The loss will be entirely ours,
to lose such a gallant poet,
Tell us not of the vexations caused,
think of us
who shall miss you most

You and I have been bombarded daily
But I don't damn care,
for the sound of music I create
with all I do share
and
Some grunt, many laugh,
Others shunt:

Never mind the worse forms of human beings,
else these words
Grunt, shunt and laugh,
will be buried at once

I look back upon this lengthy trail
and barely see where it began
for it's faded like a white contrail,
like any effort left by man.

Distance masks the rougher parts.
From here rivers seem mere brooks.
There's no sign of the stops and starts
or short rests earned in restful nooks.

Overall the path has been ascending
and full of forks along the way
which I often chose merely depending
on the whim which struck that day.

Hurry hurry rush rush,
Turkey in the oven and cranberry crush.
The dog sitting starring at the food,
Pretending to be good.
Hoping I will drop a single crumb,
C'mon sparky, I'm not that dumb.
Drooling in a puddle on the floor,
Oh my how gross Sparky go outdoors.

i have a fatal flaw
i'm only inspired
when the darkness attempts to swallow me whole.

Can't write happy cliches,
got to write , full on shit kicking.
And so for me there is no I between

 I'm resigned to the dark side
that's where i live,
that is me

The reason I am still living
is ny ability to plough my feelings
on to the page

I'll use any means available,
Even if it's profanity
To keep the poem moving

In the fields of my mind
Odd clouds gather
Mists of uncertainties
Senseless insanities

In the sanctum of my heart
Dark storms growl
Blizzards of bitterness
Senseless unhappiness

About the petals of my body
Thorny vines grow
Deep wounds anew
Senseless unhealed scars

I dread for my soul
Inward uneasiness
The darkness awaken
At this sunrise

Evil, wears the faces that we put on it
The masks that we see are of our own device
Out of the darkness, in the light of the fire
we chisel and paint, bringing to life our fears

Warnings woven in tales handed down
of innocence carried away
in the absence of enlightenment
So we seek to put names and faces on it

What we cannot see frightens us
We need the lamps of understanding
Then we can invent ways of defeating evil
There must be Ying and Yang

I can't remember how this poem was to begin,
so I'll stir up a little agitation,
there's nobody home and nobody's without sin,
thieves are amoung us and steal the pontificating heart
with parochial parody.
Poets, damn them one and damn them all,
damn their inclinations
and exaltations.
Damn their invitations.
Damn their spotted dogs and damn their blind eyes,
damn their truth. Damn their loose lips,
flapping like red sails in the wind.

God has wit
and a sense of humour;
He made politicians
first.
To keep the devils
laughing silly
so He could make
the world in peace.
Then He invented
the feminist movement
when he formed Eve
from a spare rib.
And just to add
a dirty bit to
an already awkward set up,
He left them naked
in a garden patch
with a fruit
and a talking snake.

What a lie
that I can own the moon,
The untruth
Which makes me think
I can hold the sun

It is selfishness
To believe
that someone feels
As I do
Or expect that love
Will return
Just as light arrives
On a  brand new day

Seeing the green grass
Grow to only whither
As winters wind
Begins to blow,
The heart felt chilling
Bitter cold
Which steal away
Springs green glow

You were on the tip of my tongue
but I had nothing more to say,
and so it is
that poetry is by far the easiest
thing to swallow.

if you think I'm your friend, your lover,
your enemy or your Beloved
you're half-right
only as far as your thinking goes
so here goes a quick assessment
of the blessed rite of passage,
down, down where nobody knows
how far the truth goes
that never has been said
and left you for dead,
alive and kicking into that gaping mouth
that holds the void, opening,