Poem for Prince (Purple Reign)

The sweet strain
Of saying smart things
Makes my heart sing
In a purple rain
Purple rain.

The easy ease
Of pleasing peeps
With my brains
Deserves a raise
Purple raise.

The constant crave
Of grazing modestly
With the bourgeoisie
Is a pain
Purple rain.

The New Houstonian Physics

I rode to the town down
and up left my stuff
on the bus
Houston bound and gagged.
My bed sheets and duff
collecting dust out of sight;
I don't mind the loss--
unless they return
with that musty bus smell,
stinking of road rust,
feeling of Mars soil
red like rivers,
smelling like old man:
tatty and battered,
my baggage claimed badly.

The First Post. The Fence Post

This is a blog of poetry. Poetry breathes its sweet nectar into every fiber of my being and I cannot help myself. I must expel the essence of poetry. Sometimes I try not to speak in poetry, but that does not work. I must do it. It is a need that I cannot suppress. I do not eat on weekends because I am too busy writing poetry. Weeknights are eating time. I often craft a fine bowl of ambrosia and channel the muses while watching Fox. Sometimes it's WGN. There will be much poetry, dear reader, because I love poetry. Poetry is life.