No more komakazee crows
No more angry nehibors and
Their apple guns.
No more slow winks.
No more toilet bowls
And no more ham.
No more wet hair after a shower.
No more drooling on my face.

Remember that **** dog.
Remember you and him kissed like eskimos.
Remember sleeping in my train tunnel.
I wish I still played with trains.
I wish I still played euphonium.
I wish we never lost our house.

My old friend, is it time for me to go away.
You were the last.
The last pet mom ever will own.
She told us no more animals.
She cried tonite,
She said im so sorry soxy.

A longntime ago
A longtime 6 hours in school felt.
A long strected out cat
Waited for us on the steps.
I rubbed my face in his glossy chest.
I rubbed my third grade nose up and down
His body hoping for a play bite.
His tongue licked my ears three times,
Three times until he took a bite.
My hands resembled the bird,
The bird he never killed.
He turned me into a contortinist.
He made  my leggs cramp.
He made my matress his middle ground.
His middle my yoga sleep.

After showers he hunted my head.
He layed on my face.
He licked my dripping buzz cutt.
He licked the milk off of my first mustache.
He ruined the left over ham.
He made my favorite sandwhich
A challenge.
He could smell me open the can and mix the
Mayonase with pickles.
He left me a dead mouse on my train tracks.
He had white drops of paint on his paws.  
White furry paint,
Mom told us he had sox on his feet,
He was born with the name we gave him
Sox not socks,
Not the socks you get tired of wearing.
Not the socks you get mixed up durrning laundry.
Our sox kept us on our toes.
Our sox.
The **** cat
That really owned our house.
Hell always be sox,
The **** cat,
The **** voice my brother made up.
The **** drool I let rub against my face
Will never go away.  

Ill kiss him like an eskimo.
Ill biuld him a eskimo fire
And hope he chooses to
rub noses with My dog J.C again
I hope he goes gently into the nite (Dylan Thomas).

Tonite I just want to cry
Baby I know the words we say
can sometimes hurt us deep inside
When Love and hate collide
the truth mixed with lies
We both know somewhere down the line
someone is going to be left with tears in their eyes
and tonite I just want to cry.
It's so hard to find that rainbow when the sun
never shines anymore
So tell me why we choose to be lovers
but never really ever friends
Why can't we take some time and figure this all out
before it ends
We both know somewhere down the line
someone is going to be left with tears in their eyes
and tonite I just want to cry
I believe in you but what I need to know
Is do you believe in me
You have always held a special place in my heart
You mean the world to me
I would do anything to prove my love to you
Tonite I just want to cry

If it happens I shall die tonite,
As it seems to me, and I fear I might,
I pray that you remember me
As the artist I had hoped to be.

If in my sleep my last breath
Succumbs to the call of death
Please remember all the love I made
And do not be shy to remember the hate.

If tonite I shall die while in my bed
(Though I wish I could stay and not be dead)
See my blue lips and remember Adam's song.
With the words under my sheets so you may sing along.

"just talk about love, or ***, or starving hearts, or just shut up
and I'll go

but" - Jonathan Richman

(..NIGHT)

A drunken man is blown by bathroom paintings,
with shower curtains displaying crowned sparrows
who laugh at his
crowned ****!
and humor his life!
also crowned
(but only subjectively if you were to ask anyone else)
I'm a burning insomniac surrounded by a whole cast of characters tonight, including the one with with a lazy eye who mirrors Chaplin
and arrived to the party disoriented from recent Salvia.
Then there was the one with a sleek current-edge-type haircut
who spent a few good minutes telling me about the film works of Philip Glass
            B E A U T I F U L
They play Bowie,
the whole social palette disintegrated beneath the weight of intoxication.
I, too, am dazzled from pale alcohol already (eight minutes past Midnight!)
The Dancing Athlete ambiguously dances on an absent television while my head hurts from a blue bulb glowing from a nearby lamp because it's too late for all this
and I'm reminded that I know almost nobody here.

