Night, the sky is at times brightest.
Cries, the loudest.
Clowns can be funniest,
darkness may flourish,
unrestrained by sight.
in still, needs are fed
unseen, waterfalls
of poetic creativeness crash and flow between
streaming, down rocks, down dreams.
Plays, romances
are written.
Life, is renewing by rest. Or dark seeing.
Days are awaiting,
in the darkness

I draw a smile
  with a yellow highlighter
on my down-turned frown
when I feel down.

I paint a smiley
   tattoo with a Sharpee
under my nose with upturned
   corners, it tickles me so.

I Shoot my reflections
   sadness between the eyes
with iridescent paint *****
     and never miss, the glow in my darkness.

I then stand naked in my id
      calling every demon daring them,
come to get me you *******
      *******.

Smiley bodied emoticon:
   Here....... :)))))))))

motions, like sky breezes
dancing along the Milky way
we crept decoratively
hand in hand

to the masculine side and back
me leading then you
followed along the firefly
paths

there we met hand in hand
breast to chest
woman to man
in majesty

lifetime,
       the melody calling through
sunrise and beyond, for one songbird to
call back,
I hear her chirp
her wings thrum
my beak turns toward
the last
hum
my wings tacit

mis-measured the bed for the sheets and pillows
possibly on purpose
it's a king and proper fitting things would give her too much area to
wander away from me in sleep and I
so desire her near next right against me
a Freudian sheet?
Did I do it on purpose?
Three days now and we'll be together for the first time ever. I anticipate fret with should I trim my mustache and hair
change my toothpaste
floss cleaner
make the bed with one hospital corner?
which side should I leave uncovered
the left or right since
the queen sheets and bedspread cover only so much?
Should I clean the toilet again?
Try to write her a poem to give her when
she steps in our
efficiency apartment mansion
I picked the right woman
one who is into hearts and feelings instead
of fancy cars and nights out
cause I got planned
some long moonlight walks  maybe a
fire outside in a barrel we can sit 'round
drink a few
and watch the embers curl
as I sneak views of her sneaking peeks
and know yeps
she is my love
and later we
will go inside into the bed half covered and love then
snuggle all night and soon
the refrigerator will get here and
we'll have  somewhere to chill a spoon
and our beer
I can't wait for her
I feel wealthy and wise
I know she is mine!

We are together in pieces
made of a a poem facade
the sound of a big dog
howls into the sky
for something right
and only a kiss
so, open your eyes
aggressive, albeit alibis
are calling , I am doing just fine!
I am much too steep!
The pictures in my mind are
not long enough,
you closed your eyes-
madness, once again a lonely night
for once I'm sane and blurred again
bleeding out...
I like your sorry,
always words for me
worry, bury me.

never has nature blessed on any one face
so sublime the treasures men seek
never ever has since a thousand ships
were launched has the world
seen beauty abound as fair
and uncommon;
Where nature has been harsh
to so many I see,
she was storing up all
her wonders
to bestow on you, my dear,
there " 'bout your dimples
those pursed ruby red lips
eyes deeper that any sea's depth",
but she , nature, may have stopped skin deep,
for I thinks, thou doth know
and enchant your own self
more than any man,
therefore the saying of
beauty is more
than skin deep.
Oh, oh how  I know, now,
oh fair, fair fairest
of all!

...winters have passed
unto the distance glance my lass,
upon the hill far off on horizons that see in dreamy visions.

Appear to you, oh, varied girl
the tallest steed dressed in pearls a diamond braided rein,
A knight in shining armor upon that mount will be hurrying
riding fast to meet you between here and now.

He shall hold in his strong hands roses, a white dress
to dress you in, a veil to veil your purity,
again. He will tell tall tales.
Adorned thorn less, if you see,
your horizon
that same destiny,
he rides toward.

