
Oro, oro.!
Tomorrow night I will break down the door.
What is the good of a man and he
Alone and alone, with a speckled shin?
I would that I drank with my love on my knee
Between two barrels at the inn.
Oro, oro.!>1
To-morrow night I will break down the door.
Alone and alone nine nights I lay
Between two bushes under the rain;
I thought to have whistled her down that
I whistled and whistled and whistled in vain.
Oro, oro!
To-morrow night I will break down the door.

II
I would that I were an old beggar
Rolling a blind pearl eye,
For he cannot see my lady
Go gallivanting by;
A dreary, dreepy beggar
Without a friend on the earth
But a thieving rascally cur --
O a beggar blind from his birth;
Or anything else but a rhymer
Without a thing in his head
But rhymes for a beautiful lady,
He rhyming alone in his bed.

Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/  out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.  
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming *****.  
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."


Facetia:
                "Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."

Don't ever let my calm demeanor fool you,
you opened your mouth now its time to School you,
in the deadliest art, I tear you apart,
you're done from the start-get back in your Kart
and go blow your Horn,

while my Sonic Boom engraves my Chi into the Matterhorn
If I let rip they're zippin' up your rap crimes as evidence,
cause many moons ago I first set the Precedent-
Presidential rhymer but I'm no Twitter Twit,

When I bring the pain I like it to be intimate,
I'm Sado your Maso can't admit you're into it,
try to stop your toe tapping no control of it,
first strike Staccato, then smoooth like a Stiletto,
sliding into Silk Skin you let go ...

Chorus

Cause I'm your Sensei, show respect to your Teacher,
Bow Loooow cause I've a long way to reach ya,
won't breach your Confidence-just your Defense,
batter clatter shattered Armour-Helm full of dents

As I let go, ooh kid look what you done did,
Saw a Tigers tail twitchin' and then ya pulled it!,
shoulda mulled it over, now I pulled ya over,
now you're clickin your heels squeakin' no place like home huh?
      
                                *****
Your weak wordplay VS my Lyrical Swordplay
could put you down like child's play - *Behold your Sensei
Join the ranks? - no easy way, just the EC way...
don't like it? there's the door for the greasy strays...
      
                           ++++++++++++++++++  

but if you stay?--- you'll learn from the best,
lyrical onslaughts Dim Mak sounds stop hearts in chests,
or open  minds to other possibilities...
Stick with us kid, find the Sea of tranquility-
become a Warrior Poet heart full of Nobility,
use words as weapons to expose Fragility,
then some day you too can be a Sensei...

When you're a Sensei you discover lifes the Teacher,
Open up your Third eye, let the whole world reach ya,
I greet you - as a worthy Proponent,
always ready for the next opponent...

Some just can't and won't learn the lesson,
even when I break it down to the essence,
essentially your Sensei sees...
at least four **** moves ahead o' ye,

That's why i'm so relaxed while I'm battlin'
your nerves are fraught your nails bit-teeth chatterin',
face scrunched up in fear of the batterin'
you go from Rambo to Lamb as I unleash a Cataclysm

                         ******

A Thesaurus Tesseract powerin' a Juggernaut,
Bipolar Jaeger Driver Plasma weapon o' thought,
my life is a War zone my weapons are words,
Paleface Shamefaced attacker reveals a hidden sword

but I've met ya before defeated with metaphor,
Meta-Physical giant like fallin' through Smithsonian floor,
Deception meets Conception like Inception,
then my Dai Katana rips through your mid section...cause

I'm a Sensei-world class instructor rhymin',
you lost the beat and now you're off timin',
a wounded Gazelle limpin' cross the plains,
I take aim - release you from your Pain*

Cause I'm a Sensei use my art for my Zanshin,
reflexively inflexively effortlessly Dancin'
across the page across the stage across your lives...
Cause a true Sensei knows the real teacher...is LIFE

Love you all, stay strong, stay positive Act- don't React
Mr Sandman 11/07/17 (4:47!)

