Urge Surfing

Urges are where I write my poems.
Once the Urge is conceived and birthed verbally,
The wave of Distress passes and I’m free again.
Poetry is my favorite form of Urge Surfing.
So I like to make my art at The Edge.

Then again, I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie!
Call me out of practice at having fun!

The Eternal Love Affair of Day & Night, A Multiplied Story:

Part 1. It started with an Emerald Green Empress in Disguise

She was The Empress of the Day and she had green eyes. Plain old greenish-gray, but not hazel brown or any shade of blue. The most remarkable thing about those Pits of Maelstrom were the bright Emerald green they turned when welling with Emotion (which was often, so with a little Imagination, they were fiery and spectacular always). The Fluorescing green could be seen by Blind and Sighted equally; everyone but the Empress herself.

Beauty-blind (and sometimes transcendence-blind), she saw only mouse gray, pond scum, vomit green, emoji vomit green – for she was modern, too – cannabis leaf green, browning leaf green, mold green, and the artificial of squalor green in her own eyes.

She was so upset by the Tides of her Eyes, she forgot she held two priceless jewels affixed perfectly on her face, her reflection, and in her presentation.

Next Chapter: The God of Night sees the Kryptonite-like Rocks on TV on an Antiques Road Show episode and immediately recognizes them for the Uncut, Undiscovered, Rare Emeralds that they are. Stay tune for the juicy details as we wander far from our Sweet Spot.

Isn’t It Ironic?

Irony is simply something occurring to you in a whole different way later.

The realization ushers in a tide of emotion, which in those with the purest intentions,

Results in the Art of Self-Expression.

By reducing oneself to zero and becoming “self-deprecating,”

A person is able to experience things as a child again

Capable of capturing a “feeling” at its deepest intensity,

Pouring it into words or paint and begging to believe again.

To imagine again.

Even the ridiculous like Love at First Site.

P.S. Same goes for Sarcasm, so don’t give up on Me and my Fellow Dreamy Sarcastics❣️

(I could make the poem better, but it’s a love poem, and I wanted to capture it at its fullest intensity).



OK With It.
Sparkle Most Radiantly When Blended and/or Paired.
Individually Stronger Than Originally Thought.
Capable of Incredibly Courageous Acts.
Welcome Home!
Welcome Back!
I’ve Missed You So Much!
Dream Architects.
Lifelong Learners of Both and Each.
Seek Wholeness in Self.
Seek Greatest Potential in Relationship.
Great Times.
Mediocre Times.
Tough Times.
Life-Threatening Times.
Devotion, Dedication, and Commitment in All Times.
Don’t Take Pain Out On Others.
If Pain Taken Out On Others, Sincerely Apologize for Any Pain Inflicted.
Put Both Loves First.
Sacrifice One for the Other to Become a Best Both & Each.
Capable of True Love.
SOLE Home of True Love.

P.S. Convicted by my own damn poem! I NEVER post my poems on Facebook, but my poem compelled me. It’s why Poetry makes me a Better Lover of He & She❣️



I recently discovered this technique called thought-stopping or some such, hold up!

Don’t want to lose that thought!

Whatever it’s called, I’ve lately become so PROFICIENT,

I’m able to greater silence my inner critic, or at least, since I live alone, vocalize it. Hey, I can’t dispel what I don’t realize in the first place!

So anyway, I recently encountered an anomaly in the regular processing of my thinking,

Somewhere along Life’s way,

Somewhere between Fairly to VERY Recently, I lost a connecting thought.

I went from number thought 11,000,000 to 11,000,002 and all of a sudden! Poof! Gone.

I don’t know what happened to 11,000,001, but it was life-altering!

All of the sudden, nothing makes sense, so imagine the outcomes! I’m literally overcome by the possibilities!

But I feel like I’ve lost a piece of the puzzle that connects me isn’t connecting the pops.

Everything‘s covered in film or foam or dust or some sort of virtual illusion, clearly-distorted, into who-knows-what by lost thought number 1,000,001.

It was significant. This single thought, and I don’t know how long it lasted, it could’ve been seconds – it could’ve been years,

It consumed so much of me, that without it, I feel lost and alone.

I can’t tell the heroes from the villains, so everyone looks like an enemy as well as my best friend!

I feel all sorts and out of shapes as well as too-pruned-growing-like-a-weed in full-bloom at the same time.

It’s startle’s one’s reality and forces it to choose another to replace it with for things to even make sense again!

It forces it one way, and makes it go every-way, often against one’s own wishes, belief systems, lifestyle choices, pro-nous, you-nouns-We-Now

and looping in circles of infinity,

To the Eternal Damnation
By Internal Extrapolation,

(Bitter with extra Rumination).



Since You were the only intended audience for my poems,
I guess that means You were My Muse.
The thought disturbs me.
Because, without a Muse,
How does one Make Music?
I couldn’t stand the quiet of
Loneliness any longer,
So I had to learn to Make Music without you.
In the process, I’ve learned to A-Muse myself.
I’m even making better music these days, oddly enough,
Enhanced after blowing through a Muse, and
Exchanging Muses.



