Are you Sorry you Broke the Rules

Out of probability, I reason that night is the season

for sleep, but not for me.

I slumber all day and during the night stay wide-awake.

Nocturnal mortals it is known are sometimes immortal,

and some stay awake after dark to do malicious deeds.


While I doze the hot heavens shine and with a smile while in my

daydreams angels come to me and ask, “Beer or wine?” and then say,

“Because we have wings and come from up above doesn’t mean our

intent is to require you to have faith. We’re here you think, but we’re

nothing but a dream.”


What I see in my dreams I pray to be true, because I see how lovely

all the angels are with white feathered wings and faces so gorgeous,

only a divinity could have fashioned them like that. The deity gave them

voices so delightful, listening to them singing is better than having sex,

so when I awake and they’re nowhere near, my heart wants to break.


How great it would be to sleep my life away accompanied

by singing angels who in the name of love would carry me up

above where they’re from. I’d be so happy to believe they were

made just for me, or would I discover my hallucinations are only

delusions I see to make me believe?


The next day while I drowse angels appear in the stream of my

dream, and we went on a universal tour where spirits of lives lived

on a million biospheres. An angel told me, ” Earth is a wildlife refuge

that Inhabitants of all these worlds will visit to see how you and others

Like you behave when let out of a cage and are given free range.


When they see how cruel humans are, they vow to keep them away

from any other life forms, except those sent to Earth to be punished for

breaking the interstellar law. The angels know, humans will find a way

to make any life sent to their world sorry they ever broke the rules.




Has there ever been Anyone Here or There

I believe and perceive insanity has arrived and I’m not deprived

when I look again and whales swim overhead as I walk around

on yellow clouds with angel shoes on a road constructed

from yellow clouds leading to heaven if there’s no misstep

when wearing those shoes that destroy a rain-drop

that’s sent down below where broken souls go and

rain-drops bring cool moisture there to cool extreme

heat intended to punish transgressors who refused to

put on the shoes

and refused to see the magical road leading to the five-star

province without end suspended in time and interstellar space

It’s so lonely when there are empty shoes in a pile beside the clouds

that are beneath obsolete webbed feet that enable me to stand tall

on any creamy yellow cloud or road

but a pair of those angel shoes are needed to find the way across

the sky when upside down and my feet kick white clouds pushing

away from the golden grains of yellow onto clouds of red to instill

thoughts that come from the creation factory out there creating

flickering feelings and sending them this way

they transmit hundreds every day to put heat in every heart that often

becomes shattered and scattered into little pieces like when a hammer

hits frozen glass and some pieces become remorse and others quickly

convert to celebrity joy and compassion flickering like a traffic light in

a cloudy night changing from green to yellow to red and back again

changing and enlightening thoughts that never stop until fate takes control

and death arrives to stabilize the light to make it clear there has never been

anyone here or there

Poor Butterfly

As soon as you have cum, my thoughts come around like a butterfly in a twister.

I think you’re pink and when I look again, you ain’t there. Where did you go?

Did you ever flow? Were you ever here? or near? I think so, but don’t really know,

because my thoughts come sudden and swift, and spin around like the unfortunate

butterfly that’s blown around and around in a circle, like a circus clown caught in the wind.

Will I ever know if winds are blowing from left to right or right to left?

The butterfly looks for a cure, but is like a bear lost in the woods, or like my brain,

that doesn’t know which way it’s going, up, down, or around, around, and around until,

silly as it sounds, it sails away, going the wrong way to a town that was never there.

Is it okay that only my thoughts think circular or am I dizzy enough to fly like that skimpy butterfly?

If you say so, I’ll believe I’m going the right way, toward the light, but what if I’m not, will I die?

If I do, will you tell me which way to go, up, down, or around. Should I follow the butterfly that blows

with the wind, or does it ride the wind to butterfly heaven? If so, that’s where I want to go.

You’ll never know, but I will, if I follow the Butterfly all the way.


Words-Wonder- Witchcraft-Wonderful-

Take as many words as you know

and to make them flow mix a potion

in one motion in the name of love

to hear the one you want say those

endearing words you want to hear

put in smart stupid or any you want

so he becomes what the words describe


Guessing isn’t good enough to create a blend

to make a friend change from one way

to another when his mother objects use the next

best or worst words found in the dictionary and thesaurus


that are there to define what makes fine wine and

you wonder under the spell what he’ll be like

after you disintegrate the words and put them into a

witch’s brew to make them true you feed him

a dash of the potion in a cup of tea and hope


as soon as he drinks he’ll turn pink and become wonderful

from the mixed words of hope kindness charity goodness and

humor along with long forgotten historic words

told in fairy tales that made people full of laughter

and to live happily ever after


I’m certainly addicted




It has me in its grip

blinded by claims of fame

promising me what I need


and there’s no letting go

while I’m in pain, I believe

what I do is okay and



I’ll fill my needs with my

wish to please but I shouldn’t become

greedy with my craving for admiration


from girls.eager to satisfy

without saying please

I don’t need drugs to work


but hope everything I need

to fill my needs will come my way

and never let go


until I discover stupid and getting

 screwed go together

like a writer with dope


I suffer when my name appears

on the cover of a book and it brings

no fame no girls no money no acclaim


yet, I continue inscribing words and I know why

                   I’m addicted


I wanted to write a pretty poem about growing up, but these are the words that came from my head!

My Excuse Is,

Born with original sin on my soul. It helped me understand, that
in this land, the hand that slapped my ass to make me squall showed
I was loved, my Mom said, as the perpetual gleam in her eyes shone
brighter than ever before when she showed her love.