Just the extension of a dream
Perching right outside my window
Darkness swallows everything
Like the seaside, sweet crescendo.

Lady Midnight, so mysterious,
Never knew beauty was this,
Lay my head upon your pillow
And let me drift away in dreams.
Morpheus gave you sweetest agonies
And a debt so high to pay,
You must lay yourself to sleep
And make way for a new day.

Lady Midnight
Though your beauty will always remain the same
Your mantle of stars is cursed,
Sooner or later you fade.

Disappear into daylight
And flower at night again,
Roll like tides o'er the horizon,
Make your name known everywhere.

Lady Midnight
Keep my secret until my name fades away,
Erased by water and fire
And my dark soul burns in hell.

Lady Midnight,
I pray you find me
And absolve me with your grace
Lady Midnight,
A talented rhymer
Of a troubled girl you made
Lady Midnight,
Pages and pages
My work expands nowadays
And notebooks with onyx ink
That is bound to fade away.

Absolve me, my Lady Midnight,
Don't let Satan know my name.
This writer soul's only ambition
Was only to make a name.

Among others of her craft
She now succumbs with the flames,
She disappears with your darkness,
Lady Midnight,
Sinner's friend.

Better Than You

Anytime, anyplace,
I will kick you in your face.
Anyhow, anywhere,
I will leave you in despair.
You name the place, tell me the time,
there isn't a word I can't rhyme.
Not a chance, I will loose,
your words leave a mental bruise.
I'm gods gift to the pen,
you have smaller ***** than Ken.
Don't hate the player, hate the game,
by now you all know my name.
I'm not a poet or a rapper,
just a rhymer, writer and a scrapper.
I entertain you with my catchy hooks,
it helps that I have sensational looks.
You're nothing but a fudge packing **** pirate,
oh I'm sorry, was that supposed to be private.
You can't mess with the rhyme master,
what a shame you turned into a disaster.
I've taught you everything you know,
but I left out the part how to properly flow.
You were my pupil, you tried to go alone,
like Medusa, I turned you into stone.
The **** you write, no one reads,
to me everyone eventually concedes.
You're like Pepsi, I'm like Coke,
I'm an unsolvable riddle, you're just a joke.
As I stand here waiting for the duel,
the longer I wait, the more I fuel.
I see you lurking in the shadows,
you're heading right for the gallows.
This is your last chance to surrender,
I commend you for trying to be a contender.
But as I suspected, I'm better than you,
I left your underwear brown, and your ***** blue.

My clothes are in tatters;
my shoes down at heel,
I’ve no wealth that matters,
to eat, I oft steal!
Beset by illusions:
as to what I desire,
I suffer delusions,
from drugs I acquire!

I pan handle all day,
from folks passing by.
“I’ve nothing to eat,”
is my plaintive cry!
Some drop a few cents,
into my battered tin cup,
which buys little more,
than a coffee to sup!

My bed is a grating,
that’s warming and dry,
where I often get cursed,
from thugs walking by!
When the day is over,
and night settles in,
I scavenge the ‘skips’
in hopes there’s food within!

Should someone stop,
in their passing by,
I tell them my story,
in hopes I can pry
a ****** or two:
or a Five now and then.
Whilst on rare occasions,
I’ll garner a Ten!

Winter nights are sheer hell,
when it’s bitter cold:
such times I oft wonder
if I’ll ever grow old?
That’s when I hope folks
from the Sally Ann -
those saints in disguise,
will pass by if they can,

to provide me some food,
and shelter as well.
They display a compassion
that I know full well.
For those down on their luck:
and in dire need of care,
the Sally Ann folks,
are the first to be there.

You’re nothing but ****,
so many folks will say,
but there once was a time,
a long ago day,
when I was both healthy,
and fit, and living well.
Until my life fell apart,
and soon days were a hell!

Being quite unknowing
that a legal prescription
would proceed to grow
into a serious addiction!
Though relieving my pain,
I found out too late
the cause was due to
Fentanyl, an ******!

