when I close my eyes
   feel right through my toes
is the best
               that song that claims my heart
makes the tear run from my eye
                I feel inside
whether I understand or not
      just plays
again again listening
   after all the echoes
are my feet,
                tapping

upon a ledge i felt this urge
to look beyond
the rock under my feet
crazy
is not a goal
a destination maybe
listened to people
some experts on cliff psychiatry
say
an urge to jump
is an urge to live
so high places
I seek
precarious
a bit
of anxiety sensitivity
some said
I look out over
the roofs
after all
down is where
we go
eventually

only to the one I really love do I ask
have you got smokes?
to her I share my darkest dreads, I don't have to act or put on airs.
Only am I me with her.
Only her , I act so casually.
In her presence I am me.

after six weeks of ***** laundry piling up
after six pack after
six pack, a hit or two along the way, I smell like ****....
like a homeless man left on the park bench's seat.
have no more direction than to get another
six pack, hit,  ******* under the overpass.
The bad taste left in my mouth
tasting like camel ****,
asphalt chewing on walls of cement-
Lucky I have anything, am not in the big city,
the sun not blocked by tall sky scraping businesses,
no taxis nor big crowd of loneliness rushing,
I am the only homeless man here.

what was  in the longest sleep I have ever had?
dreams of mistletoe or camels
the brunch with the Dalai Lama
or George Harrison's hair
in my hands,
and had I any dream?
I don't know....
just rest
for me,
a quiet peace.
a piece of God.

arranged all in rows
tamed
well life is not like that
it comes with dissonances
and travails
and the blessed part is,
surprisingly,
is the best things are always
bittersweet.
I can rhyme,
I can sing,
I know cadence and hymnals and
all the various structures
you wanna stuff life into
it don't work that way,
if you do say pose a prose or poem
or problem in one way
there are ten million at least
gonna not see it.
life is not a box all
geometric symmetrically
straight lined  x equals y
nor are lives
life stinks a lot
I guess
what I am proposing
is why make it seem
like anything
but what it is
a struggle
U struggle I struggle
to make sense of  it all and it's too big
too vast
too complicated
I  like flowers
Buttercups among my favorites
but sometimes I hate them too
because i like dandelions
and the man is trying to grow only
flowers

of Euclid's Parallel Postulate
I feel like a line to never touch
in geometric space veering off
into infinite angles,
always congruent
I need to enjoy the parabolic
spherical
stand in one spot
and the focus of the parabola
will become
an axis of symmetry
if I hold still
long
enough
to the curves.

to tree limbs
to mountains
to forefathers
from your gloom

reach for the heavens
grateful
for nature shows you

look up in the darkest sky
and stars sparkle

I want to thank all who contributed, viewed, commented, shared.

Community poem

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

I wish to make a poem  of community involvement. I have started it with the first four words. It is an experiment to see what may be created by many minds, many contributions. To add to this poem, place your words you wish to add in Quotations  in a comment . All contributions will be added in sequence. All will be added, nothing deleted. Help if you can. Let us see what many might create.

10/12/2014
Now I wish to acknowledge all who contributed in order:

I wish to acknowledge all the authors who contributed to Community poem. In order of contribution:

Ana Sophia
Venusoul 7
Vicki Bashor
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Aussi Air
robert martin
Cheryl love
aivustianumus
Tryst
lizany
betterdays
Helen
r
irinia
Courtne­y Pruitt
patty m
betterdays
robert martin
Derick Smith

under me tunnel all mine energy
a bridge above
turn me around a
corner
bring me home

writed mine obituary
say he , was unknown

plant a flower
in a tunnel
and I will see.

Home
eventually.

feel wet and get swept
down mountains in currents
get all muddy in life
let others go on clean
i get down and ***** with realness
like hug a pine tree or
jump a twig like you did
when you were innocent
and caught a bug in your hands
and gave the dirt a kiss
pet
a stray dog took him home
this is life
this is loving

conspire.....

Yours: snapping turtle in the cattail thrushes;
             IMPRESSIVE   you are!
Impressive you be.
              My rage ensues at cattail thrushes......
by your rage I steam
              and swagger bemused
succumb in glorious rendevous,
              amazed.
Mine: we conspire secretly,
SO naughty..... poetically.

