What sonnet drowning in I have drank again?
For the 119th time. It's taste sweeter than ,
the siren tears saltier,
my heart feeling more.
Replay thy fears and conquer.
Sir, your and mine hearts are committed,
woven,  in errors ringing,
sin, desires.
That is, My Sir, greatest Bard,
is drowning the silence out.
Oh, God of words,
you won.
I am understanding,
one 119th part
of your genius.

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.

all of a sudden
kung fu you and karate chops
I like more the martial arts of thought
like  confucianism
I throw words around
and that isn't always innocent
yet I hear people
being brought down by words and take
a second look at
my words and
I am not an innocent
god , either

why it gets more solemn around ten at night
the busy people are not around, how
so many different reasons and sights
get roiled around turned over upside now
turned over and studied like squirmy things
by a botanist in a lab or in
my brain dissected like a lab rat prone
flat on my back my tail taut my ears
droop, right then, take a specimen and find
to find it all is how the time is then
too early or late or  impossible

of all  my pet peeves
my pet's ****
my cats stink my
Labrador getting pregnant
running from the IRS
a warrant I am am sure is imminent
might be more
upsetting is,
how bad my Tigers are.
I might not live very much,
but

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.

But I got this plot of land
Out in the field
Under the weeping willow,
Figure since I spent
A good piece
Of my life
Under those limbs,
It'd be a good place.
I saw a lot
There, under that tree,
How the sun
Comes and goes.
Thought it'd be a good
Enough place,
Perhaps,
To spend
Eternity

lord one day,
these kaleidoscopic visions
will tip my tongue become
ink stained virgins
with

so portray
telescope out sideways
will tilt my wrong to right
sink blame urgent
then

I say when
I write dope out my pens
still the long night torments
feel whole spend
the

whirling round in
a convenient way
so left on the
right of wrong the
correct verbs
the right way/

lifetime,
       the melody calling through
sunrise and beyond, for one songbird to
call back,
I hear her chirp
her wings thrum
my beak turns toward
the last
hum
my wings tacit

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.

my arms red from the armpits down
I exercise daily  my head
get plenty of pysical
endurance workout the cardio
from making others abodes
from seven am to six at dusk
mark a straight chalk line from about seven o'clock
as my time
that few hours I stretch  the synapses the electrical
impulses in my head to think about the greater possibilities
of someday building a temple for those like me
that make a good hand out of what they've been dealt
when playing spades I get everything but
when playing hearts I go bust
the suntan the aching legs the bulge of a hard day's work
certainly makes my temple stronger
the after seven exercising my human ability to imagine
is my life's bread

give common leeway \differences
accepted \ egos interrupt \
ten million opinions\
what title do I lose\
two people do\ behind closed doors\
shall it be the public's\
life \ get a room\ and
I don't try to look in the window\
or under any door\I try to look \
kind of around them\
into why\
I am not perfect\
I suspect but don't judge\
that neither are you\
tonight\ this second I sell\
pens under water\ and gills in the sky\
dresses to he men\
and swords to he shes\
and penises to whoever needs one\
to make themself feel better.

lines go
through a vine
growing deep
in a well drowning
a theme of loss unspoken
goes unsaid
I get it
your loss goes
on rhyming
with
mine.

We posed like **** stars in adrenaline filled bodies
proud in young magnificence always, never understood
as we kept posing statuesque... that happiness
is not met by a youthful blaze, and like glass
is always brittle...
transparently solved the  riddle we saw when
we were too old to go back.

or reached out so far I fell over my words
or promised more than I could deliver
or said I love you without meaning it

or planted visions in your head insincere
all I said was meant and from my heart
from the vault where feelings actually exist

and to be your one and to make myself whole
from the deeper things I thought life
was about, to the point where I might

believe life again had meaning, oh, meanings are so
specious, I found, So when I think I see
a shooting star again,

I will question my sight, my sanity
and hold my tongue
mute. Swollen

into a world cold and lonely I set sail my only son
I tried in the seventeen years to teach him right from wrong
so, one day I turned him into the sun and set his sights on living
It has been two years I have heard from him.
I think about him and me
and how I may have been wrong,
or how I may have done better
yet I think again
on how I may have made him strong
strong enough to not need me,
In that I am
proud
and      
weak kneed.

I've seen a ***** work for a nickeI
but I've never seen one with just one side
stereo would never sound as good
without that small decay
vision is sometimes one sighted
a stream sometimes trickles
out of its banks and thanks
I say to trickling down thighs for a nickel
both of her sides willing
taking a look at the wrong or right side
is worth sometimes a
shiny nickel.

Snell's law in life a medium
of a mind prism, as sure as ,
the wavelenths have varying temperatures:
Wide open aperature of high
the slitted view of depressions,
purpish absorbing the green, yellow
echoes, yellow absorbing the hot red rays.
If only I saw what was absorbed, the waves that came I ignored.
Blue with depressions, colder than all the feel of ultraviolets.
Or intense as the white paper absorbing the infrared rays.
I pass , like a prism, the negative refractive indexes.

