A true semantic literary meaning
awakening to curate
my being
or throw away it all and question
the delivery of
the ics and isms
determining not by me but by the reader
what is true
like Montague
proposing a new system
I propose a meaningful regimen,
one where words are either felt
, make me halt and listen,
to what they truly meant.
Or they don't.

how better
to spend the day while
she sleeps peacefully
but listening to music

the Beatles
in particularly.
Catching a glimpse
occasionally

of her beautiful
peacefulness
wondering
does she dream of me

when I hear
Good Day Sunshine
I ache

to wake her up

it seems came her

adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries

red dawn golden lashes  in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes

so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature

listening
relaying

being
her.

just a leaf left
on the pillow next to me
now, a whisper of smoke
vapor tracing your path

out the door
going back to the
limb I stole you from,
the place you must return

I rake my bed for more,
try to make
a place
for you to fall

again, next time.

some believe in the deity
others in the sanctity of self
I think poetry is a religion
a soul unto itself
not a god
but close
and I seek her his its
calming words
wisdom
to get on my knees
and worship
every night
alone
here
in my sanctuary
like any
true believer

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "let us flee!"
"Let us fly!" said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.

Ogden Nash

have you heard the wind
the trees rustle
the wings fly by
the sea roar
watched the mountain
and wonder
sink down
on your knees
knowing this is life
the end the beginning
we are no more
than a bird a mountain a tree a leaf
a wave crash on the shore
a shell
maybe a sunrise
or a moon on the horizon
but nothing more

the perception
of truth
is not dependent
nor is it failed to
be
logic
without us

is the theorem
not true?
would reality still
exist
amongst our abyss
or are we what
makes it exist?

Can science
or theology prove
the negations
of truth?
or that reality
is?

the  bitter wilt on droopy petals  when yesterday
her tilt was to the sun strong as stems
could rise her sweet beauty to the skies
holding lips and arms and blossoms open
long enough for the breeze to romance
the nearest bee into a trance
is like the circle or a dance
of life that glances knowingly back
with wry amusement a sly smile glance
saying told you so  so many times
you should have known by now,
old friend of mine,
time is really nothing
but your
foe.

On the curvy shoulder of my (i want to say, girl but
know that offends her) presently both of us red-eyed
looking so un-real on this back-assed country
road with only shoes for transporting
a long way from being home
smiling all the while
hitting it again
smoke arounds her green red eyes slitted
baby, I cry, as we  walk again,
Are you  my girl?
She keeps walking.

Where did the shyness go?
              I remember
hiding under
              women's skirts
red
              faced
counting freckles staring
              as the universe unwound
gazing
              at the birth of stars
and the aura
              left.
now
              I stare down.

Intense
once were the colors
of faded lines
a dark humor, a love, of
another poets spirit
a
salute
to those faded
lines
that transform me.

flights of sparrows
familiar plays
regress  
into subliminal
messages
What would Oedipus
say of universal
fatherhood
come says the snowfinch
cinnamon ibon familiar songs
where we play with maids and they
eat seeds
innocently

a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
   and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
    or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
             like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
    perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.

I admire you tree
never having to bend or look laterally or do you
doubt
your meaning?

Reaching for blue skies with limbs
leaving root digging determinity
earth drenched brown bark strong seeming
godly.

I am so blue, looking at you so calm and distant
composed with no worries only a day again to make oxygen
feeding man.

You leave and seed and sprout proud, purposed on this earth
never doubting and  so,
I would like to bow to you. Tree.

