Essence of Art

Poets aren't musicians who can't sing,

Poets are artists who don't need to sing,

They weave words into pages,

Like ice into sculptures.

Words may capture your soul,

Or they may destroy it.

For tell me, if a poem captures your soul

And so does music

Would too much paint not ruin the painting?

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www(What Went Wrong)

"What Went Wrong"(www)


(1st Verse)

I miss you more than these words can explain the pain is like rain when it pours.

I'm so cold and alone why are you gone? Can you hear me calling you every night?

This is my story of all the love and glory I have for you.

The breaths you take from me when I think of being without you.

I'm sorry for all the harmful words the damage I caused.

It doesn't always have to be this way I'll change your life make everything just right find me today I may not make it much longer.


So when you coming home baby you always know where to find me.

The phone ain't ringing anymore everyone's gone now it's just you.


Come home today right now.

I don't care about what's his/her face if you look past what's his/her name we need to change for us.


(2nd Verse)

Seeing you with someone isn't what hurts it's every single breath I take without you.

Don't you hurt without me is it only me that feels this now?

I'm falling apart who am I where'd I go wrong let me fix it these stitches won't hold for long.

(repeat chorus) 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A love song

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A Peyote Vision

Ten thousand hungry eyes 
sting my flesh
in the white hot light.

Feeding the ambiance:
a cool blue glow,
affixed to the trusses above.

The cigarette smoke curls 
and winds playfully thru
the languidly humid air;

she dances for me 
like a care-free spirit, 
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Trying to Re-Create the Dodo

Trying to re-create the past piece by piece

Putting on the same music

Talking about the same moments

Drinking the same brand of beer

Same people

Sitting in the same places

Pulling out personalities from back then

But when attempting this impossible trick

Nothing ever feels quite the same

And it’s not

The air is not the air

The memories are memories and not the moments

The music is not fresh but dusty and stale

The people are formed

The places set 

Personalities past and shaped

There is always an uneasiness when the trick inevitably fails

A failure on the part of all involved

Unable to conjure preferred past

It happens eveytime

All around the world

In living rooms

In Bars

In Attics

In Basements

At Kitchen Tables

In Backyards

In Fields

Try to hang on

It is slippery

It is a ghost

It is gone

Only to exist in memory

And when memory starts to fade

It will vanish

Like the dodo




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Favorite Song

There he sat, intently listening

to the sweet melodies.

Letting all the simply glistening

beats be his remedies.

Betting on the bass christening

in exertions in his extremities.

A song so blistering and fresh

he decides to name it Listerine,

and tattoo its lyrics on his flesh.

He closes his eyes, enters a serene

scene and wishes he could mesh

with the notes but keep it pristine.

His eyelids slowly rise once more.

He rises himself, now prepared

for any thing the day has in store.

To this euphoria nothing compared,

and total allegiance to it he swore.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My first attempt at rhyme in my poems.

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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes


harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away


Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression


I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection


Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.



Sonya in the moments free
of serving the customers
leaning on the serving bench
dark brown eyes


on you
her dark hair
pinned back
said she liked


Mahler’s 4th best
O so exciting
so full of the life
you preferred


the 5th or 2nd
but she said
no no too deep
too long


life is for living
not dozing
to long symphonies
she preferred Kierkegaard


to your Nietzsche
liked his leap of faith
his books on God
and such


you liked her mouth
like rose petals
stuck together


her ears visible
and so lickable
(if ever permitted
to do so)


that Nietzsche
she said
went mad
think it


was the pox
stuck his penis
in some whore's hole
she stopped to serve


a customer
all smiles
and politeness
that butter


wouldn't melt
in her mouth
kind of thing
you carried paint


up from the basement
and shelved it
in colour order
thinking of her


laying in some bed
Mahler's 4th
blaring out
she putting chocolates


one by one
into her small mouth
and licking
her fingers


so sexily
one leg
slightly lifted


the other flat
and you imagined her
yakking off
about the Kiergegaard guy


her other hand
not stuffing chocolates
in her mouth
resting over


her pubic hairs
you read Dante?
she asked
having served


the customer
with a smile
and politeness
yes the Purgatory


you said
that is where men belong
she said
unless they take


the leap of faith
she leaned
on the serving bench
eyeing you deeply


what you thinking about?
she asked 
how well you serve
the customers


you lied
thinking of her lips
pressing against yours
her tongue meeting yours


in her mouth
of her body
her hair
her eyes


that is why
I am here
to serve
she said


but she was serving you
your young man's head.

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Silent Orchestra

It starts with-

Two wounded hearts.

Seperated between valleys.

During a a major storm-

Bodies were torn.


You have no buttons to push-

I built my bridges-

Now all my work is gone.

Threw away my wings and,

Polluted your mind.


Inside my head-

I am the one to blame.

Symphonies lullabied-

Your music played in vain.

Darling, your long-

Desires tinkered with wishes.

Do i say things clearly-

Or am I the one thats missing?

But you-


Stole my soul.

I'm empty handed.

Oh, Simon says-

Let things go!


Inside my head,

Silent orchestras play.

Thoughts and Emotions



My thoughts are


Shards of broken glass.


If I touch them, they will cut me, 

Blood spilling onto the floor, 

Tainting it, making it slick.


Or Perhaps rather

They are constantly shifting

Like a cloud in the sky


If I touch them, they pass

Through my fingers, out of reach

Where birds fly and wheel.


I close my eyes and reach blindly

Deep into the well of my mind,

Grasping desperately for sanity.


I surround myself.


Darkness explodes into color.


Notes flow past, 

Lifting, resonating


Through my veins.


Thicker than blood,

Faster than clouds.




As my soul flies.


Stronger than anger

More enduring than love

All the colors of the heart and mind

Fade in comparison.


Flaring white-hot spots of 

Brilliance, Blooming into 

Warmth, Cooling the mind, 

Easing pain and fatigue.


All the world is music.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Personal philosophy, 


Music is emotion, and emotion is music. There is no difference.

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