LOVE OF “SHE”

LOVE OF “SHE”

Though her beauty is
unparalleled,
She doesn’t see herself.
More heart-on-sleeve
Than ice queen,
More You-ist
Than opportunist,
Unlike others but
Cares about others.
She’s extraordinary,
With a kind arm and
A soft word.
She’s superior,
A cut above the others,
She opens up to others.
She has a mango smell
And an intoxicating scent
Which compel
Towards her eyes,
Deep liquid sighs.
She shines too bright,
She’s filled with Light,
She spills it out,
She gifts, it spouts,
Transparency
She gives for free.
She’s beauty-blind,
She’s very kind,
She’s Femininity.

PSA: THE EMERGING STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 📛


PSA: A MOVING SNAPSHOT OF THE STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 ♨️♨️♨️

It’s not for the faint of heart,
So before you even begin to
CONTEMPLATE to
start the post,
I’ll
pre-advise you QUIT while still time;
That’s the most
WARNING I’ll provide.

I mean: I know it’s a Sunday,
But this Public Service Announcement
Comes at a high cost to ME,
So if you can’t withhold YOUR judgment
Or your morals to make the space
SO I can release the
Advice alien-ating out of
MY HEART onto MY PAGE,
Please keep your eyes on
Yours and Yours.

Not that any of respectful YOU
Has EVER even tried,
But in 2022,
Virtual and Reality are mixed,
And I’ve got a
Religious Persecution Complex
After a lifetime of abuse.

It all boils down to facts
As simple as this and that
I need be LISTENED TO!! So
“Grow up, You Old Idiot!
You’re as apparently as old as me,
So why can’t you see
That my telling YOU
Is an effort to relieve ME!?
I know ALL these pleas fall on deaf ears”
Pleads ‘Feels-Too-Muted’ Me.

Social Media; Being Simultaneously “Confusing” and “Therapeutic”

For the record, I didn’t even know there
COULD be more than two viewers
To a “Private Story!”
Maybe in your fantastical stories,
Laden with Rote Artificiality,
But not in mine, and at least for now,
NEVER in me!

The Pathetic Pleas of Ash, Even if Designed for Flame

THE PATHETIC LAST OF ASH

I’d let Water have
Its way with me,
Absorbing every atom
Into every part of me,
If it would just return
A little life to me.

But it causes no surprise
That the booty shakes
And pseudo-body quakes
Which clog your feeds
With more enticing sighs
Obscure my ashy pleas.

It’s the sad fate of fire
That, just to live,
She must start herself up
Somewhere else;

She’d become accustomed
To your lingering scent,
But she has to leave
If she hopes to begin again.

DAMNED BY PERSONALITY

DAMNED BY PERSONALITY

In terms of Personality,
I’m ‘Individual’ ‘ENFP’:
All feelings scream “Intensity!”
And I’m damned to wear them on my sleeve.

When they don’t sum up in sense to me,
I’m damned to spend MY mental change
Trying to make cents of THEM!

Either way, I often feel
Personally, I just can’t win.

SEEKING REFUGE


SAFE PLACE TO LAND?

You might not count the costs incurred,
But they won’t erase away.
They were much too great for me;
They show in line upon my face
And well within my eyes
When both are lost in pain.

I know that You can’t erase my costs,
But you COULD kiss my pain away.
At least for another day?
I’d be grateful either way.

KNOW IDEA


KNOW IDEA

You have no idea
How many “No”s I’ve said
Along Life’s Way
To even be ABLE to say
“Yes” to you Today…


Regardless of the way.

The Bitterness of Burned

The bitterness of post-burnt
Feels a lot like toast spurned
After an eternity of tears spilled
Crying out in thirst,
Never being quenched
Parches until too pinched
Beyond all recognition,
Dried and too hurt.

NO DREGS IN MUNDANITY

Mundanity

The word Mundane
Is highly Germane,
At least to my everyday life.

But Mundane might NOT be Germane
To most, since even Voice-To-Text
Came back with “Jermaine:”
Another fine example of exploiting The Mundane!

POEMS ARE EASY

Painting of You

LIKE TAKING CANDY FROM A BABY

Writing poems is easy.
You start with an IQ,
You think a thought or two,
Then, once struck by Luck,
(The waiting is the worst part)
You capture one before it actually exits.
Now I know that part sounds easy,
But it’s just the starting point;
And think how often you change your mind!

