The Blue Ministry

the ones without the piffle and waffle...(hahahaaa)

Piffling
waffling
and
machine gunning
have the essence of moderna
emotionale poetry

all poets through my poetry
then shuffle
to find gems
embedded in the deep sea
where one may find
lovedly soonly...

muchly aged is he
Neopoets may soon
abandon me

but for ever remember
the creator of free verse poettry
as spreads
LOVED ila ...LOVEDLY
hopefully!!!!

LOLLOLLY....

I haven't ever included my own reading before, but felt I wanted to in this instance.
https://soundcloud.com/user-391664655/peripheral-vision

You say "it's on the inside that counts"
and act as though that's a good thing.
So go ahead then, look at my painful,
scary, hateful, heart wrenching, thoughts
and look into my teary eyes. look at my brown
eyes, eye brow edges curled with sadness,
and tell me that because my insides are
terrifying I should die. Tell me that I'm
crazy.

Now how to write a poem that makes some sense.
It seems that all I have is but a pence.
I used to think in rhyme most all the time,
but now I cannot seem to work a rhyme.
It’s difficult to meter work for me.
A noise of free verse’s all that I can see.
Now how to write a poem that makes some sense.
Where are you Keith? I need to work and hence
I’ve nothing left but teaching what I knew.
I know naught of but what I was and who.
My heart is strong now, science staved my death.
A bypass gives me more than just my breath.

I'm an actor of poetry
I enter the mind and body
and
psyche of the individual
my to be, subject

I don't believe in soul
as we are all like dead rats
when...
it happens

The suffering on the photographic page
of a child which you have captured
is encapsulating
I feel a wonderful tribute ten years down the lane

My works go back as half that many decades

Behind the Green Door

Amnesia the pocket serum sacrament 

blow dart dawn to the waking saints 
in a sun split perforate tissue.

A creeping yellow slow as subatomic
parcels, chutes lateral in jeweled stars.

Antibodies spun in fool's gold hold to
sugar angels arches; her steady rocking

sperm, a siren tip, hair ribbons;
a body and her release, orgasm’s

rocking chair flooded, shadow spindle
wood, locked sighs in paint’s drying point.

Gone will be the wind in your hair on the open road
Down shifting the gears with the thrill of acceleration
Gone will be the many hours spent in daily idleness
Among swarms of metal boxes with bright red asses
For miles and miles like so many shiny arthropods
Gone are the sonic sounds of crude rock and roll
Danger and death always a breath away
Trapped in tightly drawn lanes keeping pace
In undeclared warfare of a steady stampede
To be the first out of the pack to reach the final exit

we exchanged greetings
eyes open wide
aware of our souls awakening
memories flooding our minds
not a word spoken of them
except for your extended ohhhhs

your wide-mouthed grin
spoke volumes
as did your eyes that
at first stared rigidly
at me until they
grew so big they looked
like they could pop out
of your head
then you beat on your
puffed up chest
with the fist of one hand
grinning mischievously at me