You may cry in writing anew, work in the form of anapaest
Some may find the intellectual write will progress
Leaving standard writers with a plethora of poetry needing an edit
Then the teachers of poetry should help the others in the write

"Try two"

You may cry in writing of poems in forms you may not be now sure of or know.
Some may find when the Bard is now studied our work will progress
Leaving standard of writing now with another meaning to sort
Then the teachers of poetry should help the others in the writ

folded in the currents of light
sleeping like a poised
spring

there is beauty
negotiated
in ugly announcements

I
shall live
for decades
until you know.
I'm the evergreen that you grew in you.

It’s a Battle Lost…

Put your mind in type tell them your thought,
have a little gripe, I’m sure you won’t get caught.
A Herpes monkey sits with a red faced scowl,
we laugh at a diseased dog’s erratic smile or growl.

It’s the same as a punch drunk boxer
who never threw a fight or towel.
Or the vegetarian rock star
who eats everything that’s fowl.

I fell into this body
made of sugar and coal
I know I will love it
and forever I will go

and in the past I was someone
but not someone better
just someone different

give me the real
its gone to far to feel
we are in plastic and vice
its all about the price

in the past I was someone
not someone smarter
but someone innocent

give me your eyes
and il never tell goodbye
im confused and young
lets go have more fun

The stench of flesh so fresh and raw and hewn,
my eye like lense, so dense on meat so strewn,
I crave the drip of blood on beak for noon,
repast ate fast, too gorged to eat too soon.

We are streams of wind that grow
with rising strength across the dark
of sleepless world and tired mind,
flags of breeze unfurled in might
to vanquish well all evil ends
from sacredness of life

We are glowing embers swirling up
from cooling ash of bleak despair
reaching out to warm defeated thoughts
and light the shattered hearts of all those
wracked by endless anguished sadness
with ancient fires of delight

Can you spot those wild zebras,
trotting across noisy plains of green?
Can you spy them with binoculars,
huddling together in familiar scenes?

Can you observe these wild zebras,
emblazoned with their traditional stripes?
Can you recognize distinctive patterns
of opposing colors of black and white?

Can you form an opinion regarding
the thoughts of wild zebras at play?
Can any semblance of ‘Fashion Sense’
force a duality of stripes to rule the day?

you qouth me
wrong
my dark soul blamed
my heart has skimmed
your universe
thoughts aflamed

now tender missed
and bitter kissed

pressed held
dear with its
quest and furies

its quiet rains
and silent flurries

I hold our
sequence
years
puddle trodden
and blurry

this scar
you've carved
is in no
heal
to hurry

Time isn't a thing that we borrow, but
it is about how you live the tomorrow and  
it is a life, an attempt that you go through so,
time is about what you thoroughly learn to do.