In the depths of life's chaos there is hope
   a light of salvation to pursue,
       Joy, in a fleeting glimpse,
            but a small moment of tender peace,        
                calms the restless eternity.

Seeing this woman standing
before me fully dressed. Svelte,
sleek in her black dress, legs smooth,
she appeals to all my senses,
smells of lotions from heaven, lanolin
moisturizing electrifying all my senses
straining my eyeballs and all my tendons
I approach, warily.
Not wanting to scare her away I say
words of honey melting off my dripping tongue
scheming
and oh so short of breath I attempt
to impress this pretty woman
fully dressed.

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.

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

Cross creek crooked
flows
"tween **** dead bluish growths
above
because
seeing just the shimmer
of the bottom
of the river
a murky bed bottom-fed
sun shine flicker
ripples trickles seeking levels
seeds fed with moisture may
cause
roots to grow
unbeknownst
to the majestic.

visible

by shadowed
casts

with small artifacts
reflected

a small glow
in the dark

looking black

until I focus or un
my eyes

look askance and catch

it is not absence of colors
or glow

the why
I am

invisible

it is an impediment If I am focused
on correct
if I am seeing your decisions on
me
why do I ask? Am I correct.
I want go sail on my impediments.

I pause in places, you do not.
I write my heart out, trying
to let out
what hurts what bothers
what is conjuring my inner thought?

If I am meek, or contemplating, what will you
or I think of me?
If I speak my truth, and leave a comma out,
or mispell (ie) one word,
does my feelings go unheard?

take into account the entire picture
of the world, men being cruel and inhuman
on the large scale, wars, nuclear annihilation threatening,
genocide most recently in Syria,
in the history looking back
that is what I see, the gas chambers in Germany,
the Congolese under the rule of Leopold,
the Seminole, my peoples the Cherokee mostly dead,
mass murderers, such as
Stalin, Mao, Islam and Christianity,
campaigning slaughter, inhumanity to man,
like a wild animal, the beast is us. Then
let us look at us. We, in our actions, our wanting at all costs to win, our
genetic makeup our striving to survive,
all bred and taught into us just continues it all. And we ask why?
Look at Hello Poetry. For a year a war has been fought. And no one is winning.
But both sides are unable to say enough. To say you too are of my kind, human, And
here, we are supposed to be the best of our kinds, the empathetic feeling ones in this crazy ****** up place we call Earth. ******* it.
Poets fighting each other as reckless as one sided as ISIS against  Bashar al-Assad .  Or Kim Jong-un threatening the world.
I am beginning to like animals
more than people.
They love unconditionally or **** for food.
There is no mistaking, no middle, no rationalizing,
it just is nature. Man is different. He kills because of words and mistaken ideals, no animal does.
Poets , in my ideal, are to use their words for love and peace.
Not mirror the rest of this ****** up world!

Speak loud on the highest hills
pay no debt to any who name
a past debt due
find that bit and brace yourself
to reign in that wild stallion,
then ride him ******* to grab with your hands
fire and rain
sing your name from every
pass
stand naked as it  is your dying day
shout, with every last breath,
I worship you.

motions, like sky breezes
dancing along the Milky way
we crept decoratively
hand in hand

to the masculine side and back
me leading then you
followed along the firefly
paths

there we met hand in hand
breast to chest
woman to man
in majesty

hard to say goodnight to sweet beauty
the sounds of love passionately
echoing her cries from here to there
but, comes a time eyes must close
and let in tomorrow's dreams and words
I listen while
I sleep
you would too,
if you had Pink Floyd
and David Gilmour
ringing in your ear!

just observing from
my particular viewpoint how
the clouds outline is much like
a tree's

you pose proud
in gentle soft
candles

before my rigid
consonance and stringent need
flickering

gracefully sweet
you proffer
as I savor
deep

you flow
we merge
near rage
enthralling

together rage
my sweet,
my sweet.

I look small without a wee
'stache below my nose,
grey and black it never grows.
I feel so small, like it, my nose,
on the other hand,
out of it grows ferns and forests,
white, green and charcoal.
tickling, most, memorable.
I am remembering,
at nineteen I tried to grow sideburns.
They came in *****.
Soft and sultry, I shaved them off, well,
just the tops. In the mirror, I still,
look small.

