wandering in the west wonderland of the east
coast of  psychedelia along the northern coast
of a southern island
I came to  the perception
of me as a scorpion
tail held high prancing venomously
striking the hand  that fed me
along the willowing trails of honey nectar
the rainbow sailing sailboats in sun
colors glistening
the breathing cloud skies of blue gold
right next to a godlike creature sat I
tail up telling tales
with poison assed consequences,
making promises like a politician
was a bad trip then , until,
I saw  bodhisattva sipping brandy and being just him
along side a unicorn on a hill
outside Hollywood
I took his hand
his discipline his calm
his realm now mine. He gratefully shared.
Now this was my kind of dude.
I waited around and he melted away
and ten vestile virgins appeared in his wake.
Each more beautiful than I can say.
And we ate strawberries and flew in the sky wingless
partied on shortcake and cream and I was happy once.
A beautiful dream a memorable trip.
It opened my eyes. My senses cleansed.
I  try to live just like that.
Imaging Nirvana again, every day

Almond colored
   not really
light, not really dark
salty slightly sweet.

sharp, cheddar
  soft, edible
pliant forgiving

Day into
  years

Tears remembered
shed
when you are far
away.

If my shadow were cast down a venturous hill
if the glow of my eyes cast longingly
one time more upon
the rose blooming
or a sunrise
then might would cast o' venture
into my black
shadow the reflections glow
might shine upon my dark black sights, might
my dreaming eyes awake?
then day ever shine no night
would ever be intolerable
or might I as  when I am
a poem live
forever
eternally?

Old age has its  advantages
because
I find it harder
to remember what it
was
I was trying  to forget

lauren elise  Normally I wouldn't instigate like this, but NFL players aren't simply taking a knee for the fun of it. If you want to go as far back as Normandy, let's talk about the forced migration of slaves to the United States, the colonialist division of African nations, and the pillaging and ****** that accompanied that. Let's talk about the forced separation of black families as they were sold off like livestock, the rapes of slave women, the beatings of slave men. Let's talk about the implemented indentured servitude after slavery was abolished, that kept free black people enslaved and poor because they had no resources, no money and no dignity. The lynchings and the discrimination. Let's talk about the de jure segregation that divided school districts, neighborhoods, and deprived people of color of access to equal education and job opportunities. How about the exclusion of black women from women's rights movements? They did not receive the same rights at the same time as white women. When segregation was abolished, how about the de facto segregation, the redlining, the defunding of black neighborhoods that sentenced them to poverty and disqualified them this American notion of "equal opportunity?" What about when the poverty and lack of education increased the crime and drug activity that has led to the mass criminalization of black communities? The school to prison pipeline? Think about the fact that people of color have not been legally "equal" to white people for even 100 years. The police brutality today mirrors the police brutality of the Civil Rights era. Everything that black people face on this day is a result of the dehumanization and discrimination that white people imposed on them from the start. This is not coincidental protest. This is not ungrateful. Our soldiers have fought for our rights from the start, but not always for the rights of people of color. Peaceful protest is an American right. Plus, let's not talk about disrespect for American soldiers and veterans when our very own "President" is the first person to disrespect them.

just visiting
   every once in the while
                this exotic place
where dreams take shape
again

along treelines
   very near the coastal plains
                a time once where ships
had sails and lives were
placed

by visionaires
   painting psalms as true stories
               and dreams as real life
morals with plans to make
more

in the future
    as sticks and sands and
             and waders in the blue surf
lapping at ankles call the
shore

home as the sailor seeks
      his love when the sails have folded
              the salt washed in fresh waters
again a sip of barley
seek

amore'

I was just wondering , tell me the truth,
if you were not a poet might you still love
as deep?
If you did not feel the words sworn by
Dylan Thomas , or slobber when
E. E. Cummings comes  (hey)
or wonder how Emily kept all those
words in her breast all those years-
might you just be another drone gathering
real estate or gold?
I ask you now, might
you have been happier then ,
with a Mercedes Benz, as Janis,
tongue in cheek, asked God for?
and not feel just a little bit for Woodstock playing
memories on Youtube at six in the morning
drinking your last beer?