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one. It will not be a ***** heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)

standing near my

swaying over her
(silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my

(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

&the whole garden will bow)







Edward Estlin CUMMINGS

I look small without a wee
'stache below my nose,
grey and black it never grows.
I feel so small, like it, my nose,
on the other hand,
out of it grows ferns and forests,
white, green and charcoal.
tickling, most, memorable.
I am remembering,
at nineteen I tried to grow sideburns.
They came in *****.
Soft and sultry, I shaved them off, well,
just the tops. In the mirror, I still,
look small.

a ring of green magic
dazzlingly contrasting
the strawberry red beauty
opal eyed glory
automatically
famous to me where
drifts aromatically near
any sense to be
full ripened I wish
to devour her charmingly

tears in my eyes
and stormy clouds
thunders seek
to make me rain down on you

closing in are
the sounds
of humidity
the magnitude
of falling
pressures

now these  
once fluffy
things turned dark and
violet
angry

I reposed
back on red earth
quandering
my head to the west
my feet ready to run
under the nearest tree

pull her limbs to me
hide
in plain sight
yet  
accepting my course

seeing seeking some
kind of
roaring clasp
maybe I am
ashamed

or feel my sins are
unforgivable

to be in a hurry,  won't do,
deadlines,
are always there?
Time, is reflective, always
was will be scarce, why rush it?

Slow those hands, push them down to
half past when,
halfway to then.

Seconds,  take reflecting
meditating,  remembering,
hear concentrate on the sounds
of birds,
walk outside now, this very  instant,
briefly feel   awareness-
actually hear-
those birds chirp,  a background
chorus to a most important symphony.

Let the time tick-tock as the rhythm
is the backbeat,
feel that last brief wisp that color
that smile that feeling, let it sink in
mean something more than what needs done.

Don't hurry it. It comes.

the panther eats a poor bunny,
the panther gets sat on a by a hippo
the hippo swallows a tortoise and chokes
the vulture gets fed

the tress grow and the grass grows and eggs hatch and get ate by tortoises

which the panther loves and the hippo tromps on
and still
the vultures feast

which fertilizes the grasses the trees
which makes them grow and the tortoises
fall in love a nd **** and climb onto beaches
hatch thousands of eggs that the panther eats and the hippo
wallowing blindly fat through the fertilized long grass munching
steps on the panther again
then breaks her leg in the muck and dies
again the vultures
feast.


and the smart bunny, who noticed, had run away to the country
where Brer Rabbit had founded a commune for poor about to be eaten Rabbits. There they raised together carrots in a field in a country where there were no panthers tortoises or hippos.
Only to find this place had foxes who feasted on well fed rabbits.
And the Fox found there were quick bears who loved a nibble of fox. And men, great men with guns that could take down many number of bears in one day. And the vultures feasted.

To all at Hello Poetry!
   So many poems are written to woes.
I challenge you all to write humorously,
  lift my spirit.
Make me laugh, because I am in need of, laugh.
    I create now a category a challenge to smile for.
Post and create
       and all smile!

my arms red from the armpits down
I exercise daily  my head
get plenty of pysical
endurance workout the cardio
from making others abodes
from seven am to six at dusk
mark a straight chalk line from about seven o'clock
as my time
that few hours I stretch  the synapses the electrical
impulses in my head to think about the greater possibilities
of someday building a temple for those like me
that make a good hand out of what they've been dealt
when playing spades I get everything but
when playing hearts I go bust
the suntan the aching legs the bulge of a hard day's work
certainly makes my temple stronger
the after seven exercising my human ability to imagine
is my life's bread

unfolding like a stanza
whirlwind A cappela
A stylistic opera abbreviated Sestina
with no background singa's
A minor sung song
ending in the key of G

So intense listenin'
to CCR
in me headphones
sippin'
Olde English 800.
Brings back memories
of bein' 16
with Joy in me bed(room)
painted bright red, strobe light flickerin'
kissin'
and her
scratchin'
me back.