(...AND DAY)

Maybe thirteen hours later, walking with Dante the bearded dog,
my friend wheeled a stranger, narcotic-vacuum-cheeked amputee.
He begged for light, as in a lighter, not that light of GOD, no no,
all the while he showed off his stub leg (cut off at the knee) bleeding out all over the sidewalk when his accident first occurred.

"THIS GUY THREW ME FROM THE BALCONY!" he preached

Past the cathedral narcissus
"JESUS COME/
JESUS SAVE MAN/
JESUS MAKE FIRE/
JESUS WAS A HOLY INDIA"
Across the street, village of enduring tombs and firesmoke,
shadowed tent outlines
breathed-in
playing cards and tricks
mandolin reverberations among tents and tents of
sickly or addict, all listening in on the live performance, a blessed Alice with dreads, lively chords emitted from her skull of ideas.

The forgotten noose of man ****** in a parking lot
by a liquor store, while we pick up some wine, which is, and I quote here "DRY AND CHEAP"
A sunny quiet perched on the field
of gleaming downtown streetlights
thru thinning clouds.
Olympic mountains in view, the kind of mountains only seen in magazine articles to be experienced by those unafraid to die.
All these sad people out here, too!
Their faces expand beneath capital industry,
Elephants occupied with jackets sewn in an anonymous factory.
Quick tip, I wanna write it down before I forget: don't listen to that old music when you're feeling lonely, it's all about love and especially in tragedy this is a bad idea.

I'm sick and wept and my teeth have been growing cameras,
the youth are dressed in drag, carpet cleaners bob their heads to unheard tunes but you can see the sound thru a glass window.

This city, oh, this city..
with bodies sprinting hard by each other and who bike across train tracks associated with very vague childhood memories.
We all float on hands electrified by the night!

Jonathan Richman tonite, who's vocal deliveries have been honest
and romantic, in a passionate sort of way.
He's singing that live track "A Plea For Tenderness"
(I know you were waiting for me to get to this)
and past few days have been strange
and past few weeks stranger, still. Not as bad as a lot of people but man, strange..
that night, and day.
Walking by the Victoria Hospice care center and looking down on my wrists which'll soon be tattooed with loving hands yet oh
so
aggressively pained by abuse because of a terminal disease and attempted suicide (NOT my own life, to clarify)
and it got me thinking on how we're all mutually getting thru this place and every face has seen hearts and seen death almost equal.
It can get to be too much, that's why melancholy has been defined to begin with. But ******* Jonathan Richman had to make this song.

"if I'm better than the wall
(tell me now)"

"Because it's dark at night
and I'm alone at night
I'm so sad and I'm so scared"

Things I've said in my own head and felt in my own time
as has everyone else. I don't mean to specify that this has happened RECENTLY, but it's definitely happened before. These times.

"now, I've just read some writers
from the old days
because I knew, I knew that they'd understand"

but BUT everybody is accidental!
even Rimbaud has stubbed his toe and I know that it'll be fine
it'll be fine
it'll be fine
in Vietnam maybe
and it'll be finer in Varanasi
(maybe-r)
but for now I don't know
I can say it I can try and feel it and understand it and pretend I know it
I gotta get away from people to be replaced by a Hindu I've never seen before
and sleep on a mattress that (like a new pair of shoes) hasn't grown in to my spinal chord and hurts ****** bad at first and is unfamiliar and the weather is warmer than usual
and the horns of traffic will be frightening but that too, will dissipate with time.
I gotta save up my money and hug my wallet like a starved cat
Jonathan ******* Richman's "A Plea For Tenderness"
what a fitting title
for a time like this one now.

O dear sweet rosy
     unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
     to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
     visible reality...

and skin's appalling
     petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
     room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
     of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
     of the asphodel,
gray fate...

     rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
     as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
     of my own ******.

