Will You Be Mine?
Roses are red, violets are blue
A classic way, to say I love you
Although these lines, may be overdue
My love? Omnipresent! it won’t go shoo
Though I am but, just a simple man
My love, extraordinary, and as sweet as flan
I’ll make you my queen, and I your King
Wait, too exaggerated? Okay, I’ll just sing
I promise that I, will love only you
When other girls woo, I will throw them my shoe
No.. I’m just joking, I’m a gentleman at heart
I’ll just tell them that I, already found my half part
If you will ask why, it’s you that I love
They say it’s your beauty, well yeah kind of
But note that I too, love your heart pure of gold
My darling beauty, so kind and so bold
These last lines, I’ll ask you the question
I love you for everything as I already mention
Will you take my hand, to our future endeavor
I promise I’m with you, forever and ever
You Want To Bring Them
Some Sort Of Happiness
But Nothing You Bring
Makes Them Smile At All
Not Even The Slightest Bit
You Wonder What Went Wrong In Your Life
Sometimes You Want Your Life To End
And Sometimes You Don't Know What To Do
But You End Up Moving Foward
Because You Don't Know
What The Else The Fuck To Do
You Don't Have Any Talents
You Don't Have Any Skills
The Dream I've Had
Since I Became A Christian
Hasn't Moved Forward
I Don't Know What To Do
I Don't Know What To Say
I'm Just Lost And I Need T Obe Saved Again
And I Need To Feel Lovable, Capable And Worthwhile
I Need To Know I Am Not Alone
I Need To Know I Am Loved Without Strings
and perhaps a third well,
for good measure.
What do we have here?
an odd pairing indeed.
Don't you think?
How do you explain,
assuming a lack magnanimity,
the two seperate entities
that have so little in common,
now frolicking in the park?
Start that thought process
for a second,
while gifting your gaze
all about the last few days
between the two.
A boy and his dog,
The young pup
as been running around all day,
chasing his canine.
Two legs after four,
the two slowly falling for another.
But not in the romantic sense,
instead, the way a brother loves a brother,
a father loves a son,
a boy loves his dog.
you can find them if you dig,
much like the dog making a mess of the yard.
This was too much,
and got the boy yelled at by landlady,
though he never liked her anyway,
she was shady in her ways of eviction.
the dog constantly testing the patience
of the young man, when
he was gone.
Too long, and the carpet would be chewed,
the pillows torn apart,
quite the test on the heart.
But the boy loved him,
for too long had he slept alone,
but with a dog at his feet,
he was finally getting sleep.
The only thing that kept the two in line
was the neccesity of longevity,
for the boy knew he had to make time
for his new dog.
No more tail chasing,
alcohol drinking or city walking.
Only as long as the pup
was at his side,
joining him in his evening stroll.
The boy and his dog,
his brand new dog,
made him happy.
This was the undying love
he had been looking for,
to match the love
he had been wanting to give,
So, no complaint,
in the long run,
when the boy falls below,
for a crime against his own brethren,
for hurting his dog.
He needs no church or steeple,
it's not his fault
he liked his dog
more than most people.
People are dumb,
it's probably the opposable thumbs."
I cannot help myself
against the slender slopes
hidden beneath her denim skin.
Inside me, there is a wolf, searching
to sheer this sheep's clothing
so that I may devour her.
Perhaps her She-Wolf would
exhale stifled howls, inviting me
to prowl freely and roam with Spirit.
Or perhaps I'm imaging such
in truth, I pray secretly
for 'sheepish' prey.
No trust for this lust;
I've lost myself before
to beastly beckoning echoing from bedrooms,
bidding consent to cum hither
for back breaking acrobatics --
but silence is my only partner these days,
karma suiting my insatiable inclination
for constant Kama Sutra sessions.
Maybe it's best to hold
and let this blood red Moon
This wolf will go
for a chance.
"Life's a bitch,
but still you got to love it.
Some feel-good music,
blasting away in eardrums.
Take a day or two
to have some fun,
Don't be caught up so much
in all the small things.
But enjoy the small moments
that make life bright,
that make you feel all right,
the ones that make it possible
to fall asleep at night.
Focus on the big picture
and put things in perspective,
even if it seems the whole world
has gotten hectic,
put all the strain and the pain
and the stress aside,
take it from me;
the stress can crack your mind,
your dreams could fall,
but keep on track,
dreams do fall in place,
When things are looking hopeless,
when you have lost all focus,
I cannot stress enough
how important optimism is.
You can do it,
I do it,
because wishful thinking
doesn't get you further,
I'll never be taller,
I just want to live comfortable,
keep my head above water.
Something's got to give,
no matter how hard
it becomes to live.
It's going to be all right,
it's going to be okay.
you have to take life
day by day."
"Her mascara is faded,
like an intentional artwork,
the kind an artist makes
on the sidewalk,
with the wipe of her hand,
which is how she made the effect,
by wiping away her tears.
Ache, the kind that wracks the body,
the kind that ties knots in the stomach,
that brings us to our knees.
Ache can be painful,
through life, strife,
or perhaps a dull knife,
the heart feels all tugs,
That's what stops me.
is of fresh snow,
an antithesis of her mood,
her tone is light,
not unlike the scent
of wine on her words
she lets lull unto me.