I want to be the alm the faithful glorier
a day in a mind that keeps center about
a truth memory a kept kiss secret
in days of pink sky seances and
the solemn remembrances that people
cry for sob
break bread for have
tea in dresses best dress
around fine china,
though I never had any,
altered states where I might find fine
the silken robes those kings adjust
as they eye me suspicious
for I aim to change away
the blood rights judiciary
and make plain
pollen eye-watering.

Some things are just better left
unsaid.

does the prettiest flower light a horizon
prettier than her?
Can any martingale sing a melody
with her perfection?
Heaven is on the horizon,
a glow of earthly crimson,
An orchard of apple trees,
set on a hill
in dimming backlight.
Blossoms glow from her limbs.
Seasons work magic,
Calm is all a glow,
distance is relative,
when seeing life
renewed.
Life is a circle,
of red glimmers
and yellow hues.

Ring chimed paper voices penned word
choices of centering glades,
elm candled flickering
fog lifted distances ,
whisper
amazed,
light bathes the dove shelter,
in vespers,
of nested pieces and fat flies
fed for the eating,
o' who forgets the
ultimate
destination
awaiting..

In this service, i will pronounce a disservice,
too many.
I vocalize "YHWH" as "WE",  
here it goes:
True, the Bible, the Koran will not agree:
The Egyptians and Greeks were so sure
of their  beliefs.
I see us all a part of polytheistic sanctity.
No apples eaten no Satan.
Only two parts of the same religion, front
and back, all sharing Hell.
We all are descended from Adam.
Who the ever He was.
We descend from unity to here to learn the tragedies, the humors, the other side of Heaven. If we learn, get the message,
we return to our oneness.
Our Atoms
our Us,
again part of the,
We.

as I stare wild starving in the world full
of human beings, progress, tall buildings:
or glare mild at the field full of protein;
sustenance enough to make hay the life;
straw deities comedic scarecrows just
for  the fun of it, launch colored balloons
or string cornhusks together,   decorate
the fair old oak standing in the center
that neither loves too much or cries  at the
slightest breeze that fells his seed among the
cultivations  like they may grow prouder
than all the skyscrapers ever man built
in concrete, the fair oak an oasis
of nature for the squirrel to discover

on what side the bed she may fall out of
when 4 pm comes around,
depends , portends which one of her I come
home to.
She may be Happy hilarious good mood
Beatrice, that
is a day I cherish,
or if she falls off the end she may be sultry all go for it
Sadie , with her world of tricks lined up,
their numbers in her hand,
If perchance she never gets out the stove is cold the cats all
fuss, the dog has ****** all
over the house,
and she is comatose Katie,
She one time got off on her knees,
I came home about ten-thirty for lunch to find
a shrine built out of every ring necklace
pearl she could find piled  up in a heap
by the fireplace , and her in a sarong
chanting, she said she was Bodhisattva,
a nice day is when she arises with healing thoughts,
dresses in that white dress those hose
the comfy nurse shoes, and greets me at
the door with her stethoscope,
I say Hi,  Nurse Ratched!

This age
         Of the end justifies
  The lie and reality
        Is what you say enough
              Loud  proud
      
No matter

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!



Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/if-by-rudyard-kipling#ixzz3ogpfN1hg
#FamilyFriendPoems

I have been devout and without
an avid follower of me
and nowhere found
the bed without a flower
after breaking ground
I grow
to glisten though
my distance closing
gentle breath show
my distance from the sun
there have been no answers
from doubt
i bleed and am blind still
the show we share
shadows forgotten
paths run walking or grown
the power is all
to quiet moments trust
to meet in far off oceans
where watching a sense
quite like fantasy
meets poetry and motion.

all the hearts the best sunrises the
firmaments
the stars above
the us below
tomorrow and memory
a birthday surprise
the widest smiles
a handshake
a close embrace
the condolences when you have lost someone
a walk along the riverfront
the willows branches crying eternally
the new child born
the old wise sage
the sweet grape
the sour days
a new moon's rise
a sliver of
the last month of spring with
flowers bloom
the births of hope
I bequest you
all I have ever cared about
and hope it is
enough

all us good ole' boys
in Bamalama
got to fight for
the right to kiss
these southern Belle misses,

It's slim pickens and farmers daughters
guarded by big corn fed brothers
daddies shotgun, here, in Dixie.

I don't have a John Deere or a jacked up
four wheel drive pickup,
my accent is acquired from all the years,
to them sounds unnatural,
my drawl.