I cough up green dye
see through cobwebs until i
die or get coffee early as i
speak with Jesus and practice being good    nightly
long into the night
psalms and burning candles at both ends is
what i seem to be good at
swear on dead saints graves
put away when
i gets woke
the can of beer i slept with
into the refrigerator. Consider,
I make special amends, when i get back from working
and find that beer and strain it,
Make sure no roaches float in it.

the intent completing my purpose.
A bud on a stem capitulated to a
bee on a wing , challenges flew from me.
Experienced in fertilizing analogy, I  intended, but
obviously wilted under the pressure and blamed it
on the sun or lack of rain or pigs eating my roots away.
When I neutered myself, verbally,
darkness understood and drew me in:
oils were painted imaged in unrealistic views expressionist caricatures.
Experimental images all failed to resurrect
the benefits I had splurged.
I only meant to live.

in the midst of real life we scream our most desperate
dreams and passions on white screens
with pens as instruments our symbolisms
remain and you and I
look for rhythm within
or ups and downs
and you and I
are lost between the dark and the mornings
like ships not knowing
where there is any port like the white between
      innocent lines
         of life
         is meant
fact
without an audience
we listen.

lord one day,
these kaleidoscopic visions
will tip my tongue become
ink stained virgins
with

so portray
telescope out sideways
will tilt my wrong to right
sink blame urgent
then

I say when
I write dope out my pens
still the long night torments
feel whole spend
the

whirling round in
a convenient way
so left on the
right of wrong the
correct verbs
the right way/

wonder the withers of winters on limbs
chill the clinging icicles
reminds me of
Jack Frost  a good friend I knew way
back when
I used to have to walk ten miles to school
uphill both ways
we would meet at the end of
Arctic street Seven AM
fire up a joint and try to keep warm
in zero degrees
walking the last nine miles with blood red eyes
shivering
but cool
no hats
or mittens or overshoes
just chillin' dude

But I got this plot of land
Out in the field
Under the weeping willow,
Figure since I spent
A good piece
Of my life
Under those limbs,
It'd be a good place.
I saw a lot
There, under that tree,
How the sun
Comes and goes.
Thought it'd be a good
Enough place,
Perhaps,
To spend
Eternity

over,the ground crawling,
in the air higher, cascaded in tears
down a torrent, went over an edge of this
earth, have given up. Reveled in birth, cried at
losing one, spoiled soiled crapped on
myself. Spent, my last scents,
came up from there soiled stinking rotting.Smelled death.
Saw it in my hands, the last breath, a snaky smiling,
haunt. Saw the last ends the beginnings, felt all of history,
thought what is this?  
Vomited with the reek of alcohol, self administering
medications, lost days, in there, lost  feel.
Tried to understand , the mountains, wolves trees , alpha
omega.
Saw it smiling back at me.

'twas an era
long haired boys in bell-bottoms tie dyeing getting high
on peace, love , humanity. From
Greenwich Village the derivations of cool
ask Malcolm X  about a white man?
There in Isle's of Wight
a Human be-in
gathering
at
Avandaro, NZ
Nambasia,
all over the world a cannabis peace
festival.
A higher Mardi Gras.
Is the origin, earlier?
Der Wandervogel, perhaps.
I will, no matter the beginning,
dream in kaleidoscopic colored visions,
Lsd hallucinations, flashbacks,
of what this world, with
less greed, less war,
more the hippies vision,
may be.