With but a fraction of my life gone by, I took action
in the name of love, to show my affection to every girlfriend
I knocked to the ground but found many didn’t want to be undeniably
loved like that.

Some, surprised by my love, called the police and they showered
me with brotherly love as they spanked my face until I went
to another place. Unable to show my affection to the police,
when released, I searched for a girlfriend to show my need.

In the Palace bar, I found one, dancing with a jerk. To do my deed,
I showed my brotherly affection and struck him in the face before I
took her away. Once home I showed my love with a few light smacks to
her face.

To my wonder, she whacked me back, hard, right between my eyes.
I returned it with one that took all my strength.
She didn’t cry Like girls usually did. Her knee slammed
into my crotch. Convinced she loved me more than I did her,

I went a step further and like the love addict I was, kicked her
until she fell to the floor. To show I adored her more than
any other man. I stepped on her face with love in my heart.
Love hurts, I knew but didn’t know one could die from it

until the police came and showed they still loved me until my
eyes swelled shut. So you see judge, that’s why I don’t deserve to
die in the electric chair in despair because I only wanted to show
I loved her more.

Joe’s Wall-All in all it was just painted styrofoam on the wall.

I don’t need no education.
I don’t need no thought control.
I’ll paint what I see, like Van Gogh
I’LL fill the empty spaces with more of the same
until I fill the final place to match the rest,
and when I complete it, my living room will
be a place, artists will want to come to acclaim
that a dummy like me has an eye for color and
talent enough to turn junk into art.

Athena’s Promise

Athena’s promise

We arrived alive after retro rockets set our craft down on a planet where
I told the first woman I met I’d trade my world for hers if I could because
I loved the stars shining in all three of her eyes and the moon lighting her
crystalline mane no one like her existed on my world a lonely place floating in space

All women on my world had only two eyes two legs and are two timers
only the stupid believed and can never perceive we’re not faithful
and true that’s why I can love all three of your eyes your three legs
and the three nipples on your back that bring so much pleasure

I never planned on returning to my world where women only had two nipples on
their chest and only one pleasure hole that we treated like gold and never let a man
hold it and then think he owned it on your world I found you and others who have
three of everything

Among us who landed on your world not one man survived because unknown to us ravenous manlike reptiles feasted on our men and wanted to have us women as their wives but desisted from using us when they found our women couldn’t reproduce what their women did when mated they’d always produce a daughter a son and a snake

But the fragrance of testosterone became so irresistible to a manly serpent carnivore they’d celebrate the birth and then their flesh addiction caused them to eat all the boy baby’s even their sons before they became men so after they had eaten every boy the carnivores became too old to recreate and with no boys to eat they ran out of testosterone

And almost became extinct until we arrived with husbands and sons and after they devoured every one of them the serpent king promised women like me if we reproduced with them we could survive and every woman wanted to live to have a baby of her own but serpents had to eat meat and without any men left on their planet they were doomed

Until I informed them of how many men lived on the world we came from they flew to my home where men waited debated but unknown to them even though they gave everything they owned the welcome they gave accelerated their time to go because serpents crawled and slithered upon my world filled with the perfume of testosterone

they devoured every man and then ate all the boys so without testosterone they tried to force us to try IVF so we’d have a boy who’d become food for those devastating beings
Goddess Athena to whom we all prayed had promised after the serpents devoured every man on this planet they’d all die when unable to satisfy their addiction to testosterone

After Athena answered our prayers and there were no serpents or men who survived we wanted to recreate and the scientists among us developed a technology where our womanly cells transformed and using parthenogenesis every woman conceived another just like them that begun the cycle where we reproduced hundreds of girls
Using the technique women among us discovered and now we produced only our genome so only women lived on this world and peace came and sexual harassment became a thing of the past as promised by Athena after the aliens died.




Beer, give me a beer that’ll

disappear my fears.

Not just any beer. Give me

one brewed with 9% alcohol

or more.



Make it dark and bitter if you

will. Frost my glass and fill

it with dark, dark brew that’ll

go down my chute to satisfy

that urge for a cold, cold beer.


I don’t want to drink a Miller or a Bud

that I’d spit into the dust. Those names

are easy to say, you know they are, but

I’ll wait for beer brewed to taste and if

the name is hard to say, like

Weizenbier or Rauchbier, it’s okay.


I’ll even drink some Raspberry Imperial

Stout or a Fruit and Vegetable Beer.

Herb and spice beer will quench my thirst,

but I’ll never know unless I drink beer beer,,

and more beer brewed specially for me.




“Take this pill,” the medicine man said when the moon was overhead,

“Strike me dead if it doesn’t make you young and full of pep again.”


I believed his words because; diplomas hanging on his walls put me in awe

of how accomplished he was, so I took the pills to be young again.


Instead, they put me into a stupor for a month or more. One day I awoke and my head was clear, but what I treasured more than anything, had disappeared.


Before taking those pills, something within spoke to me throughout the day, not in words,

but in thoughts that turned everyday objects and happenings into heavenly moments of joy.


I could write a story or a poem anytime I put a pencil in my hand, and always had an ending that twisted and turned and spurned the main theme, like a dream to the reader’s eyes.


I’d see colors so bright, they’d blind anyone else, and music of any kind filled me with joy before those pills killed God’s gift to me. Is it worth staying alive now that the best part of me is gone?


Before that part got lost, I enjoyed my own company more than any others. I was free to think and design, whatever my imagination sent my way. It was my best companion and friend.


I wanted to stop the pharmaceuticals but was told, “Take them for the rest of your life or you’ll die.”


As I lay in the dark, I cannot see what choice to make, because my imagination has died and without it, I cannot see or hear things that are beautiful to me.