                         Fall, 1953

nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
osmosis
through our faultless immigration




Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]

This old man in a bar
told jokes and reveled in reflections of all his youthful moments
there were three nuns
the last of which wound up spread out
it was great fun
in between pity laughs were shocking laughs
the old man mumbled
but i could hear him speaking from behind his curtain
of shimmering inebriation
i answered questions
and his worn off ear made the answers
Paul and Chan
they were young enough to learn what he had to teach about his great life
it was a great life
three sparkles in his eye lead to a decrescendo
that was a hint to look left and up
for life or the light that gilded like it
this old man made his friends
tipped well
had a son who just followed and laughed
and old alchy
he shook my hand in an old fashioned way
so very sincere
have a good life
so i will

Shakespeare’s Dog


in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion
courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden

So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this
very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door.

get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss,
but before I could kick him across the floor,
the pug spake thusly:

this dog knows the boot too well,
it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality,
but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide,
share some of Speare's un-Published Works
and you can claim it as your own!


kicked that dog across the room,
(having pity earlier I let him in and enter)
told Jim, (that’s what I called him)
he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up
and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever
caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side,
I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union.

The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive -
might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution.

he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating:

well mate,
thanks for the soliloquy,
me ***** long time gone,
but what I know and what I’ve seen
if tale-told you, and you were to listen,
you would keep me around as fodder
for your artistic soul.

in return chappie,
you need only provide me a rug, a fire,
A/C for the languid summer eves,
fodder for me body, and your boots,
far removed from my hindquarters.

We spoke much thereafter,
turns out he served his poet-masters
in many ways, more than a mere footstool.

his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later.
his love for country music makes me put him on nice days,
outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins.

ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend,
one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition,
the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming.

so if a farting pug before your door you’ve  found,
take him in, give him water, an amply supply please
of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul,
but beware, he might try to sell you
some of my words, as your own.

lovers forgo their faces
       defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
  they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
     each    the others face is vented away
     betray being human
  no separated being
and then...

     to return in the tender moments following
             a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
     enamoured and praising of the other
     flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return

Later     in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
          face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout

after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend

                                        - fell shy of Eden

this poem didn't come easy. written amidst buffeting emo's, V will not be natural flow, probably flawed. You, self-chosen people, will come along, please, to see the process, and the proceeds too.
But as usual, the poem was write before me, needing only human kindness overflowing to guide the way.

V

V words lord, excluding all others,
phonetic juggernauts,
never met a V word
that had no personality.

victory is the one word that
my/our brains
think of first.

sure there is vortex, victuals, veer
and *valor exam,
the latter,
what ever it means is a gift,
curtsy-courtesy of auto-incorrect.

but it is victory
on top,
victorious in its own way.

try it on another if you must...
what is the word that starts with a V
that first comes to mind?

so let us talk of victories.

so oft, I write in the dark,
even as I do now.

came home soul weary,
face worn-worry,
gotta go out to meet
Peter Bogdanovich later,
to chat about his latest movie.

woman looks me over.
X-ray glance,
an MRI of my heart,
no deductible charged,
but oh yes, a co-pay due, indeed!

Peter will keep,
tonight you're-mine,
to bed I send,
right after we consume
Large Thin Mush,
cause pizza with shrooms contains
mood serotonins,
that erase the
"pain of the day"

that be a victory nonpareil.
a Waterloo, a Normandy landing,
that be a victory where
both sides hug and kiss,
and make with their long,
stubby Churchillian fingers,
V's all night long
with goofy grins,
cigars and bowler hats,
just to go along.

so here I am in the dark,
having been "put" to bed,
one mo' time,
slicing and dicing letters
into a word-salade,
instead of resting.

dreaming of the day
when I can no longer need to
pretend to be a Seuss, but truly,
can be writing poems for all my
children~friends.

one for each letter
of the alphabet,
teaching us to write
upon our faces
laugh lines thin and fine,
mine, ours, yours.

product of pizza poems,
some that come not circular,
but tonite shaped
just like a woman,
just like a
*V.