As a lifelong adventure I eclipsed the generation I was grown up with
felt so much that turned wrong and sad on November 12, 1934
should have been born different
I kept up to date and conceptually relate
I would have been honored to be at Woodstock it's like I was there
in my head and psychedelics and mushrooms
were my references and Beatniks along with
Carlos Casteneda influenced me from deserts .
My philosophy grew and reasoned, until now where I see greed and
possessions are so important.
I never lost the dream, though,
of Peace on Earth.

languid shrouds of
language apocryphal
indistinct and purely equestrian
but it seams
to glow of moisture gleaming like an organic high
with undulance continuity pleasing in a way
a strand of care-free rhapsodic parody
by chance bluish purple
ostentatious echoing
evocative even if not meant
like a dream state
a plethora suffuse
a glowing abundance
of too much
new.

could I ever explain
will any words you transpire
will any alphabet portray
to you rose bush why
why I must take the flower from your stem

what beauty what wish
could make me **** one
to honor another?
Yet, ways of love what
may I give in forgiveness, thorns?

Dear, oh dearness growing
an honorary a remembrance,
may I return  her here,
for you to understand her glory,
prettier than growing alone,
is your flower
adorned her golden hair,

I am given this right
to  feel to try
I with the next breath
expand my chest and might

I flex my aura my
lungs my being
I strive like every living
thing

I stand as tall as I was made
by the rich dirt
nurtured by the falling waters

I stand  in the rain
arms spread wide taking in
my birthrights
the worth
of me

I give each and all
every sprout every tree
every gnat and flea
this right also

I cry when
the rain falls
when the sky clouds up

the heavens must breathe ,
too
thankfully

am I to do now, grab a train the next one out,
is the answer , to where the man asks,
to where the whistle blowing takes you,
the man looks bewildered worried,
will it be a place more forgiving,
not our worry the chorus rises,
so he rode out of town, until
he got tired of being the outcast
stood up,
thing is this is not an old story,
it is now,
then the backlash came
the hate thrown back at the  hated
they stood in awe thought they were powerful
but,
the righteous shall overcome  
came a louder chorus
and so it was
the tables turned
even though they did not want them to
the righteous and right shall overcome some day,
watch out.

this is a rant
on who the painter is who paints a white canvas.
who makes it blank, all the same?
Who paints with one color, the confused?
My painter, the one who created this canvas
this universe this creation
paints with many shades of
variance. He paints not
one nation, not one race, not one star, not one season,
he paints
many faces,
many days all different
many nights some dark
some radiant.
He painted  us the colors
of all of heaven. Gave us the many shades of gray.
He painted a sunrise yellow of goldest glow,
a night to see the day with a new perspective.
He painted choices right
and painted us the freedom to choose.
Trees of many green with barks light and dark
some are white. All are right.
Remember who painted this.
He painted a sky
not always blue.

I obsess compulsively
in and out of continual focus
absorbing without effects
selective serotonin re-uptake
inhibitors, wearing out a path in my floor
as i go back and forth to the bathroom,
again    again   again
staring at a caricature of me
fixated on this one unruly hair
perpetually sticking up,
neither Brylcreem nor plucking can tame
all this irrational behavior.
I know all these years i have devoted are
in some psychotic haze.
I am bald.
But I still have
eyebrows.

in peripheral vision lives a little all seeing wizard
wand in hand he waves in apostrophes
but if like me you are we ignore
go on a merry path until;
the sun seems to no longer shine again,
handcuffs get slapped on,
the electricity goes off,
some quick tow truck finds your title loan ride,
or you wake up....

That day, the sun as bright as yellow-white,
the day Robinhood met Cinderella
on the fairgrounds at Montezuma
and Cervantes  white steed was neighing
tied to the fence
and both them,
)Robin and Cindy(
at the same time
went over to try and calm him
and Cervantes tilted ( a bit high  drunk stupored )
he was. Spilt the horse's water
all over both of them.
Cinderella's white shirt
became transparent.
Nubs soft curves
all apparent.
Robin stood,
impressed by the display before him.
Then, Maid Marion showed up,
grabbed Robin by the scruff of his neck.
And Cervantes saw Don Quixote
approaching.
Quickly he threw
the horses blanket
over Cinderella's beauty.
He whispered in her ear,
I know this abandoned windmill
near, we might
have a tilt or two,
Cinderella lost a shoe running
to the horse to mount
with Cervantes
whipping reins and dust flied
as they disappeared
to never ever be
seen again.

It's hard to say
Goodbye.
Harder still,
When
You've missed the chance.

I am a gingerbread
   sweet tangy ******* head
addicted to making
   marmalade sunsets
playing funeral organs
    cooking grass
on my BBQ
     I stir with
olde english
     marinade with you
on a bed of roses
     on our hill
growing wild sassy
          cooking stews
of parsnips wild onions
     marmalade you and
the morning dew.

the very beginning
    of the Big Bang,
did someone wise realize,
          he created, eventually,
achingly soft feminine
            firm voluptuous,
pendants miraculous,

          ultimate fun.
beauty  formed in a burst of
           magnificence.

