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i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.
© copyright
Twinkling starlight
In the night
Carry my words
To the morning light
Keep me humble
In all I do
Remembering always
My debt to you
Teach me love
That never parts
Teach me to stay
True to my heart
Show me the way
Of kindness and truth
Gratitude and faith
The ways of my youth
Open my mind
My heart and my soul
Teach me to pray
Return me to whole
That when the day comes
I find my one love
I will be ready to give him
My love from above

April 26, 2016
Burned up letters from long ago
Yellowed, stained and worn
Dust covered books with tattered pages
Records of vows that were sworn
Lovely dresses covered in lace
Now faded and weathered with time
Shoes that once matched
Now dusty and covered in grime
Photographs of family
Cracked on the floor
Memories forgotten,
Lost to a time before
Ghosts walk the halls, dragging their chains
Still anchored to this plastic life
Nothing of substance left to show
For this....or the afterlife
Be not chained to this world
By substance or fame
That isn't why you were born
Hold on to your soul
With all that you do
And let it not become worn
By the world around or demons within
They will keep you chained here for good
Open your heart and instead spend your love
Freely as you walk the earth
Then when you move on, you will not be
Chained to your possessions of this world.

April 26, 2016
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.

They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.

©Paul M Chafer 2016
Inspired by Divine Dao and her poem, Wow!
Forged in moments, assembled, jostled and posted, unpolished, that's where poetry comes from deep, deep within
You'll have to talk to the poet,
He's not around
Right now.

I don't write'em

I just edit'em
(I'm no good at spelling
Don't know much about grammar
Sonnets
or
Iambic pentameter,
his moods,
his states of mind
what it is he's trying to define
or
find.
Not sayin' that ignorance is a good thing )

I just post'em
and
let'em go.

The poet?
You'll have to talk to him
and he's not around
right now.
I think we all understand this one, the creativity inside writes the poetry.
I care too much.
I really do.
I care about
you
and her
and him
and them
I care about life.
I care so much
that I neglect myself
I neglect my wants
my needs.
I have been providing so much light for others,
that I have let my world grow dark.
I am too busy feeding other people compliments,
that I have left myself starving.
I can't decide
who matters more.
I worry about being conceded
so I discard myself completely.
I care too much
repost if this is you, too
A moment in time is
Subtle
and minute.

It is uncountable and unclear,
yet
it is powerful.

It exists at an intersection
of intimacy and fear.

And those who share it,
are aware of themselves,
and what a moment means.

It means
Everything.
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