touch upon star tonite
O' little  angel of life.
on this christmas  day
as  tonight  tonight.
i wish upon the stars.
to hold my love
in my arms.
on this holy night.
soft words  echo in the wind.
in this  moon lite night.
touch the star in skies
on the  moon lite night.
as the  angel  sing.
on this christmas day.
touch the stars tonite.
O'little angel of life.
the stars are  out to night.
on this christmas day.
so walk with me talk me .
feel the love an joy .
on this special day.
as the  angel sing.
feel my heart with love
an joy.
on this christmas day.
touch upon the star to nite.
O"little angel of life.
on this christmas day.
as tonight tonight.
i wish upon the star.
to hold my love in my arms.
as the angels sing on this holy
night.
feel the love feel the joy
on this christmas day.

sing three  that the song

157 Riverside Avenue

I can hear the razz-ma-tazz piano, ah the sound so sweet
lead up to an old thyme rock tune, making me tap my feet
the clubs have come and gone, changing names over and over
but the music has never left, on this south side of Dover

rock and roll star wanna be's, long hair and fancy pants
kickin out the tunes for us, hoping that we'll dance
here's a tune by rocker Lynyrd, or one by Stevie Ray  
even some old R & B, like Sittin on the dock of the Bay

we sat around and drank our beer, raising hell till 2 a.m.
had to go to work next day, and survive that crap mayhem
it did not really matter though, we'd do it again tonite
cause we were young and feisty, and the music made it all seem right

loud guitars and crashing drums, a fiddle and a flute
as long as it was in the right key, we didn't give a hoot
every Thursday thru Saturday night, drink shots and smoke **** too
it just didn't get any better then, 157 Riverside Avenue  

Gomer LePoet...

Hazy,
Like your memory

Distant ,
Like your touch
Longing .....
There is a storm out tonite
Dust, won't let the moonbeams touch my soul

I twist and turn in my bed
I change the sheets
I change the pillows
I close the windows
I glance at the moon
I try listening to some soothing music
I close my eyes and start counting
I even try dreaming
I finally pop a pill
But no matter what I do tonight...
...It simply won't work
I've finally surrendered and awoken to this cruel realization that sleep is determined to desert me Tonite and by the looks of it(well it's around 4am)..I'd say it's been an absolute beat down for me...
Sleep it seems is upset with me at the moment
And truth be told...i have mistreated her on many occasions
So...Looks like its gonna take a fair amount of apologising and persuading to pacify her

Wallace Shawn

Three hours of thy ******, mastubatory,
Fantasies with women and cats,
Too much for a working man.

Can we not freeze you in time,
Please be a Sicilian boss named Vizzini,
Obstacle to the savior of
The Princess Bride.

I know that you know that i know that you know
That 1987 was a crash year, but your raspy
Glare, minutiae of a face expressive made it easier.

At the Public, not in the private,
Tales of ****** escapism make me
Drift to sleep, and I know
That you know that I know that you know
I am asleep in in row B center,
And see you weep.

But the play must go on...
Which is why I will rent a memory
Tonite, you, Vizzini, and me,
Will drink a cup of poison wine,
In celebration of the trajectory of our
Mastubatory writings.

you would want to peer myopically into the id-entity of any poet?.
to stroll down his or her mnemonics lane shaded by
white towers full of his or her worthless and shallow memories?.
How can you expect to see with truthfulness when even the poets
eyes are,like yours, are blinded by their version of "truth" and tapestried by the colours of wealth with its intellectual and aesthetic attendant triviality?.
How can you exect to hear with truthfulness when even the poets ears are stuffed up with their version of "truth"and the oligarchy owned recorded sounds of counting houses and insincere celebrities babbling ?.
How can you expect to speak truthfully when not even one poet alive cannot distinguish between the duality of yes and no and the non-duality of neither?.
Whattya want?.
Religious Enlightenment?.
A Cathedral of Corruption.
Gnosis?.
Union with dead failed prophets.
Buddhahood?.
I will be your Bhudda tonite.
Christhood?.
Great View of Yerushalayim shel Zahav.
Union with Allah?.
Teach children to blow themselves to smithereens.
All these have  been banned under Health and Safety rules.
All decisively proved by history to lead to War.
And ****** Chauvinism.
And Alcohol/Tobacco/****** Drug Addictions.
And Medicines whose side effects ****.
And Alcohol and Tobacco fuelled Violence and Psychosis.
And Racism.
And Poverty for the masses.
And Adulthood.
And TV Dinners.
And Strictly come  dancing.
among others.
so tell me once more why you cant be a normal human being.

