What if I cannot make,
Lemonade with those lemons.
Or put my ducks,
All in a line.

What if the cards,
Keep tumbling down.
Or my mind's lost,
And isn't fine.

What if too many hammers,
Send me flying.
Or needles inside,
See me decline.

What if my strength,
Cannot sustain.
Isn't constant,
Am I to blame?

What if human me,
Steps out so bravely.
To find the answers,
And end my shame.

I traveled miles away,
To see the Rocky Mountains
I am indeed a Rocky mountain man
The view is beautiful
I climbed the Rocky Mountains
From the top of the mountain, I see the greenery and the wildlife
The animals keep on moving fast, and sometimes they stop for food And water
The rocky mountain is my refuge, the sky is bright
The fresh breeze is coming; it feels like magic in the air
The first day of fall is here
The sun shines on the water and reflects my image
Save this mountain, save the wildlife

The zephyr comes, soft footed,
a breath too light to bend the grass,
yet enough to stir the soul.
It carries the scent of far-off rains,
of sun-warmed pine and salt kissed seas,
a memory of places I've never been
but somehow know.

It slips through the cracks of the world,
threading the needles of the pines,
ruffling the feathers of the robin,
and brushing the cheeks of dreamers
who tilt their faces skyward,
eyes half closed, as if to catch
its secrets and its memories.

Taking third place among five caramel competitors
Daddy is soft as milk, Mommy sweet as caramel
Our existence, we was questioned,

If the same blood flows in my veins
Or the same blood flows in vain
We're denied bright colours - we don't blend,
my heart bled.
Science said yes, community said no.
So we spent days surviving the hate,
opportunities infront of lenses denied.

I’ll pen my words soft
As she stands in the shadows;
Her presence inspires and sets my soul free.
I’ll sing to the sunlight,
I’ll sing to the moonbeam,
I’ll sing my song glad for a love that should be.

I sense her each night
As she stands in the shadows.
How near yet how far can a love ever be?
So I’ll sing to the rain,
And I’ll sing to the rainbow,
And sing for the day my love comes close to me.

An empty notebook on my desk
in 10th-grade English.
You said,
“Write every day. Write anything.”

After a few days,
I stopped knowing what to write.
Most mornings, it was simply:
"I don’t know what to write."

When I asked for topics,
you repeated,
“Anything.”

Day after day,
the only answer I received
was "Anything."

And so, the poem
titled "Anything," was born.

If your face waxes red with your lies
there's a family secret disguise
it's an orange-tan fake
called the tricky-trump cake
or the fake'n'bake plaintiff surprise!

here at Highland Manor Apartments,
cuz the place looks like a shambles,
hence to do justice to total disorder,
this poem (with very little effort) rambles
similar to other feeble attempts at literary grandeur
I rattle off a litany of prefatorial gobbledygook
cuz yours truly cannot abstain from preambles.

she's not jumping ship you dumb twit!
she's just pumping more of her shit
....LOOK OUT BELOW!
for the excrement ho'
it's a show, yeah, you're just being lit!

I (just some Caucasian day tripping dude)
felt way to embarrassed to axe
the cashier his name,
nor express any physical attraction,
uneasy expressing appeal to certain women,
whose puffed up hair doo
common among so called blacks
whose afrocentric, eco-centric
(just a hunch -
backed by Quasimodo),
and visage induces
imagining himself androgynous
and receiving comeuppance as climax
whose unassuming presence detracts
(from the sudden inferiority complex)
willingly surrendering energy