On the corner where he stood
Close by to a shopping cart
Carrying all that it could
Possessions dear to his heart

Flashing in a sequence known
Red, yellow, and green lights
As the cars stop and go

what is love
but a deceitful game
of exposure
and contamination
of the pure self
to compromise and exchange
for an image
that is not you
essential soul
now dispersed
among those
that once were loved
with truth and trust
enthralled in lust
longing to share
a beating heart
with another
to dance in fairytales
but fairy tales are but tales
lies and betrayals
that offer only a temporal
experience of so called
love.

On the hard cold floor I lay awake and pray
Silently, I cry out loud, 'Where are you Lord?"
If I could only find you deep in my mind
I search for that one sign, that you are near me
Listening to all of my innermost thoughts

It is not funny how I don't smile anymore
My laughter has been ripped, torn
With the one joy I had how can I find closure?
I try hard to move forward

If I reached in and pulled
you out
would you be grateful?
Swing the pendulum
to test
the question

My finger tingles
the energy flows like white water
but your black heart
will contaminate
down the lane of your
ancestry
or the next village
in the next century
or ten

I can clear it with
green brilliant light
from the love-cave
sparkling squibs
cleansing and filtering

ere be the empty limbed coiffure
the svelte verbage
spilled and crackling in the storm

the lingering vibratto
whirled with tempestual doubt
the dark winged sorrow
tinged with rain
burdned and striving
to lift before
the hearts deluge

The Action of Attraction….

Their bodies negotiate each move
so fluid it seems like dance,
clinging to each other every speeding
second a stolen chance.

He’s in love with someone else, she
has a partner just as new, that fate dealt
them cards like these was unfair but so
very true.

Though they had just met each other
their bodies moved precise, touching
with a hunger seeking satisfaction,
it gripped them like a vice.

I’m gonna write a poem “Original”
(stop laughing fool, I know it can be done).
My English waits for me to rip and maul.
I’ll grab my books and start this artful run.

The things are large- there must be something here
and then, of course, there is poetic muse
(I hear you and I see you mocking sneer).
In my thesaurus there is much to use.

The damn thing weighs nigh over seven pound.
The rhymer’s small, but it’s computer bred.
That means all rhymes ere made here can be found.
I seldom ever need to use my head.

Time has age me since paper was put to pen
Walking through life in more rain filled question
Why does it sing out with the poetry that I cannot omit
Time has age me since paper was put to pen

beautiful poetry on love
but whilst you are on mother earth
find a real LOVE...

all the best poet dear
many will like you to endear
and love them as youth warrants you
and then alone heavens will welcome you

for the service you rendered on mother earth
where you had been sent
to Y chromosomes present
and lend the selfish gene
a loving hand
wherein man can continue
as long as one can

lend him yours too
as then only a whole being
they all will consider you

Little Miss Muffet,
sat on her tuffet,
quite comfy, so they say,
She looked at the spider,
that sat down beside her,
and swatted the blighter away.

He whizzed past her face
at such a quick pace,
much to her great surprise.
His mouth was agape,
contorting its shape,
while blinking his multiple eyes.

The wind blew her hair,
so pretty and fair,
that he became obsessed .
He grimaced a smile,
that looked somewhat vile
and his legs curled under his chest.