I've a song many truthful
as a genre they run the gamut
from country sad to blues
to new york manhattan mainstream cool
the hot spots
no
I have a song many heartfelt
spoken as a tear fell out of
my eye had to stop singing
there for a min
yes  a song that sings to
christmas carols 364 days of the year
- chestnuts roasting on an open fire-
watching Breakfast at Tiffany's again singing
Moon River until cat
comes back
don't get me started
about Audrey,
or Linda Ronstadt in her day
I still have that song
it is long
not written down
but committed
to memory
and so many others

a C. Bukowski poem and bean with bacon soup with regular crackers
I dipped in and burned every bit of my mouth swallowed the reactive mess fast, like a nuclear thing it burnt all the way down.
I felt the way I did when I kissed last Sunday, that twenty dollar *****
on her nether lips, I dipped my cadmium rod into a beer, after
stopping what may react just like Fermi did.
Satisfied, I cooled off, and farted away bubbly drinking
the rest of the night.

We are together in pieces
made of a a poem facade
the sound of a big dog
howls into the sky
for something right
and only a kiss
so, open your eyes
aggressive, albeit alibis
are calling , I am doing just fine!
I am much too steep!
The pictures in my mind are
not long enough,
you closed your eyes-
madness, once again a lonely night
for once I'm sane and blurred again
bleeding out...
I like your sorry,
always words for me
worry, bury me.

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one. It will not be a ***** heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)

standing near my

swaying over her
(silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my

(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

&the whole garden will bow)







Edward Estlin CUMMINGS

around
    town down a corner
turn at the stop sign
       left
see the new blush
          of rust Orange
high upon the top
                 limbs
leaves one breathless
           Fall....

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

to open this seized door swollen with
dewdrops and tears wet  frozen in casings
flee the chaos  stop the hours
in the glass ticking grains of sand away
filling in counting life's
unfeeling days

to the world's woes elude me
from down here spinning around
trying to make sense
while making cents into a dollar

or writhing lonely
while  a billion stars
glow in the sky
and the pizzeria
right next door

I find the neon distracting
the clown delivery cars
delivering to the hungry
while I starve
right under the glow
ironic

until I noticed the old woman
at the washeteria,
watching
the washer spin to a stop
slowly with her walker

stoop down in pain,  
unload her knitting of booties ,
with a faint beauty
a smile on her wrinkled
eyes and lips

another Joni classic{

"Raised On Robbery"


He was sitting in the lounge of the Empire Hotel
He was drinking for diversion, he was thinking for himself
A little money riding on the Maple Leafs
Along comes a lady in lacy sleeves
She says, let me sit down, you know drinking alone's a shame, it's a shame, it's a crying shame
Look at those jokers glued to that **** hockey game
Hey honey, you've got lots of cash
Bring us down a bottle and we'll have some laughs
Gin's what I'm drinking, I was raised on robbery

I'm a pretty good cook, sitting on my groceries
Come up to my kitchen, I'll show you my best recipe
I try and I try but I can't save a cent
I'm up after midnight cooking, trying to make my rent
I'm rough but I'm pleasing, I was raised on robbery

We had a little money once, they were pushing through a four lane highway
Government gave us three thousand dollars, you should have seen it fly away
First he bought a '57 Biscayne, he put it in the ditch
He drunk up all the rest, that *******
His blood's bad whiskey, I was raised on robbery

You know you ain't bad looking, I like the way you hold your drinks
Come home with me honey, I ain't asking for no full-length mink
Hey, where you going, don't go yet
Your glass ain't empty and we just met
You're mean when you're loaded, I was raised on robbery

Joni's " The Circle Game"

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game *

Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like when you're older must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game *

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him take your time it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

And go round and round and round
In the circle game。。。。。。

over the hills where wild raspberries grow
ripe under the mulberry bush in the valleys
blush hidden from most , sweet nectars rush
I found Eden and Eve and everything
yet no apple  or serpent,
desire entwined with
limbs -  fruit of heaven
on earth- her awaiting

I draw a smile
  with a yellow highlighter
on my down-turned frown
when I feel down.

I paint a smiley
   tattoo with a Sharpee
under my nose with upturned
   corners, it tickles me so.

I Shoot my reflections
   sadness between the eyes
with iridescent paint *****
     and never miss, the glow in my darkness.

I then stand naked in my id
      calling every demon daring them,
come to get me you *******
      *******.

Smiley bodied emoticon:
   Here....... :)))))))))

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.

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.

unabashed, ok not really,
  that I lied to her,
but with no bad intent,
******, I lied again.

I exactly meant what  I professed to her
alone in the woods, after we both drunk too much.
I swear.

I tripped over my tongue again,
I see, But, 'tween Led Zeppelin and
the hood of my Old's Cutlass

between here and there was true words,
that lifted her skirt
I smile, innocently.

is significant
    a dandelion
is really pretty
         much more,
I think than a close cropped
        perfectly manicured
lawn.

I like the sight of a bit
    of wild, the variances
of color and genera
      the birds seem to , too.

My landlord though,
    keeps threatening me
as I sit with a kitty
     playfully in three foot tall
lawns and weeds.

      so, I says to him,
I will cut it down
                  if you trim your wild ***
nose hairs,
you know different things bother
     him and me.