Poetry Collection

Poetry Collection

Time, encapsulate me with your brush

Time, encapsulate me with your brush
So your many lines may run parallel.

Color, I not not of your origin
But the way it makes me feel, I see.

Truth, serve me a paradox.
The essence I believe but the verse feels unorthodox.

My Truth

My truth, so far it lies, but it lies, to my right.
To the left then is my truth, it’s left out from what I see.
Is it my vision? or does my light not see right?
Trapped in my prison. The darkness that truly is my reality.


In the narrow scoop of the wooden stool,
My body at rest, my mind a spool.

Thoughts like heat radiate, membranes roll down to cool.
mid summer night, elegant glances and polka dotted prances.


With a wicked scorn,
she fronts with her pawn.
As you step to the square,
unaware, you better beware.


Mate, wait, don’t be driven by hate
It’s just a debate. With unfounded fury, given your mental state, you dash through that gate.
Don’t take that bait, and choose to replicate, the moronic red state.
Wait mate, before it’s too late


Oh the light of the divine, you can feel it deep in your spine.
Born with that halo, oh that mellow yellow.
As it seeks the nipple, temporarily a cripple.
Oh it’s a son, you are my sun.
The radiant joy that flows and the mother with no repose.

Honey Suckle/ Yellow Petal

You, my honey suckle, with the yellow petal, the yellow trumpet vine, vigorous, heat loving and fine.

Your soft petal, as I touch you turn to metal.
Oh yellow petal, you’re as stiff as metal
As I sniff and savor, I see you have no flavor,
Even though you seem swollen, your anther’s got no pollen
Your pistil maybe a trap, its got a bad rap.


Ain’t no sensation like a delicate ass in.
Pudgy, frightened, squeeze intended, but will settle for a wedgie.
Cured, pork, meat off the bone ready for the fork.

Unfounded, dependent, curious, alive, the butcher shears the meat.
The fat that flows, bottled, lubricant for whores.

Sharp and Rounded, rounded and Sharp

The sound is bouncing off the wall
This winter don’t sound like last fall.

Incredible, indelible, just the strange syllable.

Hypnotize the masses while they’re seated on their asses.
They fall like Humpty Dumpty into the well dry and empty.