Best Bona Fide Poems

I feel a sense of déjà vu as I listen
to the cacophony of voices:
dilettantes discussing poetry 
under baroque chandeliers. Masquerading 
as avant-garde writers or bona...

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I suffer in poverty for lack of baroque emotions;
glimmers to decorate my eyes would be an anomaly
as deja vu smiles blend the grays of going...

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An anomaly in furnishings, I was;
so avant-garde, I triggered smiles and buzz.
Not like baroque, ornate styles of the past,
my bona fide remake was made to...

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You crush to dust, my walls to see, the measure of my cold ennui,

      Though I, a dilettante supreme, am...

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Anomaly don't enter contests like this
the style is a bit avant-garde,
I'm a bit of an oldie, preferring baroque
and finding this bona fide hard.
The cacophony of...

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I cannot tell you what love is for it is not tangible like cement  
but I can tell you this you cannot beg for...

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THE AVANTE-GARDE OF VELLUM AND INK 

The avante-garde of vellum and ink, like Cupid’s bow and arrow,
Carte blanche to choose the muse we love -...

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My favorite dream,
Not so ordinary, I guess,
Not sex, wealth, fame,love...
Not seeing long missing ones,
Not vengence, not pride,
Just simply bona fide,
Getting my hands,
On a grand cathedral
pipe...

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in the name of living art
pushing the limits risking it all
i put myself out teetering on every ledge
i stand where everyone can see
my nakedness flaunted...

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Xenoglossy

I learnt the language of silence
She declares
Miming is painful for the little girl
So that her eyes moves to the rhythm of xenoglossy- Silence
“Peace!” She declares...

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It seems these days, across the land,
that the Klan has somehow got a tan.
Somehow, instead of being free,
folk now take pride in their bigotry.

They say...

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I just want to be me, free to exist,
rest knowing everything inside is seen;
The somber parts also need to be kissed,
if it's love then there...

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There is a place so beautiful I'd love to see again.
My dream vacation started in Madrid, in central Spain.
How I long to stroll again down...

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An  alabaster jar

Amongst the discard

Embedded in the mud.

The fisherman

Well trained in the ancient art of picary

Catches a halibut

In the morn

It is the noon. The...

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Many maidens have seen me rushing the gates of Paradise's pen,
I stomp and buck at all intruders of shallow flirt and short strident ride,
blue ribbons...

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