are her sweet melodies her sighs to
conciensciences her breath raising hair on the back of your neck
her rhymes her yelling at your heart trying to
wake you from your sleepiness her
silky smooth cries in the dark her poetic
inspirations her life her sacrificing sanity
her melodic guitars her hymns her spirits so obviously
inspired by gods her nature her wisdom her her
not enough

to open this seized door swollen with
dewdrops and tears wet  frozen in casings
flee the chaos  stop the hours
in the glass ticking grains of sand away
filling in counting life's
unfeeling days

a length of rope
bet you thought I might hang me,
no, I would unwind it,
try to figure out how it was made

at the beautiful sunrise at the stray cat
hiding beneath my van in the shade
trying to make believe she was hidden,
it brought me to mind that nothing can hide,
forever, eventually, some sun
breaks the hiding into dapples
of gold
and reflections of glitters
like diamonds
and sparkling cats eyes
trying to be
alive and
scared
of where she was
caught unawares
of the night ending

Find everyone's escape
Take their advantage away
In the brush
Stripes camouflage
There Shadow's highlights
Mix and fuse
Confuse the mind's eye
Into the whorl of
Leaves limbs and refuse
Into too much data
Therefore I go
Tripping a light
With gray shadow
With an array of quick
Hand moves
Stealthy crawls
The depth calling
Out wild
Inside me without
An
Enemy
Nor friend or foe
But Destiny

that's it
the this of now is where
I am gonna hang my cap hat my
toupee

Then there was when
that day I had long hair
and a goatee
always wet

vigorous , in a way
no doubts no second thoughts
my way or
nothing at all

had two ***** then
now I have three
they sag down lower then
my knees

I dont care anymore
wrinkles around every curve my biceps
turned into droopy triceps
my lower eyelids
into nose bags
my ears into forests
my chin into three of em

that is the way
I live work  hard
party when not working and
it took a toll
I just wish the mirror had a mute button
It has started laughing at me

there goes time immemorable
in suns and moons treasured
in lives measured by men's days
and woman nights
in dusk's inevitable
colors clearly grey
the balances and weights
sway to and fro and in between
the horizons and present days
eyelashes breath away

in the darkened hall the barefoot man
stood afraid of stubbing toes and tripping up
afraid to make himself the fool
the stumbling bumbling imbecile
his weight of fear took up more of him
that time stood still
and this day he stands in bronze
a monument to fear
a statue now stands etched in time
along side a stale crumb
of bread

his name I don't know, might be Jesus
Mohammed Krishna Buddha Abraham or Luke
or duke for all I know, I never directly talked to him,
I am not sure he is a he. It might be
Luna or Aphrodite, Athena or perhaps Hella.
Hell I don't know whether he or she or it is a god.
It might be a Fairy.
Yet I keep (her him it) secret!
So no one can steal (?) him her it.
We often dream together. We
dream of peace and fairy lands fictionary places.
Ain't that weird?
Whatever this secret friend is ,
he makes me feel, see.

promises by god are forever
as sure as mountains stand against
the test of time

and holiness is grass
under our sandals
man made castles

are but transitory
cathedrals beautiful
and monuments

to us are erected
only when we can't see them
my sanctity

yours and ours together is in
our words our
unfailing dedication to

our words

they say so much

last alone on headstones

We had this conversation
and couldn't even finish it
throwing
clothes to the floor
last Saturday
now we tried to say hi
and are ******* in knots
on the floor
I love hell out it
but tell me
who is your favorite band?

One's-self I sing, a simple separate person,
  Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

  Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
  Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say
      the Form complete is worthier far,
  The Female equally with the Male I sing.

  Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
  Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine,
  The Modern Man I sing.

Walt Whitman from "Leaves of Grass"

in the build of a nest for the flower
of my love interest
I gather gold and diamonds
sweetest thyme fragrant of the moon
twigs of lore, feathered with hope
in the strongest tree on the safest limb
with unfettered view of the sun's rise
the mountain hues
the mellow scents of hope
small treasures, I hope
beat in your heart
our wings
together.

