Breeze

I'm tired of crying, but I can't fall asleep. My loved ones resent me somewhere deep. These tears keep dropping, but they suddenly stopped. My heart's bled dry, and my bubble's popped. I'm home now and surrounded by smiles... and I'll just have to fake one for another while. I yearn for love that I can't seem to find, and my heart burns as I stick to the grind. Happiness and gladness sail right through me trailing crappiness and sadness forever may be! My emotions are turbulent as the wind on creaking trees... hopefully I can plant a seed for better leaves in this breeze.

Knaves

I sit upon the golden throne of honesty surrounded by liars and knaves. But here I am alone, no one next to me... all I see are fires and graves. Where would I be without the pen to grieve with? I'm so worn out I can hardly believe it. Evil wanders freely masquerading as your friends; most will do most anything as a mean to the end. And here, I implore you, friends, to drop your wicked ways... uphold your values with a passionate rage. Reality is tough, but you don't need to be complicit... falling to what is easy rather than right is simply put: illicit. And through the fