You open your mouth
And my breath comes out
My heart spilled on your chest
I know what happens next
Fingers intertwine
I’ll let you blur the line
We’ve synced our hand watches, our breathes,
Our time and upward motions
Our souls whisper and kiss
Linguistics meet their stand in
Looks and tells, a longing, dripping cheeks
A hum, a nod, a wink to God
Publicly known words replaced with privately-owned sounds
So as not to water down
What’s already been found
‘For the message is foolishness to those who are perishing’
All valuable things are done in secret
Secret tongues, intertwine
I’ll let you blur the line
We’re getting by,
year by moment
Unblinded and defiant, I asked you to carve your name into my skin
I’m under the covers, inside your chest
Blood pumps and beats,
Whispering vows breath-soft in morse code
You’re always running a beat behind mine
No right minded businessman,
Will cut funding and resources to parts of a their business,
That has proved profitable or is essential to the profitability ,
of another part of their business,
So why do governments with more than one successful businessman,
With proven track records of running a successful business,
Almost always go against conventional wisdom for running a successful
business,
And make cuts across the board without any due diligence regarding,
which government department is making the best return on money,
Provided in the form of tax taken off profitable businesses.
Memory is too honest a word for something
That keeps arriving without consent
It shows up in timing
Not thought
A pause where there shouldn’t be one
A second that refuses to move on
I don’t call it back
It just occurs
Like a system running a process, I did not start
Nothing about it asks to be understood
It only proves it still runs
And I stop interfering with it
Because interference
Is where it learns my name again
Is not the world running a rat race
After gold, deemed as the richest prize?
What does it ultimately fetch us,
Other than making our life a mess!
The glitter of gold makes men go daze.
Flaunting wealth has become their craze.
Easy money is modern man’s obsession.
It will end up in his steady transgression.
In time, power and prestige may grow,
But sad, man goes blind in their dazzling glow.
Fairness easily surrenders to corruption,
Leading to value’s wholesale evaporation.
Character gets lost in pleasure’s pursuit
And man, degenerates into a mere brute.
Honesty and integrity are looked down with hate.
Discipline and dedication become obsolete.
Gold may glitter and shine, wealth may stay,
But time will one day take them all away.
The truest wealth is not the one we avariciously heap,
But a loving heart and a peaceful mind that we keep.
In hollow gold as our priorities, we place,
It is our innate virtue and goodness, we replace.
When men’s hypocrisy as probity, they plaster
Is not our world running into a grave disaster?
Political campaigns all take a similar path.
They start out with such noble goals;
bring democracy back to the people,
take corruption out of the process.
Time to give all parties due process,
bring fairness back into the fold.
But then the realities set in.
Running a campaign costs money;
“Brother can you spare a twenty?”
Need to find hundreds of write-in votes
if the committee will allow them in.
Leadership already has their favorite picked.
Inevitable corruption seeps in,
power posturing and majority rule
to enforce ultimate control over it all.
Two stooges emerge, and one wins out.
With the financial influencers and horse-trading,
any actual good done for the public at large
seems accidental, ephemeral good fortune
for the actual benefit of all society.
Everything else is just “Me, me and me,”
My doctor likes to see the Earth
I get a nosebleed, she’s wading the surf
Maybe off Thailand, maybe Brazil
Who’s gonna save me when I get ill?
Yeah, there’s satellites, I can always text
But she’s out of town at the smallest pretext
Running a marathon, maybe in Rome
Everywhere is her home away from home
Maybe its that she sees all the frailties of man
Maybe that galvanizes her to move while she can.
I shouldn't grudge it, but I've just broken my toe
Kicking a wall when she mentioned "Idaho".
So I’ll drive like a saint, not drag race the streets
Not eat the wrong things, not trip on my feet
Not mouth off to strangers, not poke at a bear
Not flirt with disaster or agree to a dare.
I'll use Gemini or Grok or Chat G P T
Then I'll order from an offshore pharmacy
That might finish me off and I'll complain no more
Hope she feels sorry before heading to the Jersey shore.
(note: she really is a good doctor, I'm just having fun here)
Barista
An Italian coffee Bartender
Making cold drinks and hot expresso’s
With shots of anxiety
With many flavors poured in your coffee
In charge of running a coffee shop
Always poetry with coffee machines
A morning ritual
Don’t forget about Cappuccino’s
Caffe’ Lattes on the go
Pouring art in my coffee cup
Barista’s prepares coffee bean rosters
With steam aromas arise fluently
Every cup is beyond cultivating
Beverages brewed to stay awake
Buoyant rhymes with melodies floating in your mind
Have is no other way
Coffee is truly therapeutic
Baristas are multitaskers and creative
Millions drink coffee by the gallons
So many flavors to choose from
What is your favorite coffee shop
Can’t live without it
Awe coffee, two cups
half of the people on Facebook
are running a scam
the other half
are falling for it
and the rest
are watching cat videos
like monks chanting into the void.
everybody’s smiling—
teeth too white,
lives too perfect,
money falling from the sky
if you’ll just click here
and believe hard enough.
old friends message me
with the enthusiasm of used-car salesmen,
calling me “brother”
after thirty years of silence,
asking if I want freedom,
wealth,
or a miracle before Tuesday.
there’s a woman from high school
selling enlightenment for $19.99,
a man who never read a book
teaching success,
and a guru who can’t sit still
telling me how to find peace.
meanwhile
the real disasters
sit quietly in the corners—
rent due,
lungs hurting,
loneliness eating a sandwich alone
at midnight.