So you take these few mundane thoughts,
And your brain must be damaged
“Just Precisely So”
You only CAN think mundane thoughts,
But you CAN phrase them in an
I’ll be damned! fairly clever way!

Meanwhile, you must skillfully and simultaneously juggle
At least FOUR of the following literary devices:
Metaphor (he’s the lead character in Poetry)
Simile (vice-president)
Idioms
Wordplay (a personal favorite)
Sarcasm (a LIFE favorite)
Irony (my life’s Reality)
Parody (often confused with Reality)
Alliteration
Intentional Factual Inaccuracy
Selective Capitalization
•Cliche (Avoid! Same shit, same way!)
•Allegory
•Dystopian Future
, and
Sentimental Memory (must be clouded by distorted past events).

But we’re just warming up!

Once you’ve translated your original two thoughts
Into a poem, using the skills listed above,
You must dip the poem in a
Rich coating of Hyperbole,
Fourteen times,
Backwards AND Forwards,
As well as “sprinkled lightly with”
And “threaded throughout.”

If any of this makes sense to you,
And equally-skilled are you,
Or even NOT,
(One can make virtually ANYTHING sound poetic),
Then you, too, can write poems and
A Poet Laureate are You!

DAMNED EITHER WAY

Photo Credit: Elected Officials at Work

DAMNED EITHER WAY: YOU CAN’T REASON WITH HATE

Regardless of color of race,
Political shade,
Or which if ANY binary side
I choose to take,
The only thing I hate is
Hate-for-Hate’s-Sake.

I think YOU must confuse
Hate with Simple Observation,
I know my view is probably too
Objective for your Political Palate,
So you twist it and spin it,
Then turn-so-you-can-spurn
My comment into Political Hate,
Thereby Converting MY Objective
To YOUR Subjective!

Perhaps there’s no other way
To cope in our collective state
Than to pick A Side To Take,
Embrace it til your Dying Day,
Grow a bunch of angry hate,
And turn EVERYTHING into a
Political Debate!
JUST so I can argue with YOU!!
Especially since it’s such
A fruitful thing to do!

As for me, I’ve got Bigger Fish to fry,
But for the political record,
I, too, was told to “Pick a Side.”
I did it for too long a time!
But somewhere along The Ugly Way,
I DECLINED.
For this heretical act,
I’ve been denied and descried
By my FORMER Side.

Talk about HATE!!
You get it from both sides,
No matter which you take,
No matter what you say.

MEN: A Song For Some


SOME ROMANTIC PARTNERS & A FEW “FRIENDS”

Some want to come over and “visit.”
Some I just want to stay home.
Some are clearly “My Type,”
Though I possess no type of my own.
Some can’t bear any weight,
But can rabble to throw a gravel of stones.

Some are always and easily-bored,
Yet Some are boring themselves.
There ARE indeed A Few of Some
Who are too-often tested
AND too-harshly scored;
But Some get fried because they’re stupid.
Some couldn’t pass a test if they tried,
And with Some, you can prove it!

Some think they’re ‘The Best in the Bunch,’
When they’re only ‘One of The Rest’.
Some are content to find
“Anyone Better than Any,”
But Most are searching for
“The Best Of The Rest”.
I think Some think too highly of themselves,
Especially since the sum of Some
Is less than the sum of Many.

Some enjoy to prowl and hunt,
Hoping to discover an indecent lover
Lurking under their OWN bedcovers.
Some steal your starry sighs,
Some “only” your moon.

Some steal hard-earned property
To proclaim it as their own.
Some will steal YOUR song
And sing it in THEIR tune.
Some treat Others properly,
But for Most of Some,
Kindness is an anomaly,
Not a regular quality,
So Most of Some are best disowned.

In short:
Some contribute Nothing,
But Most contribute Something,
And Gender doesn’t affect Contribution.

I know Most don’t concern themselves
With such silly matters,
But in Matters Concerning Me,
And in Matters Which Matter Most,
Most of these truisms
I’ve already proven,
So the truth of the matter
Leads to this conclusion:

If not for All, at least for Some,
Men are often a disappointment,
A fly in Life’s ointment,
But, in the end, and even when alone,
SOME are STILL better than NONE.

