A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse

I'm tired of all these fake backbiters
Their petty tongues can't ******* desire
It lies beyond these dives and old tires
Beyond the earth and the funeral pyre
Cause every pair of friendly eyes
Contains a knave, a *****, a spy
They salivate on the juice of your mistakes
Pry open your wounds, so they can smile
This wicked little town is full of dreamers
Local hopefuls, kind souls and believers
Also known as calumny beamers
Bankrupt spirits, synthetic schemers
So pardon me if my presence I detract
Rather face the Tree than a talebearer's fact
You curse my organs, my ornamental torment
So from the Shadow, I'll never look back
Humiliation is the purest ruse
It's all fun and games until someone gets truth
But these stigmatas will turn to bruises
And from this place, I'll be destitute
A real friend
Always gathers up ammo
Incase the end comes
Guess I never got the memo

Boast, not thyself of tomorrow
For thou knows not a day may bring forth.
I am looking for a second love
Because my first love he

Never fulfilled my wildest fantasies
Where no wood is, there the fire goes out.
So where there is no talebearer, the strife ceases

So can you blame me, for looking for my second love?
Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart
A warm hand can smooth a broken wing.
So where was my first love hands

Nary one tree , stone or blade of grass
was dry omitting the feet of Elijah
The pang of drought quelled
Hickory and Oak sought Elysium
Talebearer Whippoorwill and Thrush
proclaimed the blessings of Jehovah* ...

A Poet is like a Photographer.
He sees the hidden beauty with focused lenses
His mind is like a plate served with films of fine art

A Poet is like a Baker.
He mixes emotional flavor and sweet imagination
He is sometimes called a poetic baker

A Poet is like a Barber.
With clips of wisdom he cut his words into a nice shave
and shapes his pieces into poetic curls

A Poet is like a Drummer.
His plays hit the strings of the readers heartbeat
with every stroke of his pen a song is gonged

A Poet is like a Talebearer
He comes with a message,
from the realms of the Poet god(soul)

A Poet is not a prisoner
Because his words
are the bars that lifts the captives