for all his life he stood alone
observing
a sovereign being he felt uninvolved unmoved.
He had the intercourses in community college
humanities and social sciences, he still felt
separate.
He had a very neat flat, on the commons.
Kept it, oh, so neat. He kept on seeing all others as
being another course. Then when a day came he felt,
he saw a girl get hurt, I won't go into details, but,
his education did not help him.
He had to intervene. So he took his ball in his hand, bowed up
became a man.Was a hero for a moment, then.
He turned out dead with a hand full of nuts.
I am proud of him.

mind the little victories
much as you might how the sting
of hurt does
it just takes willpower
a pill and a lot of beer

being a poet
you don't have to live with anyone
you don't have  to hide
the frozen snickers behind the **** roast
or close the bathroom door
use whatever toothbrush is there
the first you grab
you can scratch whatever itches
anytime without looking back first
make a fool out of yourself
flirting to all those pretty things on the internet
and not have to clear your browsing history
before you pass out
but you can
view the world
at your pace
your leisure
wake up to only
your own ridicule
regretfully

re-joyess in juicefulness
hail-allujah in life's  fruits
all I am certain
here feeling
thinking
breathing seeing
is I am
and have grown tired of
feeling bad the next morning
I want to take all my clothes off
run, run  through the gardens
jumping wild live a bee pollinating
all the pretty buds and flowered
limbs
life
buzzing like that first taste
of nectar
that first taste of alternate
reality

Is schismatic schematic prophetic problematic differences
a future world
to be unscholarly resolved with arms?
Heresy, is an accusation that requires hanging,
not just participles, but participants,
let us tear apart the baby,
give me half and you, can scrape the pavements.
I see , no communion, no Democracy, no theologian
or Cleric, no Christ, no Buddha,  or Mohammed,
coming to our rescue.
No one says, this is craziness, totally religious
schismatic
I may be. But,
give me an alternative.
I cry, today.

not suddenly a tree where
it was there
standing tall the oak is

only one thing is certainly true
the sky  is gonna be sometimes blue
and it's going to be dark
what that makes me wonder
is the sky half full
or half empty
the optimist in me says
on the other side of the dark clouds
the sky is always blue
so it is always full, now I have
to think about the  moon

I am always seeing the seasons changing
the hottest summer breeze fall leaves
cold winter snows spring roses
dawns and darkness
crimson ochres
grasses green drenching
clear drop rains, ice and cold,
turning reds and oranges fallen leaves
your eyes being the clearset
green of forests the scent
of wintergreen freshness of a lucky Irish lad on spartan turf seeing
his love. His four leaf (c)lover.

tough night, and  I know the trees grow
not for me always, aren't always waiting around the
left corner of the orchard in blooming blossoms
all with fertile flowered seriousness and sudden
speck the wind with fragrance when i decide to
roam under lowest  limbs again combing my hair
bristling my fiber
just I assume they have recollections of me  once
again a day a night I spent weeping
beauty a being not leaving planted solid
touched their bark their leaves saw the underside
the veins the sap flowing for everything
knowing when I returned
one day hence whenever
I needed to again
feel connected to this orb this streak
of  green the yellow sun the fleeting white
unassuming clouds
an intuition brought by hormones
or callous winds and rainfall and tears like rain like sleet
a mad week a day nothing but the trees can I relate to
on the left side of the orchard
they stand still and
will always be there for me
tall and unassailably calm and
pretty

there are
times a man needs to be alone/
If he is flicking his Bic,
Handling his candle
lighting his wick.
Paddling his tool
pulling his tool into alignment.
Spanking the monkey
stretching his muscle
it angers his Mother
since he forgot, again,
to lock the ******* door.

Then  memory so
Real
Like a day in the
Park taking
Pictures
Of your three
Year old daughter
And son still
In diapers
Relapsed
Into
Guilt loss and
Black
Stood without purpose
That loneliness
Divorced
OK
Two times a month
I see them
And you know
A man
Is not supposed
To cry.

To rebirth the day
at the edges of a horizon
between dark,light

Sharing on the globe
at once the Sun the Moon
tryst together

Quiet, as the Dawn
in their glow all
the animals
flowers do awake,
bow to the new day.

Hope, in misty views visible on that
razor edge balancing a wedding.
I am the best man.

You are
my maid
of honor.

