Elegance, you were a descendant of evil, I swear
I never felt skin to the likes of yours
You were a drug, an addiction. I am in withdrawal

Manic, you were a child of a rainstorm, I swear
You were uncovered in a tomb of gold
I never held my heart from you. You are a caged bird

Infatuation, you were the sun on a winters day, I swear
I never felt radiance in another like you
You were a fire, burning glory. I am smoldering

Bull shit, verbal leakage,     
 you cruise in 2nd gear
When you should be in 3rd,
You don't engage your brain

Your a waste of space
All you can do is fornicate
And procreate that any ape can do

The fact of your existence offends 
Makes me want to stamp you out,
Scream and holler 

bull sit verbal leakage
I want expunge you 
I need lobotomise my memory of you
Obliterate the stain

THIS STILLNESS

There is a stillness deep
a silence that soothes
and terrifies
no words can be spoken
the noise of living
fades into distant places
and I wait quietly pretending

the world doesn't speak to me
the same way it did before
my words are sharp and clear
yet somehow fade and disappear
heard by none

my art if art it be
hides my soul in metaphor
and the stories I tell
are me in hell

The autumn winds will soon bring frost
foretelling colder air to come
so before the last of warmth is lost
we'll pick the last sweet summer plum

Let's walk the woods and pull on vines
shaking loose from the high canopy
purple juicy muscadines
from which we'll make some wine, maybe

Now, while worn leaves still are green
with poplars, only, showing gold
while doves and humming birds still preen
and buck antlers are growing bold

When the wind from the north
off Lake Erie
wraps around your breath
and a hard rain has ushered in
three days of sinus headaches,

awake dawn
fuscia chill
stars cling like ice
to melt the bitter blue
so deep and cold

tangy dreams drip
from bird bone limbs
satin souls
wavering
the sleep breath
resltless roam
the lovers kiss

salted like the fin
Mermaids caress
wave worn stone
our amulets
of tears like frozen
teeth about our
throats

and the howl of waves
in black cavern ribbon
at our station

Poetry Is a God Gifted Art
I commenced composing poems,
As early as eight years
When my first poem

The Truant,

Composed in a class,
Was taken away by my Principal

It was about an incident,
When schools kids went an amok

I don't remember what I wrote
But ever since I have composed
Poetry of my own
And
As you must have noticed
No two poems of mine are alike,
They neither rhyme nor chime
But so many friends,
I can now claim as mine.

The touch that I once longed for
Now repulses

Lips once warm and sweet
Have turned calloused and cold

Little innuendos
now chafe and bite

Give them to another
For I no longer can
bear the thought of you

While speaking with someone, presently
I was informed of having to forfeit some of my days.
There were incidents of daydreaming,
with a seemingly fond proclivity
for ignoring certain moments.

So, those days were a "wash", as it were.
With missing items that vanished,
like socks through a vortex in the drying stage.

So, I learned the meaning of forever
and, the birth of my one, and only regret.
Taking so many moments of magical properties,
and then, taking them for granted.

Fall, bring me your cold winds
And your dying leaves
Your pitch black nights
And swirls of colors at sunrise
Fall, bring me your love
It will wither and flake away
Like the last leaf that breaks

Love, bring me your head aches
Your torture and your demise
Your smiles and your laugh
And your security
Love, bring me your dreams
So I can fall asleep tonight
Like the child I used to be