Seriously, genius,
        the naked female born in an
explosion billions of years ago.

Unending wise, or
        coincidence, not ever,
I cup them, in reverence.

Through turnips
and year old hay
unnamed till then
I saw her yellow mane
flaming in the morning sun
and named her Golden.

There I saw the filly rise
into a spring song and wet her
nose in the pond
shake  her head and bray
proud I was of her.

Who shall be mating?
My youthful filly, growing into
her maturity, Black shadow, or
Orion, or Majestic, the white Arab
long and tall.

Gallop to my fence, my sweet , take this candy.
Absorb the sun and all the oats you can eat.
Run, like my forefathers free
and innocent.
Golden.

fifty-nine years
  a month and two days
     seven hours
          and twenty-nine
              seconds
it
took

Here I am world.

I don't care anymore
              what you think.

I ate a gnat
then spat
sat
down
digesting that
what
had happened
when
a fly flew
up
my
***

and tickled
so
I farted
blew him
to
three
or four parts.

Then,
thinking
all was
done,
a Beagle
came and bit my
ankle.

I snatched him
earless.

Then, to my dismay, an
Eagle came and said,
"god ******, we are just hungry"

He snatched my thumb and flew away
into the frigid night
with my digit.
I now sit here,
twaddlin'

and ninety-nine ******* ain't one of them
I handle payments to child support
and visit all 25 of them when i can
I see my probation officer regular
got one box chevy with twenty fours
an old cadillac redressed
into low ridin' elegance
silk sheets and 60 inch telly
in all my rooms
I got cookin' skills
turnin' powder into chunks o' rock
make more money than my dad saw
in he's whole life
got ******* sweatin' me But
one prob
worries me
I got no future
cause eventually
I gonna catch a cap or a felony

Sitting here
Figuratively  my finger up my ***
Powerless
A drop in the ocean
With dreams impassioned
Still, big ideas that rhyme on time
A flow of future a heart beats
Thus, glowing dumb
Numb stunned besmirked,
Overlooked in the stands of larger
Success
An old building, perhaps,
A facade of stone not bright
Shiny metals.
Or a tomb perchance
Noble and sainted,
The chapel of baptismal fonts
Where sinners are washed,
And saints walk out,
A field burnt in spring
Full of orchids arching
Long petals up in hope in summer,
Of reaching that one thing
We all live for, yet
Grounded
A metal jacket bound around our thinking
And hymns.
Someday to flower
In sunrises of knowledge all
Together in whatever
Our wildest visions
Enable.

You
have , at your whim,
the most powerful weapon,
a cure to heal
whatever problem presents itself:
you have rhythm

seen one  of life's peaks
seen many mountains
been around a few of life's
mysteries and evaded
none

I saw my children come  out of
their mother's womb
I fell on my knees
at the majesty

I was near when people close to me
passed into the next world
I've seen history be told
by wise old *****
whose days had passed 90
or 93

I have seen young die too soon
7 11 13
28

53
I wasn't there when my dad passed
I've  loved dogs
and cats children and women

Music and ages and strangers I never knew
in the distance
I see me pass
I  see the world keep on spinning
I only wish
for the chance to tell
to certify my love
hold her eternally
one time
before the end

We are together in pieces
made of a  poem facade
like howls of a big dog
cry  the sky

something right
is there if but
a kiss or a sigh
so, open your eyes

aggressive, albeit alibis
are calling , we are just fine.
much too steep
the pictures in my mind are

not long enough
you closed your eyes-
once again a lonely night
for once I'm sane and blurred again
bleeding out...

I like your sorry, for
always words for me
worry, bury me.

I sing of arthritis, whose shaft is old, who limps slow the grounds, the pure maiden, old hag, who delights in laughing without teeth, the sisters to apoplexy, he with the limp sword, over the shadowy hill and wind worn peaks, she draws her insulin syringe, rejoices in the chase and yearns for sugars, the barren topped mountain trembles, and the tangled words echo
with the outcrop of forests not tended since 1959. But, the goddess with an old heart turns every way , belching and farting, voraciously, so
maybe ****** is needed.

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)

I bask
in your tan brown
afterglow skin
Melatonin burns
which is why
my aloe vera like
like lotion is
flowin'

If they
laugh per-say
per-chance
guffaw
annoy
askance
I
will
just
skew
their
il­literate
view
to
my
taste
testify
to
that
YOUNGSTER!!!
not.
never­.
'tis
brevity
not
bravery!

confused by how she kissed my girlfriend
so I left them alone for ten minutes to give them space to explore
and sat at my computer playin'
Star Wars
Not a jealous *****
I thought, not could they ever break it
cause ****** I **** sure had tried.
The problem came four hours later when
they left smiling, arm in arm.

must have a crispy crust
   sweet insides
must be apples
    from Eden
Pumpkin pie
      will be served
with homemade whipped
      cream
I bake cakes and origami do
      crochet and add sachet
to chicken
     ignore when you choke upon
or disagree
    beat off if
necessary
   go on caring
about all I see,
    the least leaf
or blade of grass
    or one molecule
living
    I put out
heartfelt thanks to
    all Nature
puts upon my
   meager table.
I bow
   down.
I never
   give up.