Hell, I don't do nothin'
no more, but fight,
it's like a civil war, I wear
a smile, you know, cause the
farmer's daughters,
fortunately are curious.

I wear a black eye
and red lipstick mark,
on my collar.

The Way is long on winding trails
of bitter weeds and daffodils
through goldenrod and thistles sharp
with Devil's song and Angel's harp
on accompaniment by day,
and haunting through
the night.
Alone I travelled 'til the day
Your tender voice did I hear say
" Let bitter weeds and thistles sharp
and Devil's song perish with the dark
for forever more, hand in hand,
we travel in the light."

The infatigable undefeatable Maurice Brown
Played the tuba down on
First street. Freelanced.
I saw him once spanking that ***
On Mardi gras
Long ago.
I sent him a shot of Bourbon
And a jack back then
So admiring of his
Oomph oomph bellow
His large belly fit that brass
So well.
He was backbone of the street
Musicians marching proud
Through those streets lined
With drunks pickpockets
**'s pimps and beggars three.
All he cared about was that driving deep sound
The shot brought him
In the needle after
Performing.
I saw him last time ten years ago
Asleep in the gutter down on brown street.
Alone his tuba
Gone.

December came on bitter winds,
I sat with frosty breath and frozen fingers
         along the banks of the Clinton River
in the dead of winter stuttering with shivers
     thinking how much I love this cold.
Drank from my flask a bitter searched the white
    horizon for the signal that you were still awaiting me
as I shriveled coldly, doubting, the wind
       could ever cease, or bitter
cold would ever warm or
     flasks would fill
and lied down.

10 seconds
too long
1/6 of a minute
wrong
rearrange priorities
don't risk
unnecessarily
true love
or stare
too long
at the
sun.

Am and me poestry

  gets
fuckedy uppy

whence

I go on and on and...

per    man    ently
one or two
can't stop

wrought rusty

i ron

beer smelly

big bellied
I drin k to
u

worrying of a brain hemorrhage from illicit
things or prescribed demons,
a coronary on the verge of happening,
a massive overdose just waiting,
a psychiatrist not really solving,

friends, saying take this
pharmacists street and legal,
medicate your will into a blue green tired
witching siren screaming into wigging violence

take smoke shoot **** hit bang wig go off get on get off
you think for ten minutes slow decay fast death worlds fall around you,
no outlets, no day sleep until you take somethings,
drink gin fall in your puke smile
never
again.

are annoyingly loud silently
coy, proud, defensive,
prancing around
chomping cheerios
slurping, now. the milk from the bowl,
leave the toilet seat down
on purpose, I see.
Grind your teeth incesantly,
at night, snoring.
I come home from forty and more
hours working
putting them bon bons in your mouth.
You watch too many reality programs,
I wanna watch "I Love Lucy"
It all cracks me up.
Pull all the covers off me, you do.
When we first met-you pooted.
now you ****.
I see you growing in so many ways.
It is amazing.

like a tree
   A mighty Oak an Elm
I am fully grown.

The wind blows through me
   barely a stir or bend
no wind can bring me down.

Come within my boughs
    and build your nest
I  will hold you high above the clouds.

I will grow a canopy to shade
      you from the burning sun,
keep your calm, for I am grown.

Tell your young and grandchildren
     to come back here one day,
when they are grown as I.

Let me care for generations
    shield them give them homes.
For today, I am grown.

I really feel
sitting down
on a patch of green
on an ant hill
or pile of earth
the trees smiling
hear the birds
see the squirrels
scurrying
here on the side of civilization
an asphalt
man made hurrying past
pumping noxious gas
chattering on phones
texting who knows
what to whom like
life depends  on them
I can barely feel the ant biting
my ***
and hear no complaints from the grass
as I sit on her
watching nature
and slow down
and no one
makes me move on

large particularly rude
arsenals of words
unaffected by cardinal
rules
nor reasons,
universally chord-ed
disturbingly discordant,
carmine
corpuscular
vivid
dripping down the
necks
the body
headless
goes on kicking
unable to contain
it.

