I would like so much more from you
As we reach that fork in the trail
You have to go right and me to the left
There is no point in looking back
As we travel on, before we cannot see
So leave something great of you, for me.

.
Let me think a while, what that can be.
Some of your writing, not just for me
I need a part of you that will live on
As this winters cold grips us both so hard
Then I can say, and let others read your card.
That your spoken words are what we should know.

borne crest
above the sigh
dark softness

the dew plains
the dark nostril
dare

catch me
the darkening
a tinted stare

crescent cascade
oceans
of a crush

oil me up
this jacked
up phase
creaking
in the leatherette
break in

pristine mint
is scarred
with mottled
histories

annointed
at the ankle
curvatures

shadows
capture
beneath
the light

candy rouge
spearmint
glean

Oh yes, my mother! You are an age-old ragged banner,
fluttering in the stormy winds of beastly corruption,
over the broken highways and footpaths of hopeless hope,
trodden with the spiky jackboots of nasty politics.

Yet we are the tough strings, tightly holding your upper ends,
and tying tight to withering branches of ‘conomy;
Yet we are the unbreakable pieces of heavy stone,
hanging like heavy medals from your crippling lower ends.

I stopped by Frost's stone house today
To see what that old house would say
About a poet long revered
Who owned this lovely bit of clay

Trimmed and cut the yard stood bare
Of old and rusted farming gear
No hoe or rake or plow was seen
Sharon France not a Rockwell scene

Old Frost must  feel quite annoyed
To see his life work so employed
His home was a working farm
His family and his friends enjoyed

we all at sometime or the other
experience a writer’s block ….we feel so much inferior…to our selves then ….as one reads another …we feel their vibrations
and in tune commence to vibrate ….our mind once again commences to oscillate ….rotate …as heart palpitates ….

then we like dogs let loose our tongues …. some turmoil …some emotion has well begun …
the writer’s block does erase …
how it does one amaze
out pours glow …like the rivers flow
words come out as you know …from nowhere…

Frightened mice sit waiting. Dogs sit skulking.
River fish swim, knowing tigers eat flesh.
Leopards keep on running, feeling horny.
Wild horses gallop, splashing water.

Fright..end / mice sit / wait..ing. / Dogs sit / skulk..ing.
Riv..er / fish swim / know..ing / tig..ers / eat flesh.
Leo..pards / keep on / run..ing / feel..ing / horn..y
wil..d / hor..ses / gal..lop / splash..ing / wat..er.

Second Attempt

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1CDwQMLJs6QVFBwUEpRNXBIZlE/edit?usp=do…

Searching for understanding
Mind's eye loses focus
Clear picture once beheld
Poetic thoughts burned out

Words of choice once freer
Oppressed by life daily stresses
Memories etched on lone hearts
Blank pages bear no poetry

Don't bother me

In rainy forest
you'll find me breathing
around me are distances
between trees then
we are going to meet
nearby the abandoned lake
and you won't speak.

Then I'm gonna be turning silence
into glittering crystals
while the sea tells me
that birds always come back
from south.

''There's no silence
it's louder than anything
and almost everyone
has collapsed in it.'', he answers.

You ripped the words,
Inchoate and ill-formed -
right out of my mouth.
The gavel of dominance
hammering home
superiority,
with no room for doubt.

You twisted my limp, impervious
arm, with your
"this is how we do it",
Insidious charm.
Leaving me doubting
Your supposed caring,
Would do me no harm.

Driving through the snow
On a freezing winter day
It’s to the shops they go
Down the motorway.

They’re out to buy some things
Much to our delight
We love to hear those sweet chick chings
Throughout the day and night.

Chorus:

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.

Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun to hear the sound
Of profit everyday.