Mind games.
Crime rate. Is raising in Georgian.
Abortion. And ****
Charges that lawyers support n.
Hand in hand.
*** divorce. Is an evil.
They give out to the masses.
Impunity. Goes together like
Klu klux  ****
And covid masks yah
While trump solution
Is to feud with any
State that won't remove the ban yet.
Demand. That can.
Of cat ****.
To get a better spray tan n.
******.
Cant stand. This romance.
With a trans from somewhere
In canada.
Shy but slams so hard.
She makes hulk Hogan
Look like canvas practice
For a Steve Austin massacre.
She plans like a passenger.
Or clueless like
Matador.
Gay bulls in a coloseum.
She's out of this stratosphere.
Her movies are passion laced.
Gas riot grenades
In a rythm show.
Like taking a lick from the spoon.
Of inevidible
And letting none but the devil
Know.
She's metal. And schedules.
Like head spaces. Of under developed
Men that turn into pedophiles.
Wow that just took a setting tone
It's time that I let her know
Shell never be on stage
With this encore when
The smoke settles the eminem show

I wonder if death will cure my life.

To write poetry is to
tear your soul
in small pieces
and stick them down
on a piece of paper
in a wave
of overcoming power

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't

Unlike the missing piece
on a puzzle;
an incomplete work of art,

the unfinished
written poem,
and the scribbles
along the walls.

A blank canvas
caught by the eye
could give
the greatest lesson
of them all...


Emptiness isn't worst
after all.

We all lean a little off plum
Swaying to the music
of a manipulating song.
Songs played on
jukeboxes for profit
Songs leading us like sheep
to green pastures to fatten us,
Drunk on the elixirs of illusion
Ready to follow the wrong God home
Sliding from off plum to crazy

It’s a struggle to keep from being
overwhelmed by the tribe.
Being yourself is harsh living
You will be lonely, frightened,
and tossed around
Yet, no price is to high for the
privilege of finding yourself.

Today,
and only today,
I've learnt to love the rain.

Sunshine,
was my best friend,
warming my skin and darkening its pigment.

The moon,
had its cratered imperfections,
but ultimately, was a guardian of safety as it lit up the night.

Rain,
my least favourite of them all,
made my clothes smell of damp and ruined my mood.

Now,
I appreciate that
it cleans
showers
beautifies
and adorns our world
it provides the air with a fresh smell
maintains the beautiful flowers
and the grass' greenness.

How could I have ever hated the rain?

So happy,
oh so happy am I,
to have learnt to love the rain.

Years ago when I was sa boy I used to
Visit an old hosrse on a farm near my
home that is no more.  Whenever I came
He would amble up to the fence and greet
Me.  I never brought him anything to eat
Boys are careless and do not think ahead-
Still I wish I had.  He always came to greet
Me .  Either he forgot or forgave me.  Does
It make any difference He knew I remembered
Him.and tha't ts how I feed him now by recalling
Him , the farm  and my child soul of long ago.

From pollution to anorexia,
from deforestation to bulimia,
we are destroying ourselves;
we are the author of our own darkness.
As the author, we can change it,
but we don't.
We created it.

And we keep living (or not)
waiting for someone
to turn on the lights for us;
then we can see
the mess that we made

But nobody notices,
we are the light turners.