Tending the lawn
     the dandelions
the wiregrass
     growing wild
in my front yard,
     is so cathartic.
Raking pine straw
      sharp as a ginsu knife
barefoot,
      is not.

and....when the words don't come
you search
search
the bottom and the top
left to right, right?
the words not used up
the leftover crumbs
put together a meal
of morsels found
remaining
still,, when you're done
you feel hungry
still groveling the Dictionary
or Thesaurus for more?

fancily dressed we stride
on main street down the barely lit
side streets to get to

The view, on the edge of town,
west of here and now,
where sunsets are gathered
into red and sorrows.

Or we live across the tracks,
where fancy is just washed and patched up,
still,
we stride with the same
destination
in mind and soul.

Futures are still written
only  with pen and papers, any
rich man or pauper shares.

May we someday, be equal.

unseen , only realized by those with vision,
who saw the tree grow tall, like the others
in the tribe, noticed , when it fell down, exposed
what was hidden, yes , from water soil,
from the earth , from our eyes
are things hidden, the roots
to everything often
are right under our limbs
our hard outsides, our beauty
our reaching for heaven,
our eyes but missing one part
of the picture of the mountain
or tree, or buffalo,
wolf ****
or
origin.

a virtual frame imaginatively
borders a frivolous game
of finger paints smeared
into a caricature,
a name-less master
with childlike innocence
sculptured and formed
the symbols in pastels
and gray fingerprints

Play god
with Barbie dolls
Matchbox cars
   popsicle sticks
make a game of it
  with your best friend
make a sidewalk creation.

his heart like a 20 oz framing hammer
his fists a sledge
his mind keen as a straight edge and razor knife
his body made hard from long hours
a grip like a pipe wrench
he would shake hands with vise grips
his gaze unnerving
but smart
he could see through the blueprints
when he laughed , which was seldom,
he shook the foundations.
When you needed his help,
he was there.

be brave, give me
your hand, touch me.

Oh..... sigh,

Write again, the stars flowers ponds
But,
when you desire
a real touch
come to me.

When you put your pen down,
when,
the time comes: the ink is leaving
your paper blank.

Love is now hard to write
about,
Put your hand in mine, touch.

I resolve to break my resolution.

lines If
             I ( could once write
                brilliance seen read lived Yes
                                     complete a sentence
      in a straight line
                            thought
obliterate waking knowledge let go of
inhibitionsandliveprecariously
        followwwwwwww
the rules

if alll cammmmetrue

illogically as it seems
                         peace
would rain daily on doves wings and Jack would run up the hill with Jill
again.

she wrote me a letter, scented
of perfume
I no longer had my third biggest
budget bill
the plug in air fresheners and
Febreeze
by the gallon,  no longer needed.

And, about then I got this Email,
invest
in the US Postal Service, the stock is at an
all time low.
So now I am much richer, more wise,
conscious
of the future again, it is smelling sweeter!!
I have
the emailed  stock certificates to
prove!

I re-invested all those savings wisely.
awaiting
the dividends. When I sit vicariously, pouring over my balance
sheet,
I find Olde English and cigarettes have
risen way to the top of my budget the
empty
cans are my top asset! I
smile
at my luck, almost like winning the
Lottery!

on a demented chorus
I began
I entitled
soberly
of moon and body
speaking of green
or ales
I have not imbibed
in  the last 1 hours
but I hear tweets
from mockingbirds
chasing gliding swooping
down from the nests
I guess
i threaten.
So, this message mis-titled
a chorus mis-guided
sails into the air
as a chirp chases me,
hiding,
I need a beer.

clearly, I lean to the left
walk with a pre-existing tilt
that in the halo of the House of Republican's
vote this week, might cause me to be
labeled a high health risk,
they also see me as
Alabama senator Mo Brooks labeled
as antithesis to "people who lead good lives"
and therefore strike me down with cancer or something.
He sees a way to waive health-care mandates
and save money, so those in the top 2% of income
can get a tax break.
Wake up people , rapists are running wild with false rhetoric and
you elected and pay them.
I have no choice in Alabama. The right is entrenched and
the education system is wrecked. Corn fed cows
pigs and ***** guarding the sheep
have more of a conscience than any elected official here.

and every day is a chapter and every
dream a limb
every new thing a sunrise and  every leaf
a hymn
and every song has her melody
and every tune her key
each wisdom its simplicity
simple things their place
prejudices their predispositions
and harmony her grace
and a new day will dawn
I am so sure
where the trees grow flowers
of fruit and the leaves fall
like money and
the songs are as melodic
as wisdom on a new sunny day
and the people place no
thought to differences
i pray

KnobNess
By Finnius Dilkington


KnobNess is upon us

Altho my KnobNess is not nu

been working on my KnobNess for some time now

37 years & a few

My KnobNess is incomplete.