Clouds wind floating
    into the trees tall climbing
spires and pillows
     blend
I lay down
     to take them in,
Feel the Earth revolve.
          feel the breeze.
Atmosphere.

equanarium brizzle fer
           qouckly triz
o
preform x rated
          blizzebance o f eq
uananimous
                        remitelely
fueled smote
               of someairily sot
sweed
              wroted     down
what?
            ever>

Every day I reveal
I give a little more
something special, so real to life
a different side of life
those pieces of me no one can steal
every night I'm where it takes me
to where I find that part of me
that needs no excuses
nothing to change
nothing to add to
But what if it isn't the truth? What if I am a product of fear? When I look at my keyboard, I remember things I cannot say aloud. That is the darkness.
nothing to subtract
the fairy of all things sharp and dangerous.
a day in the sun a light
That casts no shadow,
Pushing through all darkness
To reveal the only truth
a smackeral here,
a smidgen there
i stitch into the weave
as my truth
as i can bare,
leaving me naked
and bereft
but as a milliner of words
so fine
I stitch together a tapestry
of twine
upon a silken bed of shadow
the words, they matter
on the morrow
Twisted threads of golden thought
weaves crimson tears
that taught
the one that orates
as they weave
leaves a pattern
that can't deceive
cleft, my palette
of words, sacred,
alone but not forsaken-
created, awakened and tasted
and i stop for a while
to taste the silence between words
the echoes of my steps
roaming inside a dream
Chinese boxes with corners that
domino like the seals
of envelopes, they
stick to sticky
seals of words,
telling of straw earth.
sinkhole, the word frightened me as a child
even now I tread lightly
allaying the inevitable
i tread lightly, lightly... allaying
the inevitable
babble of...
"lustful gushing
of wordlove
that cascades
from my brain
enervated, regenerated
obligated
to explain
the gears
and cogs
of this
clockwork world
write....again
and again
the never ending
refrain
oh listen to the silence
listen
between the words
from
the death of one breath;
to
the birth of the next

love games the icing
forlorness is not a sin
longing not the end

somewhere out along
the edge of sometime
before never

is that one you call
fall asleep to dreaming
of

that one light gleams
her eyes seek yours too
amidst the dark

the withering blues
the false facade of hopelessness
just raise your head

one day calm those needs
find her in the
clouds the breeze

she is there real
real as any dream
you seek

call to her
she is
listening

I'm  a bit like Brett I like my beer,  Senator Feinstein,
Ha. Your name has stein in it,
thats  like a beer mug, i dont have blackouts from beer drinking.
It's the lack of that makes me forget.
I don't remember much of this morning.
Went to work got some **** done, I
Don't think I molested any women,
But it's all foggy. I remember going into DG after work. They got 15 packs for 6.95.
Cept I vaguely recall creeping out. They were
Out. Until i found three of them white boxes with red and blue lettering an A
With wings insignia I'd  tucked in
A corner of the store behind cases of
Heinekens, out of my league drink,
For just this situation.
******* patriotic
Almost. I think it's doing my part to support this free-market capitalistic
Economy. Like paying taxes.
Better than voting.
So you all can impune Kavanaughs
Character all you want.
I like beer so do he. So.
Back to me.
I couldn't wait for one.
I'd put six in the freezer.
And it had been ten minutes.
I drank it lukewarm.
And my memory came back.
The fog cleared. Oh yeah, his problem
Isn't that he loves beer
Like I  do, it's that he was a punk upper class white dude who
Pushed around young girls, laughed while he felt them up,
Thought he was entitled to.
That's over the line, even for Republicans.
You are not like my justice.
I am a justice of peace and integrity.
Go drink beer,
BRETT, JUST NOT ON THE SUPREME COURT.

I'll take a rain-check on the beef stroganoff
just give me dessert
strawberrys and cream or cheesecake
I, yes, rush to an extreme,
'cause,
there ain't a man
who could ever be patient
when you look that way
like a berry

I guess
I'll go back to poetry
now that
the real thing is ending

It's hard to lose touch
when you finally found it
hard to imagine
being content
staring at computer eyes
and typing can never
replace her flesh and blood hand

yet the reality is we must part after meeting
so brief the moment
so unsweet the parting
I may write a poem full of tears
I may tear this **** keyboard apart

trying to make it all real once more
her feel her heart her love for me.

