House of Blaze---:Written Special For : Last Chance Contest

Should my home catch flames; ABLAZE
simply one collection shall I salvage
to spare my brain waves from becoming a maze of craze

ahhh...my beloved Poet Trees shall survive...as to my soul they arrived with much thanks
but NEVER from clever, contrived, silly, pink think-tanks
rather; they gather where my third eye winks then blinks 

and just as the silly mind sinks to sorry new lows
a brand-spanking-new tree's seed grows
keeping me on my two FEETS' toes
fueling my soul with free flows; chill as "Chili Fritos"
freeing me from creaking sinks and freakish stings...allowing me to sing where the air
lends friends that bend, like ten thin yogi's zens and the wind blows like Hurricane Hugo's

saving grace in the face of disgrace, I increase pace, to beat Hell's fire, in this race

my Poet Tree's divinity, lies within tiny limbs and hymns weighing in on the decision keeping Rosy posy prosey in my vision
instead of hording my corny flicks n' flings, or rings n' things, like holy-cannoli rings, or roly poly bling, that I surely do not need or eat like knish treats or fish meat

so while it may seem strangely neat to see me refrain from placing fame on games n' things like Gnip-Gnop and my freakin' flips n' flops...I say "Let them flames burn red instead till they don't stop!"
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***Note to reader... the "POET TREES" mentioned in this piece are a depiction of an extremely insane catalog of thousands (nearly all hand written) original poems I am fortunate enough to have written in life.  They are absolutely the only physical possession of true value to me, as they are detailed visions, dreams, and documented journeys I will NEVER take for granted! Mankind often tirelessly politic, fuss, discuss or argue about ability to "be a poet or a real writer" within academia and other literary circles. I make a living as a humble writer and  I say, who the hell cares! This is NOT a talent, it is a very vivid experience and I am merely a journalist, just like all of you. I encourage each one of you to listen ONLY to the "WELL SPRING" placed within the guts of our existance~~~~~~~~JSLambert~plant your seeds and read the Poet Trees!~

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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

Date: 2/14/2012 1:31:00 PM

Wow, this is cool. Reminds me of how my dad lived. He was not a poet of words but a poet of life, a free spirited musician with little material possessions. I hope I just read a first place winner! Blessings, Rhonda

Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Date: 2/14/2012 1:34:00 PM

His poet trees were his drums.Got them when he was 14 and had them til the day he died.

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 2/6/2012 5:36:00 PM

I guessed right what the poet trees were. I too have thousands now though as you know, mine are not of the same nature as yours. However, I prize them as valuable and I would go absolutely nutso if my house caught on fire and I had to race to bring the many scrapbooks of them from the basement!! Hmm, as for your response to Sexiest man, I believe I implied that he was humble. heehee

Kabuteng P.Ink K.

Date: 2/6/2012 12:06:00 AM

Oh wow, Joey-- how cool of you to have these "Poet Trees" and handwritten, too! That is a treasure!--love the word play in this and those that you also injected in your poem here--- I can imagine how precious this is to you, keep on writing! We'll keep reading :D