LILY

--and what a wave must be, E.D.

Poet within, -- she nods her head -- always

Her presence merely requires mention

She is dutiful, standing or dancing

My miniature me emerges from me.

She never saw the ocean nor the Sea.

Yet she has seen the Heather anyway.

It holds no mystery that’s not previewed

For it is the answer to a prayer.

And her prey is the moment at hand.

Its hardly-thereness its disappearance,

the soul of its virtuous eloquence

held forward like a nickel a poem.

Arise on the horizon of time’s touch.

The presence of the sun and the moon.

GRUNION HUNT

If you can't beat the Romans become one then
 and then beat yourself Black and Blue come Bleed
For a Force without Gravity, won't stick.


For it hast lost its Consonants and Vowels
And replaced them with the throttal of K's,

Along a shore without a beach to hunt
Grunions, let's go before they disappear.
You can never trust but believe in them
FOr once as though Forever and again.


Kackle allow  but cover your bases,
Words mean nothing now nor may they ever.
Lost on the loins of a misperccieved face
Even Love trust no other but armor.


The river'll Flow over, say, Evon, mulch,
rich fertile soil for farming is left?

TIME PETAL

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee: R.B.

    

I watched a Sonnet be launched from my eye!

It cast a larger net around my Feet

than anything that ever existed .

Greater than Silence as first fell its Tears.

I cried for myself but more for the Verse.

For what had it done to deserve its Death?

A mere innocent fated to be Squelched

Yet, I still ask for answers for its Sake.

As in the seedling bed in a Field Cried:

Weeping the Mouse for its Shambles Untied.

The house was never meant for Surviving.

While its flower garden tended of Time.

Ready as the Reply never asked for,

its fourteen little crosses became more.

A LEAF

I am the voice of the sun   held the leaf,

my volume is inaudible   of light

persists amidst   vacuums in ventricle

as is a petal   encircled of sight

and green the power of green reply is

agrees to fruition  recipe life

fruited the chalice    quickens to ripen

as though eagerness consents to inflame

a fire draws force of twice oxygen

silence is golden and affords the loss

then words grown more absent than soundlessness

are spared from the aftermath to succumb

they drop down upon the pavement or earth

continuously pursued vanishing

ANYONE POET

If it only takes a Poet or Anyone,

for both are the same and no different..

We grow greater by its Music agained.

All people love reason and rhyme as Love

Love's Labor Lost was recovered at once.

It foretold of no debt, war, guilt, oh source

You become to my Mind my Aegies.

For I love you more than an Eon dies.

I agonize over your Beauty, Time.

Oh Time, you are as Gentle as the Morning.

You arrive at the Appointed Lamp, Glow.

While to war is to venture a Great Fate.

Cast as it is a False Promise cannot.

Can't do for you what your Poetry Art.

DECLINE OF LITERATURE

As Depending on a wheelbarrow
Everything reduces to religion
And Spinning of hours for reasoning.
Love was what Logic becomes not as much.

The power of Art is not a Machine.
It represents the greatest discipline.
To drill at your Life bomb it with conscience,
Then stand in the mirror naked as much.

To be despised at conception and birth
and die every time to appease the wound
Go about to live in the underworld
as Dostoevsky was riddled with debt
learned how to objectify death for it.
While literature persists it Declines.
Crime is to be born Punishment to Live.

Anglo America Anti-Poetic

1. FreedomFreedom from Tired Irony
3. Languages have kill switches only when False.
4. They are the Nets of Consonants and Vowels.
5. Furthermore, they store all the Truth's Treasures.
6. Freedom to Live and Live Happily, Bliss.
7. Magic,, Love, Faith, take it all for nothing.
8. No word would a gun trigger nor crown king.
9. For the Language is of Love or it Isn't.
10. It ceases to be Ceremonious.
11. Yet it, too, has Defenses, the Bards these.
12. We teach Peace before War and after War.
13. Nothing as far-fetched as Death has Power.
14. Such as these, my lips that bless kiss your Eyes:
15. You are greater than any given Source.
16. For you are my Love and my Love Endures.
19. ANGLOPHONE AMERICA
21. As Gaza is sad what about white trash?
22. We're forced to smile by tyranny's lash.
23. The English claim our language as there's
24. THen use it to Fabricate for Bedlam.
25. THey banish the magic from their Mosses.
26. Who does that and gets away with it, Soul?
27. Makes verse of Love into verse of Bedlam,
28. Again and never tires of the Bedlam.
29. The Lamb wakened to life as a Blood spill
30. The Sheets of Othello riddled with weapons.
31. The World is a Theatre not a Louse.
32. You ask why I shout in your Idiom,
33. It belongs to the one who mastered Some.
34. Not to the Lesser companion of Beds.
35. But to its greatest quality of Flesh
36. Like
38. from Tired Irony
40. Languages have kill switches only when False.
41. They are the Nets of Consonants and Vowels.
42. Furthermore, they store all the Truth's Treasures.
43. Freedom to Live and Live Happily, Bliss.
44. Magic,, Love, Faith, take it all for nothing.
45. No word would a gun trigger nor crown king.
46. For the Language is of Love or it Isn't.
47. It ceases to be Ceremonious.
48. Yet it, too, has Defenses, the Bards these.
49. We teach Peace before War and after War.
50. Nothing as far-fetched as Death has Power.
51. Such as these, my lips that bless kiss your Eyes:
52. You are greater than any given Source.
53. For you are my Love and my Love Endures.
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55. ANGLOPHONE AMERICA
57. As Gaza is sad what about white trash?
58. We're forced to smile by tyranny's lash.
59. The English claim our language as there's
60. THen use it to Fabricate for Bedlam.
61. THey banish the magic from their Mosses.
62. Who does that and gets away with it, Soul?
63. Makes verse of Love into verse of Bedlam,
64. Again and never tires of the Bedlam.
65. The Lamb wakened to life as a Blood spill
66. The Sheets of Othello riddled with weapons.
67. The World is a Theatre not a Louse.
68. You ask why I shout in your Idiom,
69. It belongs to the one who mastered Some.
70. Not to the Lesser companion of Beds.
71. But to its greatest quality of Flesh
72. Like

Then there was Twitter....That Blew the House down.

Like a Bad Wolf with Fangs and desires.

A Neowulf Beo couldn't imagine.

Worse yet the Jew was the stereotyped too.

Old Shakespeare created many Moslems

THough not intending to, he forsake Love

Each of his Jews is barbarian, Semitic,

Though we inherit Romeo and Juliet,

We prefer to be Denmark's ear poison.

Why I say "we" is a mystery to me.

I am not English nor speak it too great.

I did not create Shylock nor Hitler.

I'd die for my Ideals and then some.

I'd write ten thousand verses to Bedlam.