Nature shares the courtship.

oh, but how  I appreciate your differences
from my stubble hard chin to the various
things songs are sung about
the walk talk an octave above
curves that make me lust
eyes deep as any trove treasures gold
no diamonds can not compare
or any wool silk  man made dare
to dream this much
not prepared
for it
above dreams analogies
above the clouds
above the heavens
I sit
amazed

how daydreaming has such a bad rep
how being a clerk
is somehow degrading,
how light as predicted is bent
by the sun's displacing the time-space fabric

it only came about through a student
who could not get a job a failure predicted
by professors and academicians , a patent office
job , quite the easy thing, all
the time in the world to explore riding a beam

comparing time , only with a brain cell,
to the speed of light, with only thought
spitting the apple out splitting the atom,
proving his professors right,
he did not fit, that is why E = mc squared

and photons bend in the warped fabric
of time and space , he closed his eyes and daydreamed,
let more of us do that.
But let us close eyes to envision
man riding peace, love

to where this world now , most of us,
scoff at, profess such a dream is unreal,
remember, it was but over a century ago,
Einstein was proven, to be a genius
after so many said he was a failure.

There are so many daydreams, so much
undiscovered. I consider myself a skepticist,
unless I believe there is more to all this.

Aphrodite's recipe for idyllic relations
contains:
cranberries and blackberries
Chia Goji
one whole Vanilla bean
three quarters cup of Macadamias
of course, coconut milk
maple syrup and oats
pumpkin seeds
nutmeg
that's why I
cant make it.

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

Am i the literary element without
plot, theme, tone?
Or the protagonist killed before reaching his goal?

Am I the underlying meaning...

  or but a minor theme?  Narrative revolves
  around me, I digress.

No
Shakespearean Romeo,
my character.

And, my thesis,
may have several themes-

Plots never progress beyond what
I with such scant success
imply with my heart...and it never lies.

It suggests.

Am i the literary element without
plot, theme, tone?
Or the protagonist killed before reaching his goal?
Am I the underlying meaning...
  or but a minor theme?  Narrative revolves
  around me, I digress.
No Shakespearean Romeo, my character.
And, my thesis,
may have several themes-

Plots never progress beyond what
I with such scant success
imply with my heart...and it never lies.
the show,
less?

Am i the literary element without
plot, theme, tone?
Or the protagonist killed before reaching his goal?
Am I the underlying meaning...
  or but a minor theme?  Narrative revolves
  around me, I digress.
No Shakespearean Romeo, my character.
And, my thesis,
may have several themes-

Plots never progress beyond what
I with such scant success
imply with my heart...and it never lies.

Banjo twangs footpads on the hood
Chirps of birds eight cylinder ****** low roar of lion lust
A colloidal rust like metal out side the closed door upon its front a rap a knock a lightly tapping dot dot dot
Upon the inner ear is must have
Heard is must have been was seen
Long or near a time had been
That ****** a love sick note upon the metal roof or cedar floor calls a memory a dream but hooting owls do this at dark not upon a stark bright light who bays howls screams and cries I hear in earthen things and bowels barreling forth forlorn the calling masks an earthly scowl I have been misbehaved to take her gifts with no display of gratitude I gave or bow it any interlude to pray to gods gods or her the mother of all
Of our nature things

to burrow underneath the hoarfrost the
howling winds cold burying the last signs
of fall the last robin's call to leave

to follow the life's call ode to sleep
as the wise bear does curling deep in a
cavern his sleep ignoring

the December's and January's
sun oblique
with misery  transposes the day
shorter  

bareness the trees the land the 'scape
in sleep the wiser among us
flee or doze

until, barely on the fly
might hear a whisper of
wings ,

see on the trees limbs
a slight greening
creep out from our hiding
or refuges

smiling at Spring

cold
on a slab in cold storage, nothing but black, no me no
rigor mortis has my ***** in a vise yet,
I am not screaming
a mortician
comes in
gonna cut me up,
I try to utter scream,
BOO!!
Nothing comes out. So,
I issue forth a breath of
dying tissues know that is breathless,
as i held my breath , and farted my last issue!

oh god the depressing silken undertones
of her bra and *******, I have like buried
treasures hidden in my bottom drawer
that haunt me with the night
the memories
good yet sort of malevolent and sick and worried
I am becoming obsessed
with something so far out of reach instead of
thanking her and cupid for that one
special night
I try to keep that bottom drawer locked from
Her, my new live  in, I think I saw marks  on the
latch like someone was trying to get in
so now I am keeping the bra and ******* in my back pocket
and my co-workers are beginning
to whisper behind my back,
I have got to get a storage unit
and pay twenty dollars a week to
store these things,
or am I just losing it?

just wait one minute
the theory of art
can it be like VanGogh's
stars be monumental
for the sake of drama ,
is the winsome guitar in my favorite song
just  a prop in this play
of a rock opera?
Can it be art is just a
short way of saying artificial?
Does my heart sing her song
play a song of ethereal  longing just for a
effect?
And does art
in her theory stand for artificial , is my sight
so shortsighted?