from the top of my mullet mohawk
big head, poppin'
in and out of the nearest
******, no-stoppin'
me jack the hammer hittin'
once I got started
that day momma
spit my *** out:
collidin'
with my father
who may have been my brother
no tellin'
with every authority figure
who had the *****
to try and tell me what to do,
with the man arrestin'
handcuffed around foot and ankles
everyone who had no money,
never knowing the system
from my day of creation
society was rigged:
a bunch o'  twisted ***** *******'
leaning towards the rich *******
making the haves have more
the have-nots fightin'
for the scraps, no religion had
answers,
feelin'
just like a hungry dog
behind the locked barred
four-star restaurant doors,
so, takin' whatever I can
what is left  I guarded every scrap
like it was somethin'

Willing slaves are obsessed by freedom,
and envy free men's riches;
Loathe to steer their own course,
yet they curse their masters wishes.

Beneath their oppressor's dominance
they beg for their own choice,
but, lest they acquire freedom
even they hear not their voice.

Willing slaves merit their abasement,
as an odalisque securer still
than the terror of sovereignty
and the burdens of free will.

These willing helots, shall they ever tire
of their ruler's amnesty,
and shed their dark age chains of fear
to decide their own destiny?

Let us close this invocation, this devotional, this
service here at our revered, Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle,
with our unanimous heart felt shout out of Amen.
    We passed around the collection plate dressed all up in our Sunday
best. I just hope, you did not see, I put in my last penny.

when I view the sky
a puffy cloud a blue
so nice I see
your smile

in the sun in the middle
of the day or the moon
at the middle of night
I notice your
silhouette

when I contemplate the heavens
peace I feel your arms around me
when I smile I feel your love
and holiness
I am all
I will ever be

because
of you.

my  hiney is shiney ya'll
glittering like the bottom of the Christmas tree,
or the path to the hill, in morning glory.

I powdered it after my shower.
looked in the mirror. If i was a girl,  *******, I would  love it.

Roundy and soft, like a **** should be, when I am eating.
It's aim is at times off. There are reasons for that.

Cause I was blinded, my hind-sight is history.

into a world cold and lonely I set sail my only son
I tried in the seventeen years to teach him right from wrong
so, one day I turned him into the sun and set his sights on living
It has been two years I have heard from him.
I think about him and me
and how I may have been wrong,
or how I may have done better
yet I think again
on how I may have made him strong
strong enough to not need me,
In that I am
proud
and      
weak kneed.

unabashed, ok not really,
  that I lied to her,
but with no bad intent,
******, I lied again.

I exactly meant what  I professed to her
alone in the woods, after we both drunk too much.
I swear.

I tripped over my tongue again,
I see, But, 'tween Led Zeppelin and
the hood of my Old's Cutlass

between here and there was true words,
that lifted her skirt
I smile, innocently.

Like things growing closely in clusters
are the memories of sweet trying to understand truth
when wrong arms reached out and offered devilish friendship.
As a child you sat reading softness and hope and butterflies
untitled poems rhymed in your head,
Nightmares woke you up, so cruel as to drive you here.
All windows closed and flies and stink festering within
and burning fires untended threatened to burn you down.
As you sit, still reading alone,
poems unwritten.

time issues forth then blends us  into reminisces
resolves to tick and continue as spawn and fry
swim forth into a swarming mass of
death into an ocean bereft of feel
upon our dead bodies they feast.
A few returning, miraculously, upstream
to where they issued forth,
begin anew the circle,
regrowth and death so every day ticking.
Issuing forth our cells
to  feed natures
next beginning.

within the neurotic neurons those still left
in my ****** up head
perhaps so far down the dumb ones stand atop them and muffle their reasoning
or the ones watching Big Bang every night
drinking Olde English 800
are holding the responsible synapses hostages
for a hit of dope
or trying to find a stash of endorphins
at gunpoint
,but buried deep deep downer in
near the base of my brain,one neuron is waiting for the right
moment to flee....
to gain power over all the broken, needy  ones thinking
starving for chemicals or a quick high
morphine addicted lortab alcohol
******* amphetamine caffeine nicotine
ine
to be ruler,
then I will write a good poem.