The unexpected snow, disruptive,
in ways more burdensome,
than mere fender benders and
swapping travelogue commutation miseries

ah, the tv reporters regale
with snow tales, human fails,
but where do you hear
of the children
burnt once by fire
then again, now,
again!
burnt by snow.

here, hear, listen here

technology moves forward,
grafting new shells of skin
on burnt children,
but tonite you're cozy thinking
of your valentine's heart,
not of the little ones,
whose hearts are unprotected,
by what we take so for granted

beneath our protective gloves and coats, scarfs and boots,
our prophylactic human skin,
theirs, fire ravaged,
now re-hazardous,
by southern snows burning

these children hurt,
unexpectedly,
cannot play in the snow that came so
unexpectedly,
lest it burn them worse*

"in the children's burn unit, postponed all surgeries except 'emergency'.  Two days of outpatient clinic patients forced to reschedule,. That then, postpones their surgeries, second step grafting, etc. Our vents ran smoothly I heard via the generators, unlike last outage. We had to ambulance each individual patient.

I dread going in tomorrow but small comfort,
it will be warmer than my cold home."

Life first, poetry second

Growing Hazelnuts in the Pacific Northwest
(a conversation between two coastal poets)


we periodic update each other by
email or poetry...writers choice

~~~
my turn but
not an easy poem to commence,
for its eminent domain fraught
with relative comparisons favoring one side,
emphasizing the differences that life prefers to offer
a magnetic choice,
attract or repel

a language conundrum
an iron-strong irony that the poem's ending,
its commencement, its ceremonial completion,
far easier for me to forecast before the real work initiated
<•>
commanded  by you to write of me and mine,
with detailed, careful accuracy
as if it were a poem!

So Why Not a Poem Then?**

my hasty notes emailed upon my current status
you dislike for they are both brief and oblique,
poorly scripted, yet generous
with typological confusion, writing in this genre of
self-evaluation always is concluded by me as:

devolving into either boring, pompous or delusional aggrandizement or the final infinity-indignity of
mealy mouth whining

so an updated poem will be writ,
the happenings of my life have not changed greatly,
the struggle to earn daily bread that supports a familial universe, grows more difficult as demand for buggy whips drops even more ferociously with the onset of miracle
self-driving cars

your son fights fires, commands the earned allegiance of men who fight that which threatens the survival of others life and limb, mine, fights for the his daily bread which is only equivalent in its mind numbing insidious mental exhaustion

I make no judgements or place any emphasis erroneous

the California fire, your sons volunteered absence,
leaves living holes in your family to be filled,
and the burden shifts with the Oregon wind, northward,
upon your old-er tired-er shoulders,
a somewhat similar etching on my body
carved in Eastern Standard Time worry lines

reading between the lines of your concerns,
read of all the plans in process,
feel the cares and concerns that  lself-sacrifice impose,
among them the 75 acres of hazelnuts harvest ready
that need his missing hands to do the harvesting work

which makes my daily shifting of financial instruments
seem very, very, petite bourgeoisie

I have studied in some detail the minutiae of hazelnut harvesting methodologies which makes me into another
east coast expert poet - confident in his opinions validity,
tho devoid of any hands-on experience and would not recognize a hazelnut from the ones (nuts) floating in my head

well, here must also admit into evidence that every potted plant or tree I ever purchased in the Flower District (West 30's) died. ignominiously. that a delicious word deserved of being spoken aloud for the
accuracy of its sounds

as predicted ending this poem, far, far easier than the writing

we cross pollinate each others lives; selfishly think, nay,
convinced, each, I am the possessor of the better half of the deal, for me the loving of your ordinary of soil and ash,
*** wee football, the honest labor of building things
is getting an honors degree in sharing

though,
though worrying about our children
seems to be deemed a bi-coastal commonality

perhaps the Yankees will win tonite, (nope)
perhaps the Giants will upend the Seahawks tomorrow, (nah)
items of passing interest that will soon pass,
for your real serious worries are
combulated confabulated and combusted with mine,
what is yours - now mine shared

this intersection happens when two poets from opposite ends of these united states cross pollinate via manly hugs,
75 acres of friendship that need harvesting,
and the earned respect of insight into our singular
psyche so rich-earth deserved

with manly hugs and respect

your friend the n-man
Oct 20-22, 2017

~~~

Gonna die broke.

