We all have thoughts

They're in our heads

During the day or when

We take to our beds

But where do thoughts go

When we're brown bread?

Do they expire when we do

Or emigrate instead?

Do orphaned thoughts stray

Seeking a new home?

Is the air alive with ideas?

Does a corps of notions roam?

And is that where poetry begins?

Idling like taxis, do rhym...

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Indebted

I took to watching slow dying sunsets

Marking the passing of the dawdling day

The trees casting their stoic silhouettes

Counting the golden currency each ray

bestows upon my mood and mental health

keeping the braying doubts and fears at bay

Accumulating natures gift of wealth

hoarding value like a miser stores gold

a solar bank that aids the commo...

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You wanna know how to write?
Then learn from me,
My words are from the heart,
So true and free,
So listen up,
And listen good,
My rhymes always flow,
Just like they should,
I'll stomp you out,
And throw you about,
I'll kick you in the face,
Without a doubt,
I'll drag you around,
And beat you to a pulp,
I'm breaking bones,
Just like the hulk,
Gashes and bruises,
I'm tired of your e...

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Poetry has many inspections
each line, like thought, re-touched.
We frown at fingered collections
of nouns, and other, stuff.
There are troublesome inflections
and bleeding, wrung-out, verbs,
the wandering explications
of rhymes, the metre, serves.
There are stand alone conjunctions
in hope, that it, amazes,
where
in solitude it functions
in contrived, schematic, phrases.

Words...

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