it’s a double-hawk dive of black ink wings but plummeting “w’s” in a blue sky need a vowel WoW

just one time say I still love you during one of my swearing rages when a vocal strain of mine enters the air smacking it with inflamed...

in the dream of a memory at times familiar faces in odd outfits mouth words they’d never speak in places and situations they never were...

for listening to me write poems at ungodly hours through an open window their gentle applause always encourage the rough drafts to get up...

if God could cry wouldn’t it look like rain or smiling maybe a warm sunny day? with a giggle perhaps a breeze would start and laughing...

this night I’ll let the moon gamble with my heart with pitfalls in my vision the day’s feelings short-changed and a scarcity of rainbows...

of sledgehammer on maul the log splinters and exposes a story of parallel channels of pathways reaching in one direction - skyward...

self-forgiveness is that small candle of kindness you shine on yourself

a matador lances and kills the bull a deafening roar a bull gores and disembowels the matador a deafening silence

perhaps no one expects anything more from you than what they see now so yeah it would be easy to skip school and drug out with buddies or...

the sun slips away darkness brings out its own gift a bright moon rising

Views, opinions, judgments, beliefs estimations, reasons, assessments analyses, philosophies, extrapolations, conclusions and on and on...

a shrieking wind punches trees slaps them of their leaves liberates sticks and twigs from a frustrated past into an airborne attack so...

a train whistles in the distance as I lie awake the sweet sound in my ears slips inside a country in pieces returns in a dream unbroken...

sometimes I need a poem to soak all my other poems a river-flooding rain to overrun the dry course of dead feelings and parched lyrics...

I find these days difficult to keep debris and damage from penetrating my heart too many doors forced open with dirty shoes and dirtier...

while darkness lurks in the shadows of sun-filled promises and homeless camps can be found just outside 3 story Colonials I’m sure Life...

I’m positive you’ve fashioned at least one lyric that would impress Maya or Billy or brushed a stroke that Michael could have used on the...

those street people with greasy matted hair and scruffy clothes who circle this unwelcome town shuffle outside this window eyeing me as...

poetry delivered with a maniacal grin exotic slurring and perverse lyrical leaps might become a public nuisance if a mob gathers to shout...