Being badly hooked
on ****** drugs,
and needing more,
found a dealer - through thugs,
who offered supplies
for my addictive vice
with no questions asked,
at an outrageous price!

Then matters grew worse
from that fateful day.
Though begun unknowing,
twas the price I’d pay,
which proved to be
a pernicious dependency!
Which because of its hold
changed my destiny!

Wanting nothing of me,
my friends and close kin,
pass without saying Hi,
nor knowing how I am within
they cross  the road,
to avoid our meeting!
Deaf to my every cry
of familial greeting!

I ask  them for nothing,
neither water nor bread!
Ere I’d ask them for help,
I prefer to be dead!
They took what they liked,
when my life went awry,
and often stated
is their hope I will die!

Being strong and doughty,
with a yen to survive,
I may be cold and hungry,
but I’m still much alive.
You may think me a wastrel,
the poorest of poor,
but the tide has turned:
and my addiction’s no more!

It’s thanks for help given,
I’m back on my feet:
having kicked the habit:
my recovery’s complete.
I’m back with the living,
and life is again great,
and I’ve no further need,
for the deadly ******!

To kin folk, I’ve said naught,
as to how life has changed
but I doubt they care
until words are exchanged!
For now I remain silent
until I deem the time right,
and when I’m ready to tell,
imagine my delight,

when with incredulous looks,
it’s not of my demise
they will be hearing
but of my return! A surprise
in truth!  What a pleasure
I’ll get to tell all,
I’m back home to live,
and it’s no social call!

The house is in my name,
so I’ve an Owner’s right,
to come and go at will,
be it day or night.
I’m free to invite,
whomsoever I choose,
I’ll rise when I wish,
or lie in and snooze!

As for my family wishes?
I’ll pay them no heed.
Their made their thoughts clear
when they denied my need!
Yes, the road I’d taken,
was the short cut to Hell!
But they offered nothing
to help me get well!

This curse of mankind,
can be conquered and cured.
Prompt actions save lives,
and you can be assured
every addict who craves,
be they man or maid,
is a Soul in need,
that is seeking your aid!

A passing glance, shows naught!
It’s the spirit inside,
that having beaten addiction,
sees us walking with pride!
Once this curse is vanquished,
and drugs are eschewed
you’ll receive sincere thanks,
for the life that’s renewed!

So judge not the homeless,
without knowing reasons why?
More so when someone loved,
is desperate to die!
When help is requested,
don’t turn your cheek,
but stop and ask questions,
as to what they seek?

It’s not for your pity
the homeless plead,
but for a compassionate,
recognition of their need!
After a prescription written.
Many become hooked
when pain killer effects,
are overlooked!

Rhymer. April 21st, 2018.

please don't blame yourself
nothing was up to you
you cry for days and days
but there was nothing you could do
please don't hurt yourself
I cant bear to watch you bleed
someone so true and pure
should never feel this harsh defeat
you never did a thing
to warrant all this pain
you don't deserve the thunder
and you don't deserve the rain
ive never been a rhymer
ive never been much good at all
but I promise you my angel
I will never let you fall
I will repair your quiet breaks
I will never leave your side
I wont ever make you wait
ill be here til the day I die
I wont let you be alone
even when you try to hide
I wont let you take this blame
I don't care how hard you try
you dont just twinkle like the stars
youre the sunrise in my sky
youre the most vibrant flower
youre the day and youre the night
please dont blame yourself
there is nothing left to do
but be calm and understand
the one who matters now is you.

Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!

A Challenge was issued to write a poem,
based on the theme "The Rhythm of Life."
Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:

A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.

Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.

A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.

It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.

In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.

Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.

Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.

Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.

Heaven be praised, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.

After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.

When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!

Rhymer.  March 16th, 2018.

I am a Senior, of advanced years.
I strive to live each day,
I refuse to buckle under - it’s not my way.
I speak up to any injustice when seen
I listen to all, be they young, old or teen.
I hope for tomorrow, a better place,
I struggle to accept, we’re a superior race.
I am a Senior, of advanced years.

