was I wrong in saying

Poetry is composed less .....read lesser ....and commented upon least ....
except for some great guys outright condemnation ....
so compose
and
repose a faith in yourself,
read and read and then confess
tis worth a garbage bin's worth
and
then smear it all
on mother earth

I am an emcee, so my form and structure may be different to the norm.

He spoke to me in gentle tones
About mulling over ancient bones,
better things to think I ask of you.
shall we then find something anew?

To talk till evening stars emerge.
Where worlds collide, truths are heard
in rooms closed from our busy world
let’s talk of things that hide within.

I fear the dawn, the sinking sun
I am now lost, let them freely run
yet they are here with us to learn.
Each step a path to peace we yearn

Every time I think I got it right
Here you go starting a fight
Sucker punching words spewing from your mouth
Flying as if a fist to shatter all my doubts.

Asshole, you make my life a living nightmare
Hindering the efforts to be fair
When sharing a kind moment
You make me wanna vomit.

A cake made especially for you
My special disgrace when you're blue
Constant awareness of your evil flesh
Keep me far from your electric fences

Flawed perfection:
Extraordinary blaze of son.
You are not who you were.

Such a battle, wounded,
We are scarred, bloodied.
All our once-were stories are undone.

You are in the books of others,
Fat with history, agony,
Condemnation, hope:

Love in all its constellations
Bled dry.
The hardness of survival.

You - the diamond -
Reflect our fractured mirror:
Forgiveness

Identity, my old enemy, how do you do?
Making me wonder who am I, like you give a Damn.
Spinning my wheels at your hands, you make me crazy.
Poison arrow through my heart, heated dagger in my eye.

Thoughtless bastard, you darken my soul, make me lose my mind.
Through your torture, the push and pull, I find comfort in your arms.
Twisted love turned to hate, as I second guess my fate.
Where do I belong, you spit in my face, grinding my dreams to dust.

the television is a crime
sated on its feed
its worm breath
and noise
hissing through the sleep

folding dreams into abstractions
that the hall light performs on

sully on this
chill
caught
in steam subway
home vents

there is a rumble
beneath the
feet
of the harried
and the hurried

stop and turn
and listen
there is a voice
starting now

a voice that will
lead
from the conspiracy
trove
the highland ocean groves

A poem is a kind of Zen Koan,
for people to decipher what life is,
without having it spelt out
in our already watered down intensity of expressions;
carved into stone, words,
words uttered by the great, the small and ourselves;
taking the mind for a kind of spiritual walk
in the whole of existence,
and leading one to see the truth you perceive,
the one that is your own personal expression of it,
at that particular moment in time.

How ironic indeed that freedom won
to shake off shackles of dogma sons
and daughters dear
should be so roundly trounced
with teaming steers of fear

Fear found out the skeleton in cupboard
now Facebooked
Fear found out your current CV cache
now cached on your future bosses board

Oh dear, how quaint a concept is privacy now
when future others ask "how"?
How did we lose that bastion strong
that kernal of "us" that's now
perpetually "wrong"

And sometimes I feel. I just have to get away.
Run off, into the forests, wild and free
The blue streams will lap at my ankles
The warm sun will cast rays on my face
And I will laugh, I will cry.
Free from the constraints of societies heavy bonds
But for now I am trapped
Trapped, by my alarm in the morning, my daily routine
By the way I must act, the things I must say.
And the disease of consumerism
Is devouring me, inside out
For now I am trapped
But one day I will be finally free