Under a hog made out of iron
where libations flow so fast
and the music will coerce your feet to dance;

be aware of your surroundings
and forget about the past,
let the room fill up with party, and romance!

~

There's no way you're in the wrong place
it's "hog heaven", as they say
let's celebrate together young, and old;

we'll all raise high our glasses
and toast the aging of the day,
staying well after the final joke is told!

~

A unrhymed poem in trochee.

Nonsense is the answer, poet.
Incongruity in poesy
hides a lack of innate talent.
Nonce words need no vindication,
whimsy never wants but fancy.
Cognizance is over rated.
Since the reader does not “get” it,
why should we write subtle verses?
Dr. Geisel understood it,
Dodgson wrote to feign dementia.
Audiences thought ‘twas genius.
Why, oh why, should I make sense then?
There is only one good reason-
“I” would like to read my poesy.

Narcotic  grin, agitated 
Demon jaws swallow her whole 
She is afflicted

Savage, insane, horrified and stricken
Terrified She will rip out throats 
As a result of being bitten
  
Holds herself in prone position
Lamenting what has come to pass
Longing to be forgiven

Were wolf lover addicted
To her sensuality   
Stalking her in the undergrowth , undetected  

Fatal collision only one will survive 
Tooth and claw
Who will be victorious and end the fight alive?

Damn! there goes another poet
off to the land of nonmeter
overstressed about the stresses
made to write outside of rhyme
(though he did it this one time)

Syllables spoken naturally
though in a southern dialect
even when spoken out loud
stressed and unstressed run together
as his head turns into mush

Losing count of all the lines
as he slowly loses his small mind
while sitting in the padded room
trying to write trochaically

sunsets beauty showing pastel lighting
mother nature's canvas unfolds to earth
the tress outlined in shades of dark shadow
hanging heavy from nights dew drop splendor
forest creature will sleep without the fear of harm
upon it's floor a bed of leaves and twigs
cushion the sound footfalls that man will make
all is silent at peace and rest for now

And there is always someone in more pain,
a hunger to which I can not relate.
Someone who's anguish, borders on insane.
Someone with so much more upon their plate.

And what right do I have to make complaint?
What horrors have I suffered on this Earth?
Empty canvas devoid of hope or paint,
a victim from the moment of Its birth.

What right have I to morn upon its grave?
What solace gathered should I end it's plight?
What false anger unfurls the flags we wave?
And what would be the point, to win its fight?

Blinding darkness
Only seeing with the naked touch
That sends images to a fevered mind,

Fingers navigate every contour of a physical soul
Pleasure heightens with each new discovery
Of a erogenous zone,

Salty sweet sweat begins to pour
From the heat that rises on the surface of the skin
Breaths of air escape in fevered pitches
As if a beast emerged from somewhere deep,

Eyes now see the beauty of the aura
As conscience is loss of the outside world
And senses flare into universal oneness,

there are shadows
written on the land
like bloodstained
pursuits
like abandoned holy grounds
where sacred spirits dwell

where snow falls
the dead ash of ideals

there are stirring currents
flickering
brilliant like the hot want
of sunlight on a chilled day
and Moons swift in passage
through a month of pain

for all the lost
and all the found
the truths will
be

and all shall see

We love life
and as long as we love life
life loves us

and doing so
we love each other
and all peoples of this earth.

Hatred has no place
in a world of peace
as peace is all we need
to work towards
every day
every minute
all the time.

With peace
we can move mountains
and cause opposition to melt
in the heat of the sun
that shines
full of laughter
and tears of joy.