Enticing, but slightly indicating
the bottom of rocks
she may or may not be dancing on,
at the moment.
but it can be so unknown,
and I do not know what pain
But what we can do,
due to compassion,
is give her a hand, hug,
a reason to smile.
Get her to show some teeth
with this piece.
Or a movie?
I hate seeing people sad,
but she'll be okay.
That's what we do.
Love one another."
That was the sensation given,
when across the room,
reflected off the sliding glass door,
the image back unto the viewer
dark, inked shoulders spilling past
the slim, pale ones
of the one in his arms.
Though not much taller,
his eyes lined up
right over her head,
his arms seemed
to encompass her back,
skin contrasting not exponentially,
the darkest parts
of his skin
his arms, due to
his daily exposure to the sun.
The lack of the same
to her slender back,
exposed only now
by the thin-strapped undershirt,
gave more difference
to the two tones of skin,
and their characteristics
augmented even more.
Never gloved against steel, oil or grease,
the thick, rough hands,
of his enveloping embrace
clutched at skin peppered with freckles,
while a elegant, high-cheekboned face
her chin to his neck,
her nose to his chest,
her cheek to his.
Her fingers slowly
scratching his back,
his shirt off unexpectedly,
but not contested,
detered or questioned.
He didn't even realize it was off,
or the events that lead up
to this image,
burned in his head.
As though he had just woken up,
to her scent in his breath,
her hair in his face,
one of her hands on his chest,
another on his back,
her breath warming his body,
like a bellow blowing
oxygen into the hearth,
each puff burning the fire inside
the ember of his heart
ashes and loose soot
blowing off the furnace
that had laid cold
for a while,
but how much longer will burn
before it cracks the brick?
The first burns hot,
her breath heavy,
heating up. Warm to touch,
he always is to her,
or at least that's what she says.
He's heard it before.
He's seen this before,
why was it such a shock?
To see the body of his as the canvas,
and hers as the art piece?
Was it luck?
or the eventuality of it, which slipped
through Freudian reference
that lent future probabilities?
it was something else,
not knowing the difference in appearance,
but understanding the gravity
of the reason,
like a person wanting to read a book,
or just be seen reading.
Looks the same.
But the reason behind it
leading to perhaps another judgement,
and at this moment,
staring back at himself,
a new love in his arms
with no good reason to call it that,
he just holds onto her; the moment."
Tonight is a new poetry kind of night,
As the rain slips down the glass pane windows,
Of our dusty nursing home of a library,
The old binds are bursting,
The covers worn,
As I run my fingers over the innocent little books in the poetry section,
The musk of ugly men and beautiful women stains the room,
I can see them crying out from their pages,
Screaming for my hand,
"Carry us to safety!" they plead,
They are lonely and desperate,
Just as they started,
My hand finally decides on Sharon Olds,
I like to read about women who make bad choices,
I love how my heart beats faster when the poem gets dark,
As if when she's with that bad boy,
Or about to snort another line of cocaine,
I can save her,
Earlier today I tried to tell a friend my secret,
Even when I'm smiling,
Even though I seem so joyful,
Sadness has become my best girl,
My trusty right hand,
She goes to bed with me everynight,
And in the morning she is not with that asshole from her work,
Or those scholars down the hall,
Or whichever druggy is clever enough,
She's with me,
Staring into me totally,
As if she's discovered a new galaxy,
A type of beautiful I've seen all my life,
But never fades for a second,
She has the same power to tear me apart,
That she did when my family became ruin,
When my closest friends became memories,
When love finally gave up on me,
But she can be as hurtful as she needs to,
I have never been the judging type,
I understand her,
She just wants all these bottles to be empty,
The music to be louder,
The party to go a little longer,
That girl to be a little closer,
She's coming over tonight to read poetry with me,
And, like always, she's promised to help me write a few of my own
Write and write, then write some more
Oh how some have said “It’s a bore.”
What do they know? They don’t see
The magic of these words on trees
Tiny strips of once grand woods
Hold whole worlds, even in death
The tree is gone, but life is there
And it grows with every breath
To create such things as worlds and lives
To build them up and rip apart
The power, the emotions, oh dear writer
Here is a portal to your heart
Look at how each person changes
Look at how your worlds expand
Do you see lives rearranging
And all within your master plan
Oh, the excitement! Oh, the joy!
Beauty is here, beauty and life!
In the quiet of humble homes
A universe hides inside
Some poor souls won’t understand
They’ll never see what you have done
Don’t live for them, don’t mold your worlds
To show the cruelty they’ve become
Take a breath, then get to work
Go live within what you create
Be surprised, feel admiration
Feel love, joy, jealousy, and hate
Don’t be afraid to stray away
And wander down an unknown path
Surprise and awe aren’t just for readers
Not everything will need a plan
Just let the life grow on its own
Let the people all be free
And in their freedom, you will find
A world where you may wish to be
Life isn’t set in stone, my friends
And your writing is the same
Your words are alive, so just relax
And walk within your stories
Always remember, your world is living
It’s not just scribbles on a page
And always know, it’s your creation
Be proud, and please, keep writing