Angst, not this man
That be his plan.
My treat.
Feed the world.
That be the word.

Why eat home tonite?

Get on a plane,
Be the plan.
Feed the world
Specifically,
You and me,
In NYC.

Brasserie,
Patisserie
Hot Dog Cart
Wine Bar
Chinese
Thai
Felafel
Haute Cuisine,
Street steak,
Lean and mean.

Pizza in between
All meals
With white cloth napkins,
Real silverware.

Need your help
To execute
The best laid plan.

But one thing you
You
Need to do,
Need to due.

Bring Milk Duds
For desert.

When the account says zero,
Some might say you're a hero,
Even tho can't afford a casket,
(Maybe just a picnic basket?)
I will be buried with taste!

The taste of you and NYC
Upon his smacking lips,
Une bonne mémoire,
C'est tout, au revoir!

To pelt the world in ice and graves.
To feel how quiet this part of town feels
When the lites turn on we will not sleep.
We will not dream of anything tonite
We will run like the chinook salmon runs
To flood the world in rivers alive
With pain the pain of peace.
The pain after loss.  
What will come here when the hedges pop
Out like boxing gloves.  
Out of me is songs apollo sang.
Out of him and I we dance with
Wounded leggs.  And prove
How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death.
How sweet to taste imortality when
The cars speed.
What now is a world full of saints.
To fill markets with fresh fish.
And throw the bottles of whiskey
Where they belong.  Where they are warm
Proves how hot my sweater gets when my
Forhead clams up.
My scarf unwraps and we run
With out our cloths down pearl street.
Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk.
We mustnt forget why we break free from
The shakles of eternity.  
The horrible shakles of wild life.
Are finally pure gold.
The softest medal to bend.
And we leave the tempting
Medal behind and choose to
Drink the rain  drops.

congratulations

i almost called you

out tonite

stomped your lungs out

like two helium balloons

you see

maybe you don’t

but you should see

i’m terribly excited

excited just to lose you

between useful heartbeats

and

with

a lucky couple

caroling through my mind

i consider it

why i sing

bzzz bzzz goes the cell phone
               ****
it reads
My reply

Shush, we're not talking
about you. Movie n wine
at home later? Maybe
jacuzzi?

bzzz
               Mmm ill call u love. Im
               tired and cant be out late.
               I have work 8am to 7pm :\
wow, ain't that lame
to which I say

:-\ ok

a few minutes later on
and I text again

I love you. Im sorry for
being sulky. I just miss
you and really just want
to see you.

there it goes again
               I miss you too i love you
               so effing much

:-( only 2 days but its felt
like an eternity

               Agreed
and then poetry
gets the better of me

My love. You leave me an
empty vessel when you
are away. A ship without
sails. The sun without a
sky.

Her reply comes
               Hunny :)
followed up quick
               Im going to make this an
               early night
Ouch that hurts
Caught me off guard
Do I be sad?
Or do I be smooth?

I cant even talk you into a
quick yogurt session? Ill
drive. Just there and back.

my phone rattles back
               Im grumpy tired and
               waking up early lovebaby
shoot quick

And I can put you to bed
w a smile on your face :)

               Be a little more specific
               :)
oh god
and here comes the barage

A back rub, a massage. A
head rub, a hug. A kiss, a
squeeze. Lets just say
that this lil finger went to
market.
And as Ive said, I just
want to see my baby. So I
apologize if Im being
pushy. Ive missed you
more that ever this last
day.

               Hehe lovebaby *** youre
               adorable

Adorable enough to get
you to agree to a quick
trip to yogurt or
something? Pretty please
w a cherry on top?