I have touched and been felt
up the one side
around another
fed grapes by naked nymphs on
Mount Vesuvius , well, almost, it
is in my head along with Sunflowers
painted by Van Gogh,
Poems varying from Dylan to
ELO
telephone calls to home
from Vietnam,
or memories of a log cabin
on Silver Lake in the middle of Michigan.

Or is it all made up?
Funny looking back through so many years,
it is all so clear,
or is it?

A white horse
body armor
a fire-breathing dragon
a sword
a Knight
a Warrior
a Prince
a Lover….He is…

A lady
in waiting
her love my destiny
her desire
my need

That connection of the heart, of the soul…
of each breath…. just breathe, deep feelings,
trust of the heart, the essence of each soul touching,
blending, combining, linking, joining, connecting,
entwining, merging together, deep feelings….Love…
a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is….

she is the faith I have lived
each day hoping
she is the horizon
come closer be real
and it is her
which essence takes
as truth and honesty

Dreams, serenity, peacefulness, that calm feeling of
tranquility, that connection of the heart, of the soul…
hope and faith, trust and love, those deep feelings,
stardust sparkles and moonbeam glimmers, fireflies,
soft kisses, gentle embrace’s, finger traces….Love…
a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is….

depths of hearts are lethal
and mine has been broken died
now in her eyes
words of future
peace
arise
take wing
on Angels
make beauty
real
and on that
glimpse I breathe



That connection of the heart, of the soul…
a quaint riverbed, big oak trees, leaves singing
a gentle breeze, the moon, stars the sun, hearts embrace,
souls collide touching deep inside, mornin giggles,
toast and jam, moon pies, warmth and hot coffee….
forehead kisses, lips brushing the shoulder and…Love…

That word she knew that
promise that thought
the knowing
the sublime connection
I saw her there
giggling sweet
coffee and normal things
my dream

A white horse
body armor
a fire breathing dragon
a sword
a Knight
a Warrior
a Prince
a Lover…My Heart…He is…
~

**A lady
in waiting
her love my destiny
her desire
my need

mob scenes be-headings
cops killing without reason
that is obscene *******
not *******   so beautiful or **** or men's junk
what gets me wrong
what I think should not be published
are commercials
that lead into the nightly news featuring
the next black man getting
his *** shot by quick triggered
cops, or some television anchor rant
about Republicans caring about ****.
Give me a full frontal,
please!!

oasis soul
aches open sored genre of suffixes
or not enough crying alone
right natural science psychologists know
the medications and forms to get the payments
I am drugged amazement willing
to watch
and sigh
dreaming of a good time, dose shelters
the destination
faster than reality.

Tomorrow the baseball Hall of Fame will announce the newest members selected to join her hallowed hall.  Ken Griffey Jr.  will surely be selected.

I wish Hello Poetry had a Hall Of Fame. There are so many poets and good friends worthy of.  

In absence of, I wish to nominate the following poets for the first class when and if it is ever created. My criteria for selection to this Hello Poetry Hall of Fame are:

                    A feeling heart
                    loves  poetry
                    is a friend to others in the community

A Triple Crown.

Time and space are the only reason I have not listed all poets here at Hello Poetry:

Vicki  (My Queen, a love child of Whitman and Dickinson)
Christi Michaels MoonFlower
mark cleavenger
Musfiq us shaleheen
brandon cory nagley
The Masked Pimpernel
rebecca askew
Sjr1000
Pradip Chattopadhyay
elsa angelica
Eddie Starr Poetry
ryn
Weeping willow
KetomaRose
Steven Langhorst
Mike Essig
Willard Wells
Woody
Elizabeth Squires
SoulSurvivor
Pax
Grace
Dave Kavanagh
Sumina Thapaliya
FJ Davis
SE Reimer
Sally A Bayan
solEmn oaSis
Melissa S
Arcassin B
..... and to those I failed to mention I apologize. I am thinking of you, also, but time and space are the only limitations to my list of nominees.