Poetic Paranoia and Hyperbolic Insanity

POETIC PARANOIA & HYPERBOLIC INSANITY

“Poetic Apparence”
Is a phenomenon which
Occurs when a Kernel of Truth
Is nurtured by Poetic Hyperbole
Into an Adult Poem,
Which is then confused
And viewed as a Diapered-Down
Diary Entry.

Coarse inquiries prosely made
Into the status of My Sanity
Based on the word-extremity
Of my consistently-proven
Clinically-sane poetry
Illuminate me long enough
To find this phenomenon
Too long-lasting and most-insulting,

When what seemed obvious and apparent
Apparently is ONLY obviously apparent
Within my own Whimsical world,
To the degree my poetic observations
Are “A Cry for Help” to ALL but Me!

Call me “Paranoid,”
Call me “Highly-Sensitive”
(My apathetic mental state doesn’t give a shit),
But THIS particular phenomenon Is
Too-frequently occurring
TO NOT BE “The least bit concerning”…

At least sometimes!
And at least for ME!
Or perhaps, at the VERY least,
For the Poetic, Hyperbolic,
And Anything-but-Apathetic
Singsong-Rhyming, Chronic Voices
Speaking Directly and INCESSANTLY,
And often Hallucinating in disguise
And speaking in secret code to ME
AND throughout My Poetry?

*FOOTNOTE: this phenomenon is Literally interchangeable with the boring Cognitive Distortions of:
1. “Nobody Gets Me BUT Me,” and
2. “Am I the Only One Who Knows a Poem Is a Fleeting Moment, Captured in Full Intensity?”

FOOLISH SKIES & FOOLISH NIGHTS


CONFESSIONS OF A STUPID FOOL

None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt.
None of it did and none of it has;
The only “has” in this situation is “has-BEEN,”
Never was, isn’t now, and won’t be
Cut out for long-term memory.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-league stupid;
I was a clueless fool,
And a clueless fool was I,
Practically all the time,
But at a minimum, start-to-end.

In Fact, I’d hazard-to-write-say
I played the fool in every game;
Whether Yahtzee, Poker, or Parchisi,
Over the last year or so,
Being foolish has never been so easy!

Under cloak and cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before soon-to-rise
Until setting and squinty-eyed,
Once stars are night-hoisted
Then I, too, can be foisted

Into a dark dunce’s corner,
To “get myself in order.”
I simply grew from an obscure fool
Into a legendary Fool,
The Unflattering Primary Figure
I stupidly assumed
You’d squeeze and stuff into
Your (quite frankly) boring story,
Which, since you never bothered to share it,
Frankly ever-quite bores me.

Once again and
I’ll say it again:
Your character simply isn’t convincing;
Not that you’ve TRIED to convince me,
Either simply or complexly.
It’s why I did all the time-gifting, me-giving, up-lifting, and emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m merely ashes-sifting.

But in order to buy it,
You’ll be forced to sell it
To increasingly-fragile
And decreasingly-agile
Mentally-Foolish states of mind
(How do I know?
It’s the same state as mine).

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so old and cold,
The only stars Memory barely serves
Were laid and laced into a Constellation I couldn’t find
Again or couldn’t find to begin.

I was also the sloppy-stupid subject
Painted as both Fool and Major Fool,
In multi-colored shades and hues of Fool,
ALL chosen by YOU.
I happen to know YOUR favorite hue
When painting me from Memory
Is “ghoulishly and foolishly,”

I also know your favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg on MY FACE
Is Neon-Marked by a Neon-Sign
Incessantly Blinking,
Endlessly repeating
“STUPID YOU,
STUPID FOOL”
HOW UTTERLY STUPID
IS FOOLISH YOU?”

But at least I BOTHER TO ATTEMPT
To win, show, or place
For the races which I never run,
Can’t ace, but show up for all the same (ok, not always).

Regardless, the situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To free me from the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.

I’ve allowed myself to be foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant to YOU
The Requisite Time & Space,
Since Somewhere between
Alone and Beside Someone Else
Is your all-time favorite
Hiding Place.

It’s the same stupid scenario
Every foolish place I go,
So I remain at home,
Retaining my shape
And staying the same:
Old Clueless, Fruitless, Useless, and
Foolishly Stupid

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
I think it’s time for it to finally end
So, as such,
I’ll sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
This happens when
I cut too close;
I always end up letting Stupid in.