A minute before noon on June 28th, Saturn and Neptune,
left their positions flew away
into heaven:
    They decided to elope and leaped into a Universe
of vastness solving, ellipsis, loneliness.
       There came more revolving as they spun and crept
into the vacuum's dancing together,
   playing the solar system, only remembering their duties and vows to each other.
Laughing and leaping gravity they spin the solar system ,
            unbalanced, flowing swishing and watching
the stars, the nebulae glowing for them.

all of the favorites congregated around the altar
among them the lawyer, the car salesman,
the Preacher stood taller than the others
signifying if nothing else a good view of him
to all

there within this quorum of faithful men
among them  the banker, merchant, and undertaker,
the Preacher said "bow your heads"
and all did , along with those lower
ranked in the pews

And he incantated, or I seemed to hear
invoking a deity or superpower or god
might have been,  especially casting his
powers on those nearest
who, coincidentally had  begotten
the most money lately

from the gathering , the smoke
arose near and around , and the Preacher
rose his voice, the tension mounting
the cathedral held it's collective breath
the maiden hidden

behind the preacher in the Baptismal font,
awoke got up like life from death,
walked step by step to a box,
near about the Hypotenuse
of the arc of the cathedral

climbed in the box and her head
showed out one end her feet
the other, then the Preacher the
car salesman, and the Lawyer
took a long bow saw from the pulpit

handed it to the banker who in turn passed
it to the merchant who in turn passed it
to the undertaker who started to saw
right straight through the middle,
with eager thrusts, of that there box.

And when the show ended , after
all the gasps from the people in the pews,
had subsided, and the undertaker was greedily
covered in sweat, the girl got out of the box.

They declared it a miracle.

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

A boy inside an old man
rides a coaster rolling
heart and old bones
partitioned jointly
mutually delusive
                 a young squire
unlearned boastful
                 ancient philosopher
cobwebbed naivete
revolutionary
a Freudian absurdity.

()

long clouds the puffy ones
the jet vapors the transient work into the
atmosphere and disappear
the dark ones the threatening
the clown like  
cartoon things
work the wills
and the imagining
long suffered hopes
of all of us
quite the vaporous
puffy memory of dreams
and hopes
vapid
with liquid moist
molecular transpiration and lust
just soft water dispersed into air
like hopes and love
floating above the
atmosphere where
we long desire to be a
tiny thing interspersed
with all
and free

amore hear the melody of....
       again again anon anon
bring a symphony of love
   to my ears sing with
perfect pitch the perfect song
     to the perfect end.

pause...... repose
   then here the flautist's
feathered twill
      the bass driving
the beat we tap our hearts
    together to

french horns and clarinets
     bringing fullness to the song of....
amore  amore...
  ever building the suspense

 to a mutual end.

Spent, we cry,

          Bravo!   Bravo!

Today, Fall, temperatures in Alabama are 98.6
it is October, something, I really don't care.
Doves coo, squirrels run the high wires,
I rock on the porch wondering,
pleasing myself in calm nothingness.
nothing is urgent, I watch
the Pecan trees full of nests fill up,
the  phone is  unplugged,
my sight is set to sit here awaiting the pleasant
sunset, I feel a chill.
It is so calm, rocking away, I
Puff my cigarette, pet goofy RJ on his slobbery head,
he keeps his paws from under my chair.
the leaves of the Pecan trees fall,
I sip my beer,
the doves watch with me,
only one squirrel remains, now.
This has been a most pleasant day,
exactly what I planned,
56 years ago today.

weaving quite tirelessly
on an antique loom
she peddles
the warp threads
into a room
of weft
her hands
busy with it
shuttling her craft right to left
her foot
keeping the beat of a craftmaker a musician
even

such a funny word!

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.