Songs and Poems are practically the same.
Except for the music,
Which, frankly, sets Music apart.
But they both tell a story,
And they both require the same degree of literary agility.

However, Poetry is making Poetry, and Song is making Poetry WHILE making Music,
So a song requires far more mental juggling to write than a poem.
But to Poem’s credit, it has to LOOK good
While Song only has to SOUND good.
Not only am I NOT Musically talented,
But keeping up appearances has become too exhausting over the last year.

So I write poems instead of catchy lyrics.
Carrots and peas, peas and carrots,
Please don’t get carrot away by my pun,
At the time it made poetic sense.
But for now I’ll just sum:

Poemwriters and Songwriters
Only want the same thing.
They want Someone who sings
When reading the words they’ve written.
The only tragedy is Missed Opportunity:
With MY word collection and YOUR incredible musical talent,
We could’ve made beautiful music together.



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!

A Disney Princess With A Daisy Crown

A Disney Princess With A Daisy Crown

I build.
I grow.
I foster.
I adopt.
I create.
I birth.
I develop.
I encourage.
I nurture.
I’m kind.
I’m compassionate.
I’m wonderful!
I’m so much more than that!
Whether Nocturnal or “Wish I was like!”
I’m a living Disney Princess!
I’ll get a cool name out of it, too.
One name, not a symbol.
More Prince than Prince-When-??

I guess this is my fancy way
Of re-stating the cliche:
In my story,
I’m the Author of
My Own Story.


Yes, me. Yes, here.
Yes, I DO get a vote.
Here, I absolutely get a vote!
And my vote counts. A lot!
In my own poem,
It’s my own self-expression,
So I get to say
As LONG as I need to say it.
And there’s absolutely nothing YOU can do about it!
When it comes to MY POEM,
I earned it;
You didn’t pay it in trust;
It’s mine and it’s indelible and it’s forever.
It’s so much more than you ever were!
That’s how MINE My Poem is!




Of course, I can only speak for me and mine.
But my Thought Process tends to follow the following process:

Short-term memory begins at thought conception, includes all thoughts thought, and lasts for approximately 48 hours.

Should thoughts surface again
(Where have they been?
Don’t ask me, I don’t know!
Purgatory or another story?
To survive as long-term memories on Day 12,
They are completely viable AND guaranteed-returnable memories.
This “mystery” crucible period is brief, yet sadly only 2% of all thoughts survive to emerge as Long-Term-Memories.
Since they only represent 2% of
Everything l’ve ever thought in my entire life,
I’m grateful I have such a good long-term memory!
It holds all my golds.
It’s there for keeps,
It’s there for life,
It’s my closest and dearest friend,
A friend who’s loyal til the end.
Or unless Dementia or Paranoia steal all my friends.


Painting of You


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)
Wordplay (a personal favorite)
Sarcasm (a LIFE favorite)
Irony (my life’s Reality)
Parody (often confused with Reality)
Intentional Factual Inaccuracy
Selective Capitalization
•Cliche (Avoid! Same shit, same way!)
•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!


Photo Credit: Elected Officials at Work


Regardless of color of race,
Political shade,
Or which if ANY binary side
I choose to take,
The only thing I hate is

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,
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 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.



Most people choose friends and view friends based on the benefits and enhancements each adds to life (shared hobbies, similar age, validates me, echoes me, distracts me, is a good listener when I need to talk, always lifts my mood, etc.).

I see Friends differently.
I care less about how they benefit me (those are acquaintances, IMHO) and more about what they’re willing to spend on friendship in general – as well as ME, specifically – as a friend.

If “a friend” has 100% to give and only gives 20%, that’s a very distracted friend!
On the other hand, if a friend only has 20% to give and gives 100% of it?
You might consider this person a fool you wouldn’t bother to befriend!
I happen to thoughtfully consider people like this and them
LOYAL (as in ROYAL!)
And I’ll take ONE of them
Over a MILLION self-seeking distractions called “friends.”

In fact AND fiction,
Infinite Time I’m willing to spend,
From end to end
The distance I’m willing to go
To search and hopefully FIND,
Somewhere someplace,
In the middle of desert,
Or lost in a jungle,
One present, available, loyal friend.



Some people structure and order their lives to such a degree,
should you meet someone you want to “get to know,”

You feel like you’re “trespassing against” their lives to do so.

Who in their right mind is going to do that for long? I’ve only ever done it when my screws needed a good tightening.

Because feeling like a Trespasser is a terrible way to feel;
It ultimately leeches you of your motivation to care in the first place.

It ALWAYS takes too long, but the simple fact is:

When it ends (because how can you welcome trespassers while admonishing them to Keep Out!?),

Your feelings for “Special Person You Hoped To Know Better” WILL die.

But this particular moment in time, when you cross the line into “Not Caring Anymore,” isn’t for the faint of heart:

It might NEVER cease being a Mixed Blessing.

Then who’s The Trespasser?