IT’S CRUDE & RUDE, BUT THE TITLE IS “A JISM OF ISMS”


I used to feel so old and crushed,
As if my voice had turned to rust,
Killed off by the carelessly carefree
Indifference of my “Stage-of-Life” and “Where-in-Life Irrelevance.
Then one day, I was thrilled to uncover, find and discover
A little-known fact:
We’re actually DESIGNED for Obsolescence!
Now it all makes sense!
I’ve since exchanged my Personal Angst for Existential Angst,
And NOW I am simply relieved
By the very simple act of
Simply-Wearing-Black
And putting on a “Fuck-You” and “Fuck Everything”
Apathetic Act!
This technique provides,
The path which unhides
The requisite relief to
Cope, ease, and qualm me,
Unquease and calm me,
At least Personally and Existentially,
Or until I’m okay to exist for
Yet another useless day!
Where? Anywhere but especially HERE!!
In This Giant Hellhole
Called “Life”,
Filled-to-Ugly with Spite,
Covered in Wretched Disdain,
Coaxed-into-Putrid-Shades-of-Putrefied-Hate.

Oops, hold up and wait! Please wait!!
Did I confuse Nihilism with End-Game-Fruitless-Fatalism, Dystopian Fantasy, Hormonal Fluctuations, and/or Garden Variety Grouchy Pessimism?
I probably did!
In fact, I’m convinced.
It’s always been transparent
And clearly-for-all-to-see-apparent:
The only Ism I am
Or am even acquainted with
Is a very quaint anachronism.

(And No, “sarcasm” is an “asm”, not an “ism,”
But if we’re going to speak of “isms” and “asms,”
Why stop here?).

It May Tell You Where You Are But Never Helps You Escape


TEMPTATION = an Immoral Compass

It leads the way and shows the how you often want to go sometimes (frequently NOW).

It seduces, arouses, amps the sound in, and baits clear through.

And should The Source be right?

It can make you high like birds wafting through star-soaked, bouncy, so-rare and so-fine, airy and shiny, glittered days and glamorous nights.

But should you find while still alive, The Source is wrong?

It will pursue and haunt you, eat your meat and sinew. It will flaunt and taunt you, crush and trash all that’s in you, until your Only Soul is gone,

All the while Selling You and Telling You “This PARTICULAR HELL is Where YOU Belong; your official condemnation, bought and paid for, Your soul not made for anything but torture.”

Then, “My, But How Unfortunate!” are Stupid-Dummy, Idiotic Wrong-Source Tempted You!

A Poet & Appreciator

Skort #1, if you’re curious

ALL THE WAY DOWN & ALL THE WAY THROUGH:
Even on My Amazon Reviews!

Skort#1
This skort isn’t too-short
For much-tall me;
Even at 5’11, the length
Isn’t too short or too long
To be the perfect
Length for me.
I’m also tall and skinny,
Weighing in at
Mid-to-high-120.
The Size Small doesn’t pouch
Too wide over my narrow hips,
But I’m sure it’d stretch aplenty,
To accommodate the many
Curves, fancy parts, and other zones
Making homes on other bodies:
Some’s, Any’s and Every’s, specifically.
Just order your normal size;
I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.

Skort #2
I’ve lived in little else than varied shades of the Tranquility skort over the last 5 years. The only other thing that’s EVER varied is my size – it goes from medium to small. But that’s weight on ME, so it shouldn’t weigh on YOU.
I give this skort a 10 out of 5; in every color, each size, and every single time.

I SWEAR


I SWEAR

I won’t tell what you did,
That it was done by other men.
I’ll pretend I don’t exist,
And that I never did

If you’ll just let me live.
You can trust me til The End.
Betrayal’s the worst sin.

I’ve stored enough within
To squander and to spend
To accuse you and condemn.

But I won’t;
For we BOTH know
I would’ve never to begin,
For the duration, at the end, Throughout it all,
And ALL THE WAY IN.

Lie Detectors


When and if I EVER lie,
I do it with
The Whole of my body
And All of my mind.

I’m so “clearly obvious,”
Even The Legally Blind
Could discern my lies.
And I’m so transparent,
It’s visually apparent
I have nowhere in mind
For Lie to hide behind,
But if there was,
I’d bury-to-never-find
My Lies fathomlessly
DEEP down within
My Own Insides.

It’s the only way
To sell Lies.