His timorous eyes encircled me, questioning of the darkness,
resembling the coldness of his grip
that encircled my arm.
Though his  gnarled lips uttered no sounds
his pleas were lucent. 
for the same chords
resounded within me.

We stood enmeshed
in our muted harmony-
daring to fell the suppressed.

Then,
ransoming my sanity for two pieces of silver--
I bade this specter        away!

mouth soup take-out
not delivery
raw sushi memory
saki swollen tongues
spewing words
of yesterdays
flying around
drunken misery
flowing in flawed
commentary.

Her dark circles two
In her eyes where
I dove deep
Into
Those black pools
In the center
Of doe eyed
Green
Irises the white cream
Eyes
Attentive
My eyes they studied
Made circles took me
My aura in
Undressed me
Wanted lusted
Sighed her two lips
Parted
Red lush
Almost agony
Time seemed
Sighs became touches of arms
Legs brushing
Dances in
Dim light backlit
From a fire
A flame a
Warmth sound and pure
Nature animal sure
A rushing waterfall a sky of no limits
A mountains tall majesty
A prairie fair spread
Before us
A feast
Of targeted greed need wanton
Abandon together
Just us
And heaven
Envying

come  into the day
together and sing with me the song of innocence
of men and women, all sexes
all varieties, all societies ,  see the miracle of
all the diversity
being sung, into the highest dales-
into the concrete streets,
into the uneducation;
among every nation a seed
sown by words and understanding;
whether a poem or painting or politician draws it up,
or a tot calling for us to stop the insanity,
crying this baby does to a fallen angel
or crackhead seeing damnation...
or Jesus himself or Allah,
or me or another MLK,
let us all gather into the woods and see the vastness of the future
when we all are coloring books with oils
or ink or feelings: our blood
no longer spilling-
us

I wake and find myself in love:
And this one time I do not doubt.
I only fear, and wander out
To hold long parley with a dove.

The innocent and the guilty, met
Here in the garden, feel no fear.
But I'm afraid of you, my dear.
There was a reason: I forget.

And I by shyness am undone
And can't go out for fear I meet
My poems dancing down the street
Telling your name to everyone.

The lichen peels along the wall.
My conversation bores the dove.
He knows it all: that I'm in love
And you care much and not at all.

I shall stay here and keep my word.
Glumly I wait to marry dust.
It grieves me only that I must
Speak not to you, but to a bird.

**Written by:  Dom Moraes
Dominic Francis "Dom" Moraes (19 July 1938 – 2 June 2004) was an Indian writer and poet who wrote in the English language.

Examine your  mind
forsake the chemical imbalance
let the wild mind inspire
enjoy
the release from desire
accept all of who you are
and direct it
know and understand obsession
let imagination
take over
let the whole world come through
and chew
on it
feel really felt
live the present
focus on what
is really
real
give yourself vitality
and if grits are served for
breakfast
chew
chew
chew.

tripper
burnt out- an asphalt
space cadet,
a freak of nature your around
you addict    
                   jet-setter
voyager globetrotter
you practitioner enthusiast
                   often injurious
to your  sanity,
                   admit your habit
you hound you know you
are bound to be
                   blood smeared on I-75
someday.

Do not plan or plot
happiness.
Plant your roots deep
dig in to fertile soil,
send out words and deeds
of truth.
Then
enjoy
what comes back to you

oppresions outward in or our resolve,
all of us to some extent have handcuffs
boundaries, lines we dare not cross

If I were gay I would marry me
in alone matrimony ceremony
I would love me more than anyone
take a lonely honeymoon
to Niagara fall in love with me again

Have asexual *******
and realize I am me
accept me as I am
and live
happily ever after

candlelight flickers
as shadows grow
we are but two
misfit, fit souls
unequipped both of us are
for grandiose dreams,
and me a beggar man seen,
in need of a morphine fix

eternally, especially since
you prepare to leave
but
I love you, Marjorie.
always will.....eternally

on my
horror I will do my best
to do my doodie on  my country Scott free
to obey reason
to at all times , if they helped me,
sort of return the favor,
to be psychologically wrong,
mentally deranged, morally bereft.