glows a rose nearby the dandelion
compete for petunia to grow near her;
in the harsh of daylight, swinging and proud
both,
two sides to the coin, beauty and beast, flower and ****,
as we all do halve.

competition in the garden, in
recreation,
or reproducing, reseeding,
repopulating,  
a woman, sees
in glory the flower.
I wither.
the ****.

not a treatise on isosceles
plain square rooted in geometry
is my theorem stating an argument
of x variable is nothing
without y
+1 equals the cosine
the hypotenuse approaches mathematical infinitesimal
precision logarithmic progression
360 degreeed
determines the variable
by feeling.

I need a
hair cut delilah

and a shave- but ephedrine?
endocrine? disorder
and testosterone soars

I am what chemical?
what neurological miracles?
an infamy
in synapse symphonies....

a biological fool,
short wired fused-
refused the complex misfire
when estrogen fuss
messes with my desires.

You know, you gotta love your pup.
Even, when he is a goofy ****,
tearing up your newspaper
or taking your I-phone out
the doggy door never
to be seen again,
or thinking he's a kitten trying
to get all 100 pounds onto your lap.
His four feet bigger than a small pony's,
ears so long they drag the ground.
The brownest eyes, I swear he puts on mascara,
most forgiving- tail
always wagging-
he loves me, so,
I got to love the goofy ****.

as graphic as yours  
a slowly lifted skirt
a hand on her thigh
gliding up to her bare heaven

bare ******* with tense ***** *******
gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes
her hands on my man pride
stiffening in the limelight

a little more risque a spank on a bare
cute well formed ***
a ******* in the backseat
a tongue teasing a small cute slit

two girls and a ******
or two midgets and one twelve inch ****
the words loud raw pelvic **** me
yes yes yes

or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre
in a school 26 dead, or
a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without
borders and 50 Syrians

or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so
we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally
getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer

or is it just me that thinks the nightly
news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more *******
than a bare ******?

the middle commonplace
     poor dears
weak of voice
          making minimum wage
for all the
      billionaire
investors making up Wall street
          holding in servitude
   the poor dude
trying to pay his
         child support
with no health care
    when he gave
his sanity in Iraq.
or the single mother
         sharing with the desolate faces
the disgrace of
     going to the food bank:
           the land of the free
home of the brave
           has turned into the home of the rich:
oligarchy entrenches,
          that is why
i gave up
    a long time ago.
I looked back,
    once there was a middle
class.

i subsist on verbs
and postulate on chords
apostrophe
a symphony of synonomy
a chorus cacophony born
in hymns
and antonyms playing
on violins
paper pen
a concerto operatic
absurdity!

dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria
strangled by her own hair
which could be no Fairy tale ,
jabberwocky, listens
as does that famous semicolon concise;
By Ezra Pound.
  creepy
innocence or infamous
we all get to sooner.
On to Popeye
"Farm Implements......"
title and poem supplied by Ashbury,
hang  an albatross but don't shoot it
Mr. Coleridge,
it will hang around your neck.

a lick to the ******* up my *** glowin' a white
boy on Jim Beam and nitro screams hell yes! without
the benefit of an amplifier ebony and ivory together
brings the old south to her knees
she begs tell me 'fore you **** I say yes then oops
sorry black betty
take a grain of salt with that
for twenty bucks
on the Choctawahatchee banks so way below
the yellow rivers
Mason / Dixon look out jealous
with crosses burning ten miles further south
we are in limited territory, look out
for the man,
and swallow.

a romance stronger than *** egos not
ever known just a sweet touch of afar and
birthdays and christmases
keeping in touch through the
long distance fog of so many years
she makes cakes I taste
by her descriptions
only
we fuss
like we live together
and we have never touched
I told her my secrets she absorbed
and I held her through some dark times
in absentia just my voice
she cried on my virtual shoulder
I loved her so many times
in my imagination
we have made love so many times
by words
that's my muse

Has HP so many spinning wheels anymore?
I wait to heart a poem I like, comment, save a work, and I get,

A spinning wheel

Or a little sign:

Bad gateway. 505

Are we all dead?

alliteration in the title is as an aspect anally aspired
to a tee totally  tot teetering
most metaphorically musical misses myst mystical matriculates into
xenophobia zats a hard one blew the whole ****** thing
i lost my alliteration my theme my (excuse the cliche)
train of thought

Find yourself
against again
all odds, with
the prettiest
******, in
this whole
region.

