Blue infinity
Beautiful serenity
Breaking enmity
~
Food hopes crumbling
Stomach empty, grumbling
Taco bound stumbling
~
Smart
Polite, Educated
Enlightening, Enriching, Enthralling
Teachers, Students, Idiots, Parasites
Disgusting, Debilitating, Degrading
Disrespectful, Obnoxious
Stupid
~
Rap
Poetic, Spoken
Rhyming, Entertaining, Battling
Real rap takes skill
Hip Hop
~
Cinquain
Unskilled, Foolish
Annoying, Boring, Defaming
Cinquains wish they were poetry
Joke

BLOSSOM


Flower
Beauty under the sun
It dances with the wind and rain
And brings feeling of serenity
Blossom



****


SPINE




Prickle
It makes deep cuts
That make one cry in vain
Protected  beauty in its own
Spine

Dark, this
restive hour, when
I search for a secret
peace, that lies lurking in the heart,
lost moon,

pre-dawn,
before worry
rises to shine on the furlough
when grey the twilight in furtive
retreat:

this hour,
when winds summon
birds to the distant realms
when little voices rise on beaming
star lakes.

With just
Two words to use
To say the things I must
I find my dictionary closed.
I’m lost.

A ghost
In search of words
That hide from Poet’s pens
And make contact impossible
For friends.
            ljm

Red
Angry Mad
Danger Aggressive Warning
War Violence Abuse ****
Blood

Orange
Energetic Warmth
Strength Courage Determination
Attraction Attention Interest Craving
Citrus

Yellow
Happy Joy
Creative Inspire Imagine
Opportunity Optimistic Ignite Light  
Sunshine

Green
Envy Jealous
Wealth Health Nature
Greedy Nutrition Field Meadow
Grass

Blue
Serenity Peace
Cool Calm Collected
Stream River Lake Ocean
Water

Indigo
Honest Compassionate
Drama Justice Wisdom
Intuition Perception Addiction Meditation
Midnight

Violet
Powerful Royal
Mysterious Magical Fantasy
****** Romantic Passionate Loved
Grapes

Couples
happy, carefree
holding one another
loving each other tenderly
partners.
------------------------
Autumn
colorful, calm
leavings flowing peacefully
crunching softly below footsteps
harvest.
-----------------------
Kittens
innocent, soft
playfully pouncing toys
purring so delicately soft,
meows.

Lucas
green eyes, dark hair
plays games, watches wrestling
happy, fun, expressful, joyful
GUY

Silence
If I
Stopped listening
To the soundless furies
I let define my life, I would
Be free

Days
Sometimes
The best days are
When you wake up alone
And think today is lost but you
Still try

Numb
It’s when
All the leaves fall,
You watch without seeing,
Seeing the beauty nor sadness
Of change

Memories
Can you
Stop forgetting?
Memories I will keep,
My heart overflows with them but
Not you.

Maps
I like
Glancing at things
Like the world and thinking,
It’s small enough for me to hold
And have

Words**
Sorry
For telling you
My important secrets
When you will not tell me more than
Two words.

By beckon of midnight the stars fuse



Along the subtle twilight moon


A sharp, yet quite an adept muse


Struck while atop I sat a dune




Adrenaline scours my veins


A flux unlike any before


Soft as the nature of cinquains


Paradise forevermore




Prosperity oozes in masses


Euphoria profuse I sought


Despair swift she collapses


Austerely wounded left distraught




Passion, passion


Kiss every edge never been touched


Abstraction, abstraction


Swamp me within incessant lust

I.
Your words
are starry, lush,
crawling over quiet
amaranth pages in the air -
"don't go."

II.
Hundreds
of lights are smeared
like yolk by a long hem
of thunderheads that are hunting
eastward.

III.
I dream,
sometimes, about
the old lawns in Dublin:
the last time I felt clear and free.
What now?

♠  ♣  ♥  ♦

Here’s to avant-cryptic stanzas
Nihil-angst extravaganzas,
Ghazal, Pantoum, endless Haiku…
such may cause the Muse to strike you.
Dada, Tanka, cinquains, Centos
existential verse  mementos –
yes, they’re mildly amusing forms
but finally fail to transcend norms
of poetry-induced despair
(a common modern-day affair)
brought on by formless abstract lines
of current verse. The warning signs:
eye-rolling, growling, throwing books
yelling at websites, ***** looks
at writers with advanced degrees,
a raging sense of vague unease
with life and letters. **** what’s new…
one wonders what we’re coming to.

When meaning is replaced by style
and editors extol the vile
you know that doom is on its way.
The poets don’t know what to say
but fool around, devoid of rhythm
(that’s why no one wants to hear them
let alone READ them). What a lark;
like rain-soaked matches in the dark.
Poetic dullness thus delays
to kindle light or spark a blaze.
Sad vocation: analyzing
wordy scribbles. Agonizing
over esoteric twaddle
(makes one want to hit the bottle –
or the poet). Was it ever
this way? Will the next endeavor
lift us toward the lyric splendor
or return us back to sender…

Your eyes hold a promise
of a thousand vignettes;
a sewn art of narratives
and sunshine metaphors.

The soft wind in your hair
is unborn poetry
carrying a hefty cloud
of sonnets and cinquains
figuratively crafted
with a wreath of sweetbay magnolia.

Your heart is brevity;
a tapestry of haikus and senryu,
decoupage of ballads
in a sea of poetic musings.

You are made of rhythmic quatrains;
an endless ocean of poetry.
And i'm an anthophile
with lungs made from flowers


forever drowning in your smile.

I wish that I could write a poem... words that would intrigue your heart;
no trite clichés... like 'Moon' and 'June'...
but, where on earth then, do I start?
The words I prospect from the heart... a soft, seductive rhapsody,
on paper... just don't read that way, although I weave them carefully.

I wish that I could craft some verse to tug the heartstrings every time;
smooth and silky... sweet perfection; flawless meter... perfect rhyme.
But as I rummage round all the romantic bric-a-brac inside...
and thoughts come tumbling out, and change to words; it cannot be denied...

they whisper down the page... not making sense... refusing to comply
with all the rules real poets follow; very strange... I wonder why?
Perhaps, I'm not a real poet... bereft of creativity...
perhaps, it is all froth and whimsy that I weave... not poetry.

But then, the rigid, classical approach is not what I seek, here;
the Cinquains and the Quatrains... bound with rules by which they must adhere.
I cannot pigeon-hole the thoughts, the dreams... that just is not the way
the hopeless, lost romantic, works...
at least, not this one... not today.

The trouble is; the heart-thoughts,and the mind-thoughts seem to disagree,
the heart says, "This is what I feel... yes, this is what she means to me."
The mind-thoughts say... "No, that's too flowery... far too smooth and syrupy"...
What the hell... I'll listen to my heart...
those thoughts won't mislead me.

****! I've dropped the thread... forgot the chain of thought... the plot, mislaid;
all this ******-twaddle snuffed out one more bright hope...
I'm afraid
tonight is not the night... perhaps, tomorrow I can make a start
on a pretty little poem, that might just
intrigue your heart.