Seems what ever I say 
it turns around and bites me in the arse.
Whatever I do it's wrong.
Some my label me a victim.
Well I say fuck them and shit on that,
I don't conform, you won't bring me down.

I can never win I won't let my self
If you don't beat me then I will.
But don't be fooled
I will fight back tooth and nail.

in the corner of a crook
there is an orange headed beauty
that kicks about in her scullery
all the makings of a fine dinner

seated near there is a man
who was made a boy by a
departure and so hung on his
feelings like a coat to a rack

she bustled down home nostalgia
from the boiling pot and
chop chop chop of veggies
making quick dissipating patterns

Only great people
are humble like you
and I,

That's why along the sea beaches
we roll
and
the surfs pass by ...

But then some one looks back
and says
Wasn't he
He?
Yeah that's
All about life aint it.

It matters not, how many times
a blatant falsehood is repeated
you can even tell it 'til your face turns blue;

it can never bring real comfort
in the long run, to any heart
because, of course; it never, ever will ring true.

On a cold day in october
'twas a truth I had to learn,
one so very stark, in it's own reality;

I couldn't help but let it "fester"
hurting the heart that is my own,
'twas relentless, and just wouldn't let me be.

She fell
through the spaces in time
she landed
in another world

adrift of reality
an army surplus coat
remnants of glory
adorn its lapels

from cigarette butt
to the next
she weaves unseen
under the crowd

rummaging bins
discovering uneaten burgers
cold French fries

I watched until …

we broke bread
under an iron steed
we drank from a tin
baked beans its last passenger

she still slips from dimensions
that hold her locked in delusions

Eat and be merry
A glass of wine with cherry
Sparkling in eyes
Of vibrant young

 Nothing of concernIs discernedStaring in bottomOf bottle of booze Youthful funFaded memoriesLooking back onWasteful youthfulness Experience, knowledgeDeep rootedProduced wisdom From bottom of the barrel 

Shadows move in closer, and I cannot see
Blindfolded by fear of the unknown
Ice-water thoughts of horror, sunami behind my eyes

Hair standing on end, and cold gooseflesh
Thumping heart loud in my ears
Shaking hands, trembling legs that refuse to stand

I fall from bravery to limp coward
Terrorized beads of sweat drip from my chin
Throat constricted, my voice scared and hoarse

Bolting away from reality, my mind races
Chill wind caresses my soul like a love slave
A prisoner of phantoms

My muse tells me the best of poets use iambic meter.
The really good expressions I have noticed in these styles,
as sonnets, nonets, quatrains - all those so-called 'perfect' verse -
will be accepted by a judge and win a comp by miles.

When rhythm streams across the page and rhyme is never missing,
a writer in ta dum vibration, song-like essence captures.
If lyrics off the tongue all roll in strolling, lilting fashion,
a master of this form will have an audience in raptures.

I hear a whisper in the breeze,
Older than the seven seas,
A story of long ago,
When it began, I do not know.

A tale of the Elven race,
Who left this world without a trace,
A people once plenty,no longer here,
Gone forever, this much I fear.

They lived in peace, lovely and fair,
What riches they had, they would gladly share,
They loved this world, with all they had,
Which makes this story so terribly sad.

I wish I were a tough guy
The kind you meet in books
Made of rock hard muscle
With rugged hard man looks
A Raymond Chandler hero
Exuding macho charm
A super spy or villain
With a beauty on each arm

I’d love to be the kind of guy
That others see and fear
The bane of every coppers life
I'd look at them and sneer
I might fall for a sucker punch
Get beaten up or more, but
I’d meet them face to face
And then, I’d even up the score