Amazing, this thing, time, it goes on whether you're here, or not, and to come back and see the irrelevance of all, is somehow calming.
Adaptive, time and life, it lives when we die. To observe from a distance, has, in a word, been relieving.
I carried my importance as a trait.
What a weight it is. Its good to know, no matter my place, I have one.
Very calm

Calm and pleasant,
drifts on
the misty glow,
of our
hands holding
rocking
chairs squeaking a melody
together.

It was a long day ago
singling each other out,
when we sought, together,
this crimson sunset,
this inner
calm, this pleasant
plan.

Hand in hand,
believing in our
determination to be here this day,
this night together,
so long ago. Remember,
with me, as
we sit in these
old squeaking rockers
in night glows.

calm the beautiful blue mornings, green calm growing pastures
I meditate passionately viewing, white visions floating on
until some afternoons, on a horizon unexpectantly, out of the prettiest
cyan grows grey storms.
Heat builds, rises rapidly condensing moisture,  particles charge,
cyan dims to black; the world arises angrily.
Me and the sun hide hidden, the dark horizon growls. Flashes,
and thunder roils on awakening fears.
When she calms down, I meekly peek again, see a peaceful cloud and cyan
calmness.
Summer calm   blue green.
Red blonde clouds blowing free.
Again.

Jah gee
her words touched me
spoke to me
felt torn from me

like  a sudden breeze
makes one breathless
makes one sneeze
makes one's heart stop

she only said what was evident
not a poet or philosopher
but a living thing
not a maker

a seer
that said once
I remember
just be you

be true
I forget her exact words
they came to me in a dream

I awoke
refreshed

Beauty mine eyes had seen or did they have a relevance
to compare to?
I thought innocence and peace and flowery *******
  were comparative.
Then I met,
    you and your fiery eyes and hair so red,
riding upon a dream.
     To me, an epiphany appeared, that without compare, I
had been mislead throughout my days,
    by myself. And gathered all my senses
up on my hill
      to recall if ever I had seen
a coming or daybreak or destiny as beautiful.
    With numbers , I stammered adding one and one...
came up repeatedly
        with you.

Can anyone listen
                                bravely?
without predetermining hear?
Say
                          without saying?
Cheer,
                          Silently?
lighten
                              black
unfasten
                     themselves
rage
                         when calm
prevent
                      catastrophe?
Pause
                                like a DVD
Rewind
               destiny?
Promise
                             with certainty?
Love
        while listening?

Tame now, in the midst of
The forests limbs, strong bark arms
Brown like a farmers,
All round.

the stones said it
**** two lips on a stick
belted it out
a Buddhist chant
almost
I can't get no satisfaction
and when I do
it is so fleeting

HP

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.

Searching through my circumcised conceits
ransacking allegorical nature
a more outlandish metaphor
alluding to your eyes glistening,

Though Shakespeare, were he to hear,
would revolve over over again
in his graves, may he feel free
to make jokes of.

I say with poetic assertion
confidence, no other allusion
would come closer to truth,

to my purpose, than me saying,
your eyes contain the sparkle of ten million diamonds:
they are far

far brighter than any sun.

Searching through my circumcised conceits
ransacking allegorical nature
for a more outlandish metaphor
alluding to your eyes glistening,

Though Shakespeare, were he to hear,
would revolve over over again
in his graves, may he feel free
to make jokes of.

I say with poetic assertion,
confidence, no other allusion
would come closer to truth,

to my purpose, than me saying,
your eyes contain the sparkle of ten million diamonds:
they are far

far brighter than any sun.

taking the seasons
as they come
and go so quickly

trying to rake
the leaves into a
neat pile

is a waste, or awaiting
just the right
temperature

of the water to
jump in, is living
in the next.

If The sun is shining
bright you wait
for the cool of night.

If the leaves are falling
all around have you
gathered enough
acorns?

When frost bites the
window leaving a
crystal picture,
are you under the covers?

When May rains
flush the ground you walk on
too casually, you miss
the chance to play in it.

And when a day comes
you catch up to them,
is it too late?

Is it ok to be crazy sane
Or insanely norm
Or has the path narrowed where
You must step foot for foot in the path?
I mean, I go off at times wild dont
Never hurt nobody I do it alone
I things  question like nobody does
Nobody I know so i close off
And where is that line drawn
I look only line I see is middle of the road
Even that changes from dashes to solid lines from one of them to two in places
And you see I see everyone knows
If you cross them there's hell
To pay
I dont always traverse roads though it was an analogy
I suppose the asphalt and heat got to me
Serious now
Who can help
A pastor a preacher a witch or a belt
I'm open to suggestions ive searched over and over

Cats are buzzards
Just can't fly in circles
But they can hover

I have noticed
recently how the  grass
is never green enough
the sky though blue
is a bit more magenta
tinged
the daffodils
yellow but not that butter cup
yellow they were last year
may be my eyes
getting caterpillars in 'em
or whatever them things called

I didn't see ******* until I was too old for school
I graduated myself GED when I was twelve
went out to pasture early I was so cool
educated on the streets got literat-ed liberated delved
dabbled collaborated mixing drooling at
all the gangster easy money,  got rich,
had a bizness a box chevy with changing paint
twenties a banging ***** -
ain't never did what was good for me- ain't
feeling ****** now, cause I caught a nine mil', natch'

To all at Hello Poetry!
   So many poems are written to woes.
I challenge you all to write humorously,
  lift my spirit.
Make me laugh, because I am in need of, laugh.
    I create now a category a challenge to smile for.
Post and create
       and all smile!