               Youre.sweet and tempting
               like.a cherry :) lovebaby
               lets watch the snow fall
               one day

Well then have a lil taste
of the cherry. It promises
to have you home by
11:45 :-)

               Gah golly u make this
               hard
And here it goes
full blown
oh god
oh no

Say yes and it wont be
hard. Say yes and know
you made me the
happiest boy ever. Say
yes and know you get to see
your love. Say yes and
know that my eyes will
twinkle like your own
personal stars tonite. I
miss you :-(

               Jack. I love you
One more desperation push

I love you too baby.
What have you got to
lose? And Im sorry Im
hassling you. I really
really miss you.

and then the minutes drag on
a few and then ten
maybe a few more and

Im sorry, Ill stop. I hope
you have a good nite.
Sleep well love. I miss
you.

and then
there it is
               I love you

I love you too baby. Im
sorry for being crazy.

and time stretches on
the beats grow long
and in reply*
               Ill call u whn im home

Dear @NewtonFaulkner,

‪#‎nextLine‬
A fictional poem by Mitch Paradise || @niteLifePRO

(First draft/ February 26th/ somewhere between Minneapolis and Denver)

::

It rings, "The UK?
Could it possibly be?"
So I pick that **** up,
guess who's talking to me?!

Recognized ‪#‎WriteAway‬
I interrupt by third-word
"‪#‎NoFugginWay‬! Open Twitter: 'Hashtag'
‪#‎WontBelieveWhatWeHeard‬!"

No way this is real, man!
Hashtag: ‪#‎CanNotBeTrue‬!"
He says, "Hi, my name's NEWton,
'Hashtag'
I'm a big fan of you..."

I stop. Almost cry,
"‪#‎amIreallyThatHigh‬?"
Or is my personal Hero waiting
on my #nextLine?

He says, "you're quick wit' your wit, @Kid,
Surely you will go far!"

"Thanks, man. You're a writer;
so you know how we are....

How we talk to @ourSelves,
‪#‎alMOSTofTheTime‬!
Envisioning all of our @Idols,
hanging on that #nextLine...

So yeah, Maybe I have
ran this by a few times,
so if that ‪#‎dayEverCame‬,
I'd have that perfect ‪#‎FirstLine‬

And sure, Maybe I do,
mix it up 'at-mention' @Times,
A little ‪#‎staged‬ a little ‪#‎live‬
bunch of ‪#‎freestyles‬ and ‪#‎rhymes‬...

"Which is it now,
I do wonder?",
he so simply replies,
....
I say, "Honestly, @MrYodaFanGuy?
I'm asked that same question
'Hashtag'
‪#‎allOfTheTime‬....

But, you liked something of mine, Hell,
You could be reading ‪#‎toNite‬,
So Keep it surreal, @MrFaulkner,
We'll catch you
on the very #nextLine

Sincerely,
- @Mitch (ThatKidFromniteLife)
'Hashtag' #justa_Shout
from the top of ‪#‎Cloud9‬

Why is it that every time
I come in search for you,
I find you alone on the floor
Turning black and blue?
Tell me, what does he do to you
Behind these tightly closed doors?
Or why you no longer dance with me
Because your body is always sore.
You and I, my darling, were happy
Before he ever walked in.
We'd dance barefoot in the fields,
Married to the earth and wind.
But when you told me that he loved you
I believed you and set you free.
I'd always hoped you'd find someone
Much worthier than me.
But sweetheart, why so many tears?
You wear long sleeves more and more.
What happened to the lovely summer dresses
That once upon a time you wore?
And why, sweetpea, is he never home
When I come visit during the day?
And why is it always night
That you choose to run away?
Run away again tonite.
Come knocking on my door.
I will let you in; I swear
That you will hurt no more.

Behind th' bushes I caught thee
As thou drove forth straightly by me.
Wearing a grey suit and dark tie
Thou smiled as thou waved us goodbye.

I was trudging along one friend
When outright it began to rain.
Flipping about th' green bushes;
Darting afore 'twixt blue masses.

