Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.

I wish that someone was interested enough
In me
To read between the lines and read
Deep
To point out where I failed
And places I was strong
To stalk me and examine me
And notice my song
My rhymes
My patterns
And rythyms
And tell me that they notice me, because I
Would never guess that anyone would ever
Notice me

From the abyss of despair,disdain and desertion
           My angel ,my harbinger my reason to blosssom and bloom
           you hatched my abeynce and gloom...
           Now tht i can see the verdant and braeth the ambience
           i can barely be thankful enough to the cryptic  zephyr


           The rapunzel who led me down her long dark ravishing locks
           to the respite of the embittered recluse ....
           You r my guiding redolent mermaid who
           help me conquer the vast cerulean deep oceans of grief...
        
          Without your love my life is just like a tree without leaves
          my heart without beats,ohh my dear i don't knw whr it is,
          in my auricle or ventricle but i know it is within my heart and will be forevr for u
          which rythyms my soul by giving energy to confront this curious world
  
          I can get the vistage of love from your comely eyes but how simply
          you just deny by phoxy lines from your red luscious lips.......
          please,please don't play with my emotions it just kills me day and night in motion

          My eyes are wet,lips are dried heart is broken, dreams are scattered but still
          there is a hope that you will give me another scope.........
          and i promise i will not let my love for you go in vain untill the last drop of blood flows in my vein.........

My emotions stretch and unfurl
like tendrils drawing toward the Sun.
Rainbow twisting wires,
Ethereal antennas communing
with the subtle frequencies Life.
The undetectable choir of light waves
only measurable by science.
The "new-age" sorcery of man,
where cloaks and herbs
and timeless intuitions
are replaced by lab coats,
chemicals and categorical limitation.
If we can only quiet the errant mind chatter
we too will have the ears to hear.
There is a silent symphony of soul songs;
Rythyms, harmonies...  These pulses ARE
the very lifeblood of our existence.
The unfathomable Angelic speech of the Heavens.
Long dead tongues of an Ancient world.
The breathe of Love,
sweetly whispered on a summer breeze...
Who's only hope lies in the liberation of her message;
Like a butterfly's kiss upon a daisy
growing wild amongst the grasses
of our scorched and broken Earth.

On the reddest dawn, on the darkest night,

I hope not to lose you out of sight.

And I know as you know, that neither of us wish upon the day we say oh.

Because our happiness turned our stress to much less.

Because our love turned everything about ourselves to a matter of.

When I hold your hand,
I feel like a marching band;

Music flows throughout my body like water in a river.

Music is the expression of feelings throughout words along with rythyms.

Music is poetry.

Poetry is, and I quote: "literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas throughout selective words."

Here I stand saying a poem,

Here I stand reading out loud,

Here I stand expressing every single inch of my heart throughout words, which we know as poetry.

My favorite poem?

My favorite poem is the compillation of feelings, emotions and affection directed by your lips in three simple but yet so complex words saying, I love you.

Because on the reddest dawn, on the darknest night,

Ill always be in your sight.

With pride I one day will call you my bride.
 
And forever I'll be there on your side.

I can feel the ink trickling into my stained hands
A strand of nonsensical rhymes, rythyms, and riddles
That no one understands
Wishes scatter onto a empty page recklessly putting themselves into a worded phrase
But everything still seems to fall in place

I am scrambled
First opaque and next blunt
Made up of sometimes overlapping squares
I am an overturned river running
With a barrel of guts in my arms
I am not cognizant of rythyms
I am sloshing
When it comes up I either
Balloon into red future or
Narrow into cool stagnancy
There is not a choice to be made
But my hands are gripping at weights
I am leaning
I don't really want the moths back
But something is inevitable
At least then I will open my eyes
With a sliver of certainty
Whether this is cave or wing
I want its replacement