I’ll conjure up, create, compose
a poem, which to you, I s’pose
sounds easy, like a piece of piss:
put pen to paper, make ‘em kiss!

How hard - you ask - is writing rhyme.
It takes no talent, only time,
you’d think! Though don’t dismiss desire,
and muse, who forges in the fire

sweet inspiration stripped of glitz:
not wasted on self-centred shits!
but wordsmith wizards wielding wands,
rogue rhymesters, free from bookish bonds.

Ms. Black
in eighth grade
taught me
how a teacher can
provide support
to her students.

Aside from encouraging
me to think
outside the box,
she encouraged me to
reach for it.
Most importantly,
she advocated for the
use of my voice
in the form of poetry.

I'll tell it rather simple.
I'll say it plain and true.
A simple thing is all I want.
And all I want is you

There are no other riches
No treasures or possessions.
That ever could compare to you
My fondest of obsessions

You are the very air I breathe.
The ration that sustains me
Your all my thoughts tied up as one.
The laugh that entertains me.

Your all that life need ever give.
The maximum that's due.
If I could ask for anything.
I'd only ask for you.

Courtesy a plethora of marriageable females
dogging, hounding, and lowing the living daylights
forcing yours truly to go undercover and into hiding
within the heart of darkness
at a remote undisclosed location in Perkiomen Valley
changing my name, rank and serial number
to protect what little remaining innocence
(analogous from the salvaged wreckage
of the Edmund Fitzgerald,
an American Great Lakes freighter
that sank in Lake Superior
during a storm on November 10, 1975,

I possess
what Doug calls
an honest voice.
By itself
I express my Alto
presence in the room.
In a group of people,
a collective,
it merges with
the other voices.
It makes a huge
beautiful sound.

When I sing,
I breathe
in and out
up and down
and stretch
to reach the notes.

It brings me joy
to be part of
this wall of sound.
It creates.
It produces
a cultural output
of which
I am very proud.

Poetry once saved my life
when I was shackled to a wife:
(The first, I'm on my second now,
this one's not like the other cow.)

She's kind, and cares about my rhyme.
My ex. condemned it, called it crime,
that verse which was a real life line,
an anchor for this soul of mine!

So, poetry is versatile,
it leans T'wards any living style.
In love? Then it's an angel’s wing.
In hell? Will make your sorrow sing.

I thought I knew what it might take,
To survive in a world so fake.
Chose my gear to allure and tease,
Thought my look couldn't fail to please.

Barely ate to fit that skinny dress,
Lived off caffeine I must confess.
Carbs banned from my daily living,
As they'd prove so unforgiving.

Forced myself to the gym as well,
Yet not totes under that fitness spell.
Every stretch brought forth a cry,
And did nothing to reduce my thighs.

We walked the pastures, a girl and I.
Held hands, so quiet, a girl so shy.
Sat close together in the shade of an oak
Her head on my shoulder, no words we spoke.

Across green meadows below the copse
Soft white lambs ran and played and hopped,
And gambled and frolicked in soft spring sun
While round us gentle bumbles hummed.

Further still we could hear the sea,
Waves lapping borne on oceans breeze,
Above, blue sky no clouds in view,
When into the oak a raven flew.

Narcissus turns
to sunrise
showing that Spring
is rounding the corner.
The hope of
new beginnings
is following
on its tail.

The tall stalks
surround the lake
without a care
in sight
are bobbing
their heads,
seeming to
want a sip
of the blue
water.

The sun set a few minutes ago
But somehow as I stare at this purplish horizon
I get this strange feeling
That the story is just beginning

If I could have a minute of your time
I'd tell you of the darkness I befriended
For in it I came to discover
Jewels as bright as diamonds

Sometimes I walk out after midnight
And I feast my eyes upon a sleeping world
Somehow in that grave silence
My heart seems to find
What it had searched for all day