Gently caresses,
she does,
your genitals
says the
wittiest
repartee.

Come, calm
down, old
man it's
just your
imagination,
wake up to
that headache.

after watching
the videos of children and humans
striving for a breath
their bodies limp
from a saran attack
I would strap my *** to
a cruise missile
after getting a tattoo
all over my body saying
Assad
this is for you!
It was sickening
beastlike satanic
and I cried
my stomach wretched
I shuddered
here this world is
in the 21st century
and  some of us
are still barbarians
I pray
we listen to the
little girl some
call the  Syrian
Anne Frank
my heart breaks
again

a whim I thought riding about
how numerous are the title loan places
and we are getting where pharmacies
outnumber convenience stores

I used to see on every corner a bar
or a massage parlor
a fast food place

I am going so hungry I'm going now to
the corner to pawn my ambien
for some food.

In wonder of the world
of her mysteries
sitting here dreaming alone
I wandered over a hill one day
seeking expecting
nothing
and she appeared
like a vision
shimmering perfection
mysterious
mirage

I saw her in dreams before here
she was standing growing
over the hill the whole time

always she had been there

I had just not gone forward enough

I stood in awe

and she like a tulip
shivered

Shall be
Remembered
Taken in with every touch
Into my very last nerve
Every fiber of my being
Make me whole my
Soul find heaven
My life have meaning

That last first kiss
I shall savor taste
I shall be united for once
When I taste her lips
Meant for only
Me to find
From the beginning

Just her
And
Paradise

I wish I had was and were
in control
gained a power
over them
those wistful verbs
with too much
to do with my today
but if
and could are not very likely
to cause
my words to be
more impressively
effective
at changing
anything.

it's all in the gnomes on your lawn
that draws me baby
not your curves
not those curls on your naked shoulder
or your poems
not the way you slide up to me
like some kind of fine woman
just those gnomes
I like your gnomes
baby

are we and the grass and trees
ennobled graced gifted are we
the thriving warrior's
worker ants enrichers feeding the
throng
as we strive daily along
sniffing a scent we get in
our minds a nirvana a heaven if we just
keep on
and we wax and wane in lyrical bliss
tired to the bone whipped
just to hear a song of hope or
love or perpetual peace,
and as we stay the course for
the eternity as it ticks
we are blessed to breathe to be
a part of the chorus
a melody we all make buzzing like bees
a song once did escape the numerous
that sung so rare it made a song
like a bee and an ant on a pine cone
in the forest.
For that,
I hum.

postulate carnivals festivities ferris wheels unicorns
tooting horns laughs squeals of carnivorous
joviality held breath heights scary games of chance
winning all today
it is our day
to  populate reality
with
fairy tales or obliviate insanity send notice
from highs cry together deny no more the obvious
sobriety holding in that hit wary of getting caught
losing it all
so say with me
I believe
in fairy tales

sweet
          lil' buttercup
a water crowfoot
              lil' feet in the stream
trickling
             thread like under water
broad and food for
            the frogs
who feast on you
            like Hebrew characters
at the Last Supper
            diminutive but stout
when you hold a buttercup
           up to your chin
and see the glowing.

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Now, for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But, that's not how it used to be

When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me

Oh and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned

And while Lennon read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Helter skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast

It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance

'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again

So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend

Oh and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play

And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singing

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

They were singing
Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die

Written by Don Mclean • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group, Songtrust Ave