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.

scent towers oh thy lowers perfumeth of a four legged
hoof creature, from which thy parents descended
to mate with a mare, thy head and structure fully
capable of aiming the arrow, thy patronage
either Zeus- for me the better example maybe, horse,
whatever- speaks of *******. There I draw the line.
I shall never google that. Give me tall, hot,
and wet woman on woman.

if I bled myself dry crying I realized
no one would notice
which brought more
self pitying flows

if I quit I would never
feel better
so I again cried
not a river

just a trickle
of a poem
sort of a leach on my soul
bloodletting

just enough to get
on with it all

she gives me
   with no expectations of getting returns,
thumbs up
   reasons to go on
loving all the
     days grey cold
or sunshine warmly
     in unconditional highs
I wish to lift her up
          sanctify
our love
   fight our demons
live forever
   propose
eternity
   to her.

I see
the timorous beggar hand
out for his next
hit
drink
satisfaction

an infant alone while
his mom ***** a stranger
for diapers

the man glowing
after he killed the lion
he has ten giraffes
on his wall already

the fireman needing to
start a fire to fight

the mailman how
onerous his deed
to go crazy
m-16

the machines taking
over
Id's as Ip addresses
and innocence

so far removed
from any  semblance
to reality

there goes
a                                  tock
tick       brief     moment
seconds into hours
               days
weeks          weak    months
years              decades
lives             births
death

eternity.

and again and like last time once more
once more through the same routine
like a mouse in the machine
running faster this time
have to maximize
profit no cent
left unearned
run run rat through the maze
get your *******
reward
better than ***
better than  the rest
I push and snort
to the limits
again and again for
what?

it's a bit
confusing
trying to
figure the
differences
'tween
italics
apostrophes
and ellipsis...
the emphasis
gone
the eyes looking
in mine
and all. etc....

that is the one I love the most
I said as she walked away
far away, she gained distance and I thought
it was all so ******* bleak
then saw her
and her sway
her smile
her new day
to save me
her *** was incredible
her ******* the perfect upturned shape,
I even almost loved her,
but she had tastes and habits
slurping her cereal in the morning
grated on my nerves
and her bras and ******* all hanging in
from every god ****** thing,
she got tired of my sinus sounds
how I was continuously clearing my throat,
money became an issue ,
I wanted my beer and cigarettes
and her, she wanted leafy vegetables
and hummus?  Fun while it lasted,
but I felt terrible when her new dude came and
got her. Until twenty more like her
had come and gone.
And I decided to try to love myself.
I quit all the *******,
the feeling sorry
the lonely nights and
saw I was good.

Who hadn't loved you
In time, perhaps
Like the wall in the painting
Faded,
Far from the window,
And the shine
On the pearl
In your ear remained,
"I"
Am colored still
With your
Glow

I found you would I not
stumble in words once more
be swollen tongued deaf dumb
and blind
maybe
it is better
perhaps to
keep striving
to search lifelong for the end
of the rainbow
to have a goal a reason
to keep that bit of mystery
that longing
for if I were
one day
to find you
there amongst the tangled reasonings
the vines with thorns
thistles unpleasantness-
might I just die?

the night seems not as dark
and the problems not as  insurmountable
and the flowers grow  more noticeably prettier
and the  moon I notice glows like never before
the day dawns with glory
and time ticks like my heart beats
every one for you

and it is beautiful
the snow fall making a winter blanket
for all the trees
meanwhile
on the other side of the world
a child in his bed gets his leg blown off
or just dies with nothing but hunger and pain
so I went about hanging lights on the
two evergreens in my yard
and the fake plywood santa
in his sleigh and all eight tiny reindeer
and had a realization again
of a boy and a ******* the streets of downtown Atlanta, Chicago
Detroit, or New York or Daleville
with no home, trying to live out of a small chevy or Ford or
Dodge , while Chevy and Dodge, got government help?
And they have no books , and their mom has bruises and
a broke arm and tries to care for them and cries while they sleep in the backseat and knows she could have done better and
is against the windshield in her hating herself
ashamed with not a bit of hope,
and I sit the star on top of the Tree and the glow lights the lawn and santa
winks in a pattern and Rudolph's nose glows red,
and it is all so beautiful

the memory of
a movie
the first glance
at Mona Lisa
the first echo of  Marlene Dietrich
singing,
where one time
thrills were really in the back seat
of a sixty four Buick. my sedition
almost fictional taunted,
attracted me ultimately to another realm.
a sphere of passion to be
more than reality. A vision where I could
dream up what was needed in an instant.
a ******* of sight smell feel:
blinds pulled: a slave to imaginating.
conveniently fitting my insanity,
my ****** passion energy
alone with flickering Universal
glamour girls. I then fell for
Marilyn. Oh god it was on.