Thou wert as keen as usual
Busy as t'ose spinning laurels
With leaves so prone as nearby wood
Whose fruits real jolly fine and good.

Thou wert screened by yon murky glass
Whilst rain soaked us wet by th' grass.
Scents of firm tulips ***** my breath;
filling plump bleak air with warm death.

Among t'ose hills wert swarms of bees
and roaming flies behind whose courts.
Swans t'at wandered by wert like thee;
comely but shy in thy owneth worlds.

Lilies of life, roses of death
Be blessings to thy youth and health
And soft like moonlit lavender;
Turn to me alone and leave her.

But my poems wert within thy mind;
and my songs thy red-lipped sonnet.
Everything's good; everything's fine;
Read my words tonite 'fore thy bed.

And as thou sat breathless and still
Like t'is trifling rain made us feel;
Guilty as itself and fake clouds
For show'ring our naive earth out loud.

Our destiny was seen again;
Like how some dand'llions shalt remain
When t'is cold-like spring's dragged away
As summer befriendeth early May.

Webs of young hope gasped in thy eyes;
clear as had never been disguised.
Not as vague but wert surely thine,
blissful and sweet; as which of mine.

Old women dien
young baby cryn
is there any rest for the weary tonite
yes
brought by the moonlight
my head is poundn
my tears are moundn
shoutn to heaven
as i hold back the lightn strike
wheres the rest for the weary tonite
preacher may say
shes headn the other way
if thats the case
then make a place
for my withered soul
theres no denyn
so stop your testifin
the old lady is dien
309's comin on line
i can hear the whistle whine
we see the mothers worry
as the daughters hurry
line my nest
grow your roots
as time will pass
love is all that last
as i shout to heaven
why me
why me
the crazy answer
came so clear
why not
why not
so go and let it be
the end

Tonite she'll again take her thoughts to bed
Far away from fear
Let it be surreal
Her heart skips a beat
When she meets her dream
With the ticking clock
She explores her thoughts
Ahh she finds peace
Long time she at ease
They giggled they laughed out
Together they danced their hearts out
Under the moonlight
She paused for a while n held him tight
Her thoughts snuggled her gently
With giving her love abundantly
With teary eyes she waited for the dawn
To bring the reality *******
Her thoughts whispered going my love
Waiting for tonite when we shall be together my love

I Hate My Friggin Isp

I hate my friggin, ISP,
     it's a source, of aggravation
down for this, or down for that,
     satellite is in, wrong constellation
the sun's too far, or it's too brite,
     can't seem to find, the moon tonite
that piece attached, on the left,
     should have been put, on the right

Yes my ISP is a royal pain, I'm sure that you know
but you see it's always the same, no matter where you go

gave a call, said they'd be here,
     if not today, then real soon
said can you please, be a little clearer,
     same old song, with a different tune
so hot today, got jobs stacked high,
     gee I'm sitting here, wondering why
excuse me sir, but I have to go now,
     it's time for lunch, gonna eat me some pie  

Yes my ISP is a royal pain I'm sure that you know
but it's always the same no matter where you go    

two days later, this guy shows up,
     says I'm here, to fix you good
studies his diagram, I says hey, wus up,
     somethings wrong, doesn't look like it should
you gotta be kiddin me, are you nuts,
     don't understand, how could this be
let me look more, while I smoke some butts,
     then I'll have to call it in, while I watch TV

Yes my ISP is a royal pain I'm sure that you know
but it's always the same no matter where you go  

Gomer LePoet...

O'holy angel
the early morning come.
god bless world an all
his little one's.
O'holy angel
the stars are out tonite.
god bless the little child.
on this christmas day.
O"holy angel
hold  me in your heart .
as walk this road in life.
on this christmas day.
O'holy angel
sing your song to us
sing of love sing of   joy
on this christmas day
O"holy angel.
the early morning come.
bless this world .
on  this holy day.
O'holy angel
of love .
god is love .
god is peace .
god is ever where.
O'holy angel.
god bless this world an
all his little one's.
on this christmas day.
O"holy angel
peace is love
peace is  love on
this christmas  day.