I am a Senior, set in my ways,
I love to live fully, it was always my way,
I watch the young, indulging in play.
I learn from others, accept advice without qualm.
I daydream of a world, peaceful and calm,
I laugh at my daydreams, it’s a time to play.
I cry for the peace: always one step away,
I am a Senior, set in my ways.

I am a Senior, stubborn and firm,
I admire the person, who can admit they’re wrong
I respect the one, who sings a positive song.
I expect few of you reading, know me at all,
I accept life has been wonderful. Today? It’s a ball.
I reject naysayers, and their negativity;
I deserve to be heard, with courteous civility.
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.

I am a Senior of an advanced years.
I desire to see peace - so far out of sight:
I dance with my wife, in dreams every night.
I sing at all times, my words mean naught,
I want to be considered, as having deep thought.
I need to be assured, of my groundless fears!
I pray to be spared, of handicapped years.

I am a Senior set in my ways,
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.
I am a Senior of advanced years

Rhymer. April 19th, 2018.

Bolero

Roll….slowly,let me rope your soul solely,
As you feel the Sandmans touch take control see,
Theres a whole lotta atmospheric pressure involved,
Rhymes gamed, flames flamed- new riddles to be solved,
Dissolve yourself in my dissolution,
Sudoku rhymer-kabuki solution,
My approach comes over the crowd like a wave-

Hypnotic suggestions -  your psyche’s enslaved,
Sway,stay,pray - I prey on your grey matter,
Thoughts dreams and scenes flee all become scattered…
A battered suit of plate armour that STILL holds firm,
Come with me as I whisk you away into the firmament,
See stars born and die in mere millisecs,
Come get drawn further every parsec,
Away from Earth a mere ball of dirt,
Some try to escape their fate the truth can hurt...

But we’re all stardust,so return to your beginnings,
Still spinning,no sinning hear the Multiverse singing,
my Bolero whips you tight in triple time,
dance with me hold tight to my rhyme…

A poet not

Perhaps someday I’ll write a rhyme
If so inclined and have the time

A play on words, a touch of wit
Tis true, I have some nack for it

Of pace and meter, twisted words
Passion, feelings, things I’ve heard

But not just now, my soul is old
My mind is numb , my muse too cold

My thoughts are shallow, as a pond
While poets need, an ocean strong

And so for now I’ll meditate
On poems of friends, I know are great

Just a rhymer - Justa Civileon 2003

When I fee I'm rich, I see someone richer.
When I feel I'm poor, I see someone poorer.
When I feel I'm a poet, I read a real rhymer.
When I feel like an idiot, I look in the mirror.
When I am cheerful: “enjoy it, while it lasts.”
When I am cheerless: “bare it, it will not last.”

i thought that growing up
i would look back on all that i've seen
and see you standing right next to me-
yet
to my dismay
i am again standing in the gap-
trapped
inside.

i thought that growing up
we'd be closer than before
closer than closed doors-
yet i slam
that door shut
every day-
and i beg you
to go
away.

who am i today
who am i today
who is i  going to be
and where will that lead i?
will i be another symphony
is i just another expressed belief?
what does i believe-

oh i
what do you see and why
do you see oh i
the way you do
and why
do i oh i
still follow
you-

if i isnt me
than is me just another empty space
that i left behind
in the aftermath of
finding out who i is?
-me is just an empty lot
waiting for i to reattach to the host
-empty walls now make me i's empty ghost.

i isn't who i should be
not me
not me
not me's position to be choosing personality-
than who is the rhymer and the writer!
the pen and ink!
who are the author and who are the book!
who are they!
who are the shadows that haunt my mind!
who are the shadows of glory divine-

who are the devine
and they still make me question why
but i'm still learning tonight
and maybe tomorrow will be my last fight
with that angel underneath heaven's ladder
and i will finally get the rest i need
for it's tiring
fighting with angels
knowing that you can't win
but knowing they won't let you lose-
for i truly want to lose for once
and figure out that death isn't worth it-
and figure out that i had a greater purpose.