Incompetent

untrue

I am certain I have more KnobNess

More KnobNess

more than you

At times you'll see my KnobNess

At the luncheon table and such

I'll tell a joke & mess about

You'll laugh out of politeness

And

"not very much"

My KnobNess is like a steaming plastic packet

fresh ripped from the Microwave

a packet Inside a black plastic bag,

un clean and un true
Here's the the thing that thing I do

Make an insulting racket; Hussle,

Huzzah and harangue too

is my technique

is nothing new

KnobNess in my acting actions

Like the malevolent Sir Richard Chamberlain

fancy in some vile and delinquent role

Dolled up, ****** arresting

With grasping grabbing

Needful hands.

"Yon knobNess is thus"

"And thus"

(wrists bent)

And the dark black circles about his actors eyes

create no illusion

I remain at the centre of my KnobNess

Assured in my self believing belief

frequent feeling of my own genitals Is

no more,

no less

than any others.

impressionistic, dabs at life's canvas
trying  the light and dark,
usually  violating the rules,
freely expressing outside  the contours,
the boundaries no limit for me,
I am not tooled
or succinct in the palate
of medieval  details  limiting a
certain number of syllables,
I use adverbs and adjectives interchangeably
try though I may
my write hand  wobbles,
and veers of the course ,
and I see

from a single voice I breathe
symmetrical and perpendicularly
when
from me, two lines meet, and I diametrically oppose
myself, interpret lines as flares or
fires, get eyes of worry
fuzzy visions, I stare,
into a mirror and stare back at me.

how I will die what for and how
will it be for a cause or just burnt out?
in the darkness alone or with love
around me. Will I cry out my last pleas, to Jesus?
Will I overdose
or quick be gone by a bullet to my head
or an aneurysm?
Suffer with tumors or cling in a coma?
Destiny is dying.
I will, if given a chance, gladly die for
some young soul or a dog or rat or a cat or a flea
if I died for another.
I would die for thee.

the trajectory of dreams
the fair world seen
through rose colored glasses
or is my glass half full
or empty that
kind of reasoning
or introverted death throes
weighed on a tragic scale
is balanced I know
by hearts with something to say
amateurishly, like me or by
Whitman's next coming Genius of
rhymes, so I say , the scales
if even fully to one side
and poetry way up
in the air by bad metaphor
or crass simile
weighs nothing when
compared to daily miseries of
the blank public stares the
cheep cheep cries of a sparrow fallen
down floundering
or three kittens
that died in my arms
when their mother
refused to feed them
so even bad poetry I believe
and how I have managed to provide
weighs more than the
scales of life
will ever show.

a tree
young sappling grown
in fertile soil well  sunned and dappled
grew hard strong tall and known
to all the creatures of the forest

his free
dancing in the breeze
drew squirrels from far and near
every creature within the bounds
of the forest around to see and hear

his breath
of maturity at a young ripe
age the color of his bark so clear
his limbs as strong as any seen

brought wide acclaim fame
and infamy because
one day he had the nerve to
walk away

pull up roots
make a way down the mountain top
to a place the evergreen
is not supposed to be

right in the middle of the
river flowing
and it weren't no breeze
nor typhoon

that set him there
it was his own free will
and he cooled his root and
sang hymns

to her

The annals of Peter Pertuity
so dense complex with impunity one
headed unempathetic saying
how WE feel
and what WE need. One
eyed
blind
genetically disposed
a natural propensity
kindly, we say,
exposing us and you to
raincoats on corners and ladies we think get a
thrill.

if when comes a day the sunset does not amaze me:
     or my nose does not sneeze at the breeze on the shores
a wave splashing, I turn my back to, or
         any dog unfed goes by my house without a bone:
or a willow finds no one hearing her cries;
           a sparrow flies to alight on a limb
and I take no mental picture of.
            Or I forget to tend my yellow roses, and they become all thorns.
Or I don't get high when the bee or hummingbird buzzes,
      or when I sleep long and miss,
the mystic mountain as it grows out of darkness
       at sunrise.
**** me quick, if I for a second quit believing that life is meaningful.