Facebook calls it connection.
I call it a bar
where everyone’s drunk
and lying about how good they’re doing.
still, I scroll.
because hope is a stubborn disease
and even a scam
looks warm
when the night is long
and the world keeps asking
for just one more click.
Hot beauty
Like a rattling dove
Whirling cocooned in a flood
Like thirst dripped
Onto the furnace
Of hot galloping wax
Into my tingling
Expanding fibers
On that balm-coated
Trembling cloth of canvas
In that moment when the flame
Flares up with a great heat
As a bomb exploding
Drop of wax is pounding
Sensuous broth is boiling
I am covering you up
With beeswax
With the honeycomb
This glaze of love
Wrapping you like a shroud
A spoiled brat in a raging heather
Prince on board
With his bluish temper
With his depraved rampant
In Perverse abundance
Lid on the lid of lids
This ark of passions
Tavern decays
Delusional Grieving
Monastery of Struggling
Sine Diagram Cosine Graphs
In contemptuous arrogance
In the flight of excitement
Shackle stick me to the ground
The unsurpassable ratio
The Unstoppable Quotient
Horizontal constant eight
Let out a giggle,
In the delirium of
Snickering laugh
The sand is pouring,
The alarm is beeping
Time is running a race,
Can’t keep up with pace
My relentless robotic
Endurance overtakes
Anybody Gunna believe her
About the dam beaver
Collecting sticks
Acting like bricks
Water contained
Whose Gunna complain
About the beaver
Having workaholic fever
Dedicated to the project
You got it
Watching the dam thing grow
Just for the wind to blow
Knocking everything down
Making the dam beaver frown
Scurrying back to dry ground
To pick up sticks
That will act like bricks
Creating a dam
That will stand
Nature’s power
Making the dam beaver tower
Over everything
Anointing dam beaver King
Hail my friend
When finished, building the structure to defend
Someone should commend
Check we will send
Allowing the dam beaver to be rich
Running a successful dam business niche
Deed well done
Thank you, you are welcome
The rats are running a race,
Keeping their people in place,
Placing opposing forces in action,
Causing a big distraction,
As they watch their plan happen,
The opposite reaction,
Giving them the traction,
A sense of satisfaction,
Adding another faction,
Using inhumane interactions,
Throw in an insurrection,
Some misdirection,
A whole lot of deception,
The recipe for inception,
Once you let them in,
You have an infestation,
An invasion of your soul,
Giving them all the control,
While you thought poles mattered,
They splattered propaganda,
Proper pandemonium,
Created those in command,
Planned as something to fix them,
Directed by a mixed up system,
Affected by another symptom,
Racing around for a bit of income,
Becoming one of the victims,
Slave to a system of depravity,
Their rats in every capitol and city,
Hiding in every cavity,
Overrunning your way to be.
Pleasure enflame through my entire being
This man, entices my lips to breathe,
Every moment we are touching.
His spell, his gaze, “they have enraptured me.”
And all I want is to give him a never ending kiss
For I have never experienced real love like this
Plus whenever he looks into my brown eyes
I always feel like I’m sitting on top of the skies
He's glued to my mind
And I crave him all the time
This man constantly put a smile on my face
And makes my heart beat fast
Like I’m running a race
I’m convinced that he had cast
A strong love spell on me
For I’m not the way I used to be
However; I love the new me now
Though he may have cast a spell on me somehow.
I’ve never been a writer, but when I have the time.
I try to think up some ideas to write a random rhyme.
Sometimes it works and I think up something new.
Other times I just scratch my head, as I haven’t got a clue.
Now I’m staring at a blank screen, unable to think.
And my brains just like a pen, that's run out of ink.
Analogy's a great theme, I’ve not done that before
Already hit a brick wall, as I can't think of anymore.
Should I write about a dream, romance, or secret fears?
Looking for inspiration, but still with no ideas.
I try using my imagination, so I write down a few lines.
Then look for other words, to try and make them rhyme.
My plan was to create a poem, with poise and eloquence.
But everything I write down, just simply makes no sense.
So, to spark creativity I recall something from the past.
Ideas come and go, but the moment doesn't last.
I suppose my brain is scrambled and running a bit too slow.
I attempt to write something meaningful, but nothing seems to flow.
I guess writing poetry is not as easy as it looks.
So I admire all those poets, whose work is published in a book.
I can’t imagine
how painful it is to
be God.
Trying your hardest
to make a beautiful painting,
only to have the characters
you created complain and
mock the world around
them.
Why does God let bad things
happen to good people?
Pretty sure you’d walk
away from the canvas too
if it spat back and criticized
you.
But perhaps,
in his silence,
he waits,
hoping we’ll learn to
appreciate the
masterpiece.
And after he
suspects we’ve endured
enough punishment, he’ll return
to add an additional layer
of paint.
We call these added colors
miracles, and they renew our
dwindling faith.
lows over my eyes
trying kill what's inside
just a different drive
hi jacked the vibe
trying to bug my line
get sprayed with pesticide
you see them thuggin
I'm with the plug
trippin on luggage
why you fronting
I see you trucking
moving sluggish
hop out the bucket
it's all for nothing
let's get this money
stop acting funny
we don't love them hos
running a muck
searching for love
always kept it blunt
running from love
searching to re up
always kept that heater
always been players
pushing p
run the streets
serving fiends
bout a couple keys
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