It's as easy as, 1, 2, 3.
Understandable as A, B, C.
Undesirable as, Don't Take Me.

A simple ditty,
So listen, Kiddie,
There's no singing in the grave.

No foot tapping, finger snapping,
Lip smacking music where you're going;
But don't be in a hurry to get going
To a place where you're a gonner.

You won't be chatting with a Brahma,
Discussing laws with ancient Moses,
There's no sitting Buddha posing,
You ain't in blissful Nirvana.

You'd be  in heaven in Havana.

There aren't virgins waiting;
No loaves and fishes baking;
No bells ringing,
No Mecca wailing,
No roads paved with gold.

I miss those stories I was sold.

Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...
Whatever it is that ails you...

Was it us who failed you?

Stay a while, don't leave yet,
You'll find nothing you expect,
But you won't remember,
And you won't forget.

This poem
will certainly be a big hit
I'm throwing everything I've got
and more into it
All the bells all the whistles
all my poetic tricks
Rolling up my sleeves,
into my open palm I will spit

This poem I'm pulling
out all of the stops
Remove the plug at the bottom,
raise the roof at the top
Fill in the middle
with all that I've got
Blowing it all
on the entire lot

This poem will either
make me or break me
Lose me or save me,
I'm thinking maybe
They'll love me or hate me,
all want to date me
In Mardi Gras beads
they'll want to drape me

This poem will embarrass
all the other poems
Because this one poem
will have it all going on
From the time it's conceived
to the moment it's born
All other poems
will concede to it's throne

This poem may even
bring on the end
All the poets of today
will turn in their pens
They'll be too afraid
to write anything
As it will be the blue print
to how a poem is written

Now that last thoughts got me thinking
that it shouldn't be wrote
As it being the only poem
is a scary thought
And how this single poem
could yield so much power
I'd be crazy to set it free
to dispose and devour

All this poem could do
has really opened my eyes
So on second thought
I'm not going to write
I'll lock up that thought
shut the door tight
Another poem at this time
I'll just have to find...

She had a perfume that smelled like jasmine when she woke me up in the morning and like roses when she tucked me in at night

It was the same perfume sprayed from the same bottle, but it smelled different every time I visited her

Her perfume translated her feelings into delicate smells … smells I will never be able to forget

The same perfume is still sprayed from the same bottle …
but now … it smells like fear

She no longer wears that perfume … “it makes me sad” she says …
It makes us all sad! …

Its drizzling droplets brushes against our senses awakening sedated memories …
Memories of …

Of grandpa’s happy eyes, warm embracing voice and tender sheltering hug … he was the kind of person whose presence can be felt from a distance. He would smile every time your eyes meet his as if he was noticing you for the very first time …

Of mother’s childhood dreams tucked carefully in her braided hair …
Of baby brother’s golden straight hair and wide curious brown eyes

Of our tiny apartment whose windows allowed light to enter only from her room … the burgundy colored velvet salon chairs neatly covered by off white sheets … the noisy fridge who made sure everyone noticed me steeling ice-cream at midnight …

Grandma’s perfume harbors our memories …
Its droplets carry away our happiness leaving us stinking of fear!