Poets please
In my experience of poetry...
across the Internet...
I find a poem just 15 to 20 lines
is read most...
also with a sexy connotation mostly...

else poetry is en route
to the tunnel of time...
where no lights shine...
yes now, no more ...

poetry is becoming obscure...
that is very much sure
poets ought to endure...

There came a knock.

Time had come to call
upon my friend,

not me. Almost every
thing was taken
except for a box
packed and left

empty

of paper and pictures
with little meaning
when the people in
them no longer
have
memories.

I pulled the linens

from the bed,
pissed and soiled
like a diaper wrapped
around a bottom

too new to care
for itself.

I flipped the
mattress over and
fell asleep,
tracing words that
leapt with rage

Like a nimble footed ballerina
the ink flows in a rhythm
choreographing a ballet
of a poetic song

Her steps create
visions of a Swan
flirting with her mate
with suave motions
while her heart and soul connects
to the ethereal melody
creating an extravaganza
of an eclectic sequence

A misstep is the essence
of her mortal charm
not dithering her form and figure
in an enthralling ballet

And as the last threads of the day
stream from my grasping hands and fray
across an eve of hopeless sighs
that withers and then crudely dies;
I'm filled with quiet resentment
that precursors my soft descent
into a worthless rage and then
I breathe my madness once again.

tiger shade
whorls jade
gaunt jaundice

rust cigarette stains
in a pail

an empty mop
oiled walls
glistening
pink brandy

city breathes
through the
storm
color candy

long limbed
the distant
stations
hiss

the baleful
conditions
untested

love b lighted
and like a parade
silenced
a shadow
moves

sweet
as carrion

the cough
wracked drum
beat
the stillness
in the room

If we could,
let us dance this once
like graceful birds,
or galaxies entwined
in a grand enactment,
like bees over swollen flowers
just you and I, a pair

before the night goes out
and day discovers that
I am just a fascination
and your body is a song.

Why is an orange, orange
and an apple red?
Is it the color of the skin
or a religious emblem?

Is it just an illusion
which lures us,
only to lose the essence
in our greed?

Is it the color we bite,
while spitting out the seeds?
The bile doesn't care,
if it's colored or white.
Does it?

It's all shit in the end,
no matter the color or shade,
apples or oranges,
carrots or beetroots,
beans or nuts,
all end up
in solid, liquid and gaseous state.

Tonight let my mind free
to wander beyond eternity
and collect the sweet nectar
from bees aliens maybe
beyond the distant dusking horizon
the twilight of my life
be the birth
of another awesome morn
across the wild oceans
where man and humanity seek to meet
as the sunrise at dawn tweets
the arrival of a newer born
ere the twilight is once again torn
so let me be the for binger of peace
for all humanity
and trace my footsteps upon times domain
to show light to handle
a living darkness

Silver Beast

I ride the wind
on my silver beast,
riding high on a paved retreat.

They say I’m not worthy
of such a treat
but I smile and wink
as I kick the beast.

The beast and I
have rode long and hard.
We know we are worthy
as we fly on by.

We fly so high
we can look down and see
those who smirked
were wanna-be’s.

A simple grin
and a wave goodbye
off again and away I fly.

By: Sharon Jones

Alone to Think

I shall have to walk in glades of green

Or walk into my dark room there unseen

How could I ask which one to choose?

The greens have it I cannot lose.
.

The softness under foot, peaceful touches

Where walking is a silent treasure to me.

The birds sing forth, though there’s only three

Say what you want from little ole me.
.

I am here in this my sanctuary

Where my mind is brushed with perfumes

A felt tipped leaf touches my soul

As deeper in the forest I go
.