A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

(20 minute poetry)

tripping up on downers
slipping on banana skins
someone's out to get me
no one ever wins.

Smashing into midnight
when the clock says four
crashing through the skylight
done it all before.

Nothing ventured
nothing new
something borrowed
was it you ?

I didn't see the sandman
but he handed me the *****
to dig my eyes into my face
and wallow in the shade.

It's pills for that and pills for this
and pills that make you want to kiss
it all goodbye.

The weekend at Mile End
a sad end for some
but
it could be much worse than this.

She kisses me from far away in some long forgotten moonlit bay

but I remember on the breeze
she brought me gasping to my knees,
a wave upon her shore.

I am immersed to the light
And solace will come in time.
We diverge somewhere right
And some for wrong minds.

We get deceived for those who talks sweet,
Believing them without knowing they're real.
So protect our hearts with a seal,
Love oneself and know how it feels.

The ink of the pen represents my thoughts stored in mind.
But if I write sad poem,
You should read the inks written between the lines 
And dive in my head.

Sit beside me where pavements are rough
To prove you I don't play with love.
This has to end where we can be tough,
But I'm not a strong enough
To fight this tough love.

This is for the broken,
The thoughts of the unspoken.
To let your mind be keen
On the hollow darkness where light can still be seen.

it’s sunny as hell out
but it has that rainy day feeling
I wish it were cold out and I was warm
but it’s hot as hell out
and I’m cold

I

  Calico Pie,
  The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
  Their wings were blue,
  And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'
  Till away they flew,--
    And they never came back to me!
      They never came back!
      They never came back!
    They never came back to me!

II

  Calico Jam,
  The little Fish swam,
Over the syllabub sea,
    He took off his hat,
  To the Sole and the Sprat,
  And the Willeby-Wat,--
But he never came back to me!
  He never came back!
  He never came back!
He never came back to me!

III

  Calico Ban,
  The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea,
  Flippity flup,
  They drank it all up,
  And danced in the cup,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

IV

  Calico Drum,
  The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
  Over the ground,
  Around and around,
  With a hop and a bound,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

(20 minute poetry)


I watch an alabaster princess on a pedestal
I see the shadows dancing rings around her eyes
I wonder if she knows I'm there and if she does then does she care
that I'm
standing on my own

I float with water lillies drinking in the sunset
and with the dragonflies I'm led a merry dance
skimming here and over there and if she does then does she care
that I'm
standing on my own.

In the morning I'm the moisture in the mist
I lick my lips the princess standing should have kissed
I am the dew upon the leaf
the hummingbird
the quiet thief
standing on my own


and she descends to bathe in waters drawn from mountains
to wash her face in tears the angels should have
cried


And if she doesn't know that I am there
I really don't think that I care
I watch her just the same.

There are many short straws in a haystack
and looking back I
drew them all,

you can believe this too
kiss a million frogs you'll only get
slimy lips,
not many princes are spawned in the pond
or princesses come to think of it.


If you own a silk purse is it reasonable to believe
that there's a one eared sow by the name of ' Van Gogh?

and you can make a monkey out of me, but
I'll never be able to swing in a tree,
least not at my age.

I'm not sure what poetry is,
but what it isn't is not in
my vocabulary,