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.

It comes in colored leaves
temperatures
frosty winter's snowflakes
and spring blossom wakes
summer's bounty
fall festivals
and an old man's testimonial;
I was once a dumb bud
tempestuous
flighty sinner *******
and grew to know fakes
of my own bounty
half hearted
efforts thinking I knew
it all best;
now I have grown to
only see myself as
the fault
and the fix
and the season's
nor temperatures
nor outsides influence me.
I see it as change
for the better
and am the same, now,
with this religion,
no matter
the seasons.

was such a pretty girl who
felt better giving her all
to anyone and everything

She was beautiful.
Spoke in nothing but
platitudes.

Her eyes smiled
at people she didn't know,
she's my hero.

And when she died alone
and penniless that
smile

was still on her face.

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..

give me life or give me
a life's supply of reality
I beat my chest
wanting both
my cake and eat it too
realize that one is
worthless without
the other

all spread out before me
everything she gave me
oh better hands were
more deserving

wild let loose
let loose to run
beside his mare
among ****** fields

crossing necks galloping
sweat laced backs glistening
crossing the boundaries of gravity
feral wildly

distances closed
no fences
no boundaries
no holding back

soft soft wind songs sing
the beauty of earth wonders
all ours

chomp my bit
and hear my hooves
bite into god's dirt

Standing before me
its green boughs reaching high,
I wonder the Christmas Tree why?

Does it stand for the
history of man-
his goodwill?

Or, for the world
of the future that
awaits, still?

'tis glitter , 'tis tinsel
a peaceful glow,
do they come from a world
you and I know?

Pledge, to me Christmas tree,
that you stand for tomorrow.
Where hope and  brotherly love
replace turmoil
and
sorrow.

A poet I know so deftly deep
in prose  so depth he breathes
cigarette ash and beer breath
buried he is already
with his yellow pad
nearly drained
skipping beat heart
and a pen dripping:
this poet
only needs tipping
from his whirling chair
into the whole he is digging
this is an epitaph?

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.

exclusive the title to my novel my dramady
one thought to enter one soul to give
one day to see those big brown eyes
on a pole along the fence aglow

where along the last forty out of site
who but god knows what goes down
who sat and figured the last forties reality
on the last 29th day of February

her acre grew in foresight stretched
out far for then I went galloping
to find her other end
and went around in circles

Many the circles go
     Round in perpetuity

        All the universes players
               Are why?

How sound a design
      With riddles
           Equationed

                Such as pi

Going on into eternity
          Eyes the nuclei
                 Spin

             And begin
                     It did
                         Always will

Why

             Leading to more and
                     And deeper questions
                           A circle hence
            
And one day
                 The beginning found in
                            the End

To beg or not to beg
that is the question
for proofs that don't
make you spin
and get dizzy

it's gonna be dry one day
when it finally stops raining
down here in old Alabam'

seems to be either drought
or tsunami rain forest ****
down here these places

Outside the puddles
are taking over, the farmers
always proclaiming catastrophe.

like drug dealers, I used to know
they don't want you to realize
their prosperity

or find their two ounces stashed
buried near that peanut plant
in the field

or the fifty thousand cash

There the lovers go as opposites the
yin the yang the brawn the beauty the strong
and willing , to where design and elegance
and genetics draws nigh on intellect, to sighs
and utter lust to strength, away to  enduring beauty
through luck patience forethought
plans give way to feelings,
day gives way to dark and shadow
to perfume and essences our brethren our ancestors
fell too, as all days do pass from reality into
dreams to parlaying second glances to quick gasp breaths
in gardens roses swaying whispering,
Yes.

Positively, absolutely
sunshiny
delicious
a clean
conscience
is.
A dreamy
existence
free
in spirit
in
believing
I do
not have
to hide a
thing.
Or  lie
again-
just say
what's
on my mind-
never
remembering
a
thing.

these words cannot ever rescue the most dour of our individual angsts
they change nothing in the end cry out cry  out
sustain nor feed another make a smile appear out of a tear
but they contain my thoughts my feelings for
all of you
these words just appear to be grateful
in the end they sing a sad song for all
those lost and tenuous those
who hurt feel alone bad
I have felt those hurts too
it makes no difference writing them
except to scourge my mind
be a little more
cleansed
myself

by any other name would smell
as till as a cliche,
a plate,
stereotype,
   for example, i.e.:
        'tis better to have loved and lost, then to
have never loved at all.
Once new, then used repetitively,
i.e.
Only time will tell.
If any words
become
described as such.

in the name of religion whereby
it gets privileges not granted to others
the sins of man have hidden,
I don't want for that,
will not let the R word tell me to
shut up. I talk like I am god.
Talk of the wrongs, The Priests
who have molested  children and
the hypocrisy of the Church protecting, are
wrong as any murderer or thief , worse, in
my eyes.
Many women are ***** worldwide.
They are not covered up enough.
You do not allow women in your houses
of worship and  protect gang rapists.
Cut off the hands of a thief.
Something is wrong here. Religion
is supposed to be God's words.
What God , tell me, I am listening,
does  not let women in His house of worship.
What God lets priests ****** children.
I have no condolences for
the houses of the Holy ,
now.

Singing in the rain, committing ****
while all condemned
by a wide angle lens disconnect
the actual human suffering
the actual pain
as we watch the war footage
as performance art
or a play
a body mutilated is actuality
but wide angle on the screen
or stage
it seems so far away.
I am cured all right
I am
organic on the out
and mechanical within.
Perhaps Plato was right.

closing a door upon a distant
opening
a window out of clear view seeing
nothing
but you, pray at altars grave
echoing
silently seeing your face
mirroring
certainly saying alms to whom we
call certainly
I see grace of a lover
grieving
seeing my eventually
dying.

clueberries
                  vegestaples
a pie out of
                  silly bulls
make cream with
                  may never bees
pear trees
                 in miss Issipi
Mocking
                 birds
mocking
                 we.
I gotta go
                 pea.

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.

this time is the other time
that which I left
on the backside of her
hanging
like a neon sign saying
come here
as i walked away
not really certain
but the rage made me
just walk away
I asked myself
am I sure
as I sipped again
the bitter sweet
bourbon

see  Symphony No. 8 (Beethoven)
necessary to look back
after a  particularly emotionally felt ******
and therefore provides a conclusionary role
whether or not
the exposition involves
a little tail

most of our souls in cool slitted jeans
watch the crowds fall into
the happenings, privately talk to our
consciences mistake breathing for living

connect by wireless texts play the latest video
when walking past real people
who if we looked up may be the hello
we need.

See a screen of life continuously bufferring
awaiting for it to say   start.

High high we type complain,
of some troll when
all our being is being
a

bit or byte
a hexadecimal encoded
in
a screen, one coded
wrongly.

One cloud away
from
reality.

Taking inspiration from the common conscience the cosmic compilation
I write of the most simple the stellar implications of a whole world of individuals coming to any decisions
Realizing it's absolutely amazing, what with how I see ****** hate prejudice **** crime ****** child molesters rich billionaires complaining about foodstamps recipients as they bilk public entities accounting for it with we all do it. As I watch the stadium rise out of ashes of torn down blackened buildings a third paid for the rich from public coffers, I see sit amazing. How I've lost touch not just with human nature but nature herself. And I sit watching this man made monster gobble the earth .
It's becoming us. The earth is becoming just us. Our needs wants lists desire. Immediately. I want.
We're teaching it.  It's becoming more ingrained with every generation. I deserve.  
So I'm  just going to hibernate in a hole not listen not react. Hide forever. Till we all bust.
I see it in the collective.  
Theres no conscience left
I'll come out when it's just us in a ball all hurling through the universe no earth underneath.

blue on these windows
   would be red
like a *****'s lips
    ebony would be
dark as night
   scary
pink is effeminate
    green is almost the right
girl
     where do I find green colored blinders to make
human women look as appealing as
make believe
like late at night on the internet

violet is purposed
purple is purposeful

magenta colored eyes with yellow pupils
are what I seek.

of the white
   of the black
of all eyes
   of green and
brown suffering
   in every leaf
of crimson and gold
     on all horizon's
of light and dark
     of every day
colors of tones
      painted by
humming along
       to seeing the
blue in a grey
     sky
of singing when blind
     of seeing the
sun rise,
       day after day
colorfilled blind and deaf
and around.

blush is the pink
the fairest eyes white
green umber are enchanting forests
crimson gold are horizons
mystery is grey
touch is red hot
blue are the skies
you are red white crimson  
colored by the glow
of a future rainbow
coming my way

like broken mirrors
reflect
changes
diffused with
spectrums blue
in contact where
the object sits
contact relationships
of localized color
cannot be blue
if the light
illuminating it
is
true....

When that blood flowed green
And trees were red
Skin was bark all hard
weathered showing
The marks of hurricanes
The dearths of rain
Skies glowed orange in night
And gray each day
The lakes all turned inside
Out where blues were down
And brown silt atop
The roots of things grew up
And flowers down
Bodies dead were above ground
People like moles once did
When the sun was yellow
And not her now deathly gray
People went underground
To live
Where dirt was white and grass
Was the ceiling
And not a day was recorded since
The day the
Colours
Turned around.