how I wish I might free myself
from the same old fears
year after year

I've walked up and down these city streets
Left my prints along the beach
Searching for that which I need
But seldom is it within reach

Every nook and cranny in my home
Climbed high the mountain top alone
Never sure of where it's gone
The illusive poem

Day and night I will not rest
This poem to find I've made my quest
I've laid it out at my behest
There's nothing needed more than this

I've called up everyone I know
Rang the Vatican in Rome
I will not stop my on the go
Until I find this poem

I've trudged the jungles of the South
More places than I dare to count
And still have yet to figure out
How all this came about

I'll keep on with my keeping on
Never bowing to the loss of hope
Because deep inside one day I know
I will find this poem

I've looked up among the blinking stars
Telescoped Venus and Mars
Held up signs to passing cars
But failed to look deep in the heart

You'd have thought I would have known
The one place I failed to go
That's where it was all along
The illusive poem

Venom was collected within the vessels of my
beating rhyme, irregular of the  perception that
was visualized outside this vessel of reactions.

You held on to the visage of what kept you sedated
to the whims of a thousand whips. Lacerating on
the feelings bleeding deep within you.  

Your afflictions were textures that I fed upon.
You were a succubus that I  was nourished on.
All were  play things of loves gullible folly.

We're being told here
that we're being held here
and it's here
where I hold on tight.

It's a message coming through
right?

Wrong
It's a so long and seeya
wouldn't want to be ya
and I've heard it all before.

So nothing moves
no needles on grooves
in records,
no spin
no win
no lists to list
or lose.

I'm still holding on,
but think it's a blink of an eye
think if the time
was not passing me
by
think what to do
if not being told
by somebody like you

I could think for myself.

words sing a song
a sonnet in my brain
yet my pentameter
is not iambic
more of a wild refrain

as they tumble jumble
bump and grind
it is difficult to
give them their
proper place in line

they all knock and clamor
to be the first in line
ain't but  one of them
that wish to be left behind

so no precise flow, no couplets
not a lot rhyme....even less rhythm
in my writ.....this time

sometimes i can plant
my words in neat little rows
water and **** them til poetry grows
sometimes i put a big seed of thought
suspended over a water glass and
wait til it grows roots
in it's search for love
and meaning

sometimes i just scatter
thoughts to the wind
leave them lie where they fall
and go off and begin other tasks
forgetting  those seeds
til come one day, when
i take a wrong turn
and walk that way
to find a field of riotous colour,
flowers upon flowers
no need for the distinction
of pretty over ****

today i write a torrent a river
that floods with flotsom, jetsom
and other.....
and as these words rush
to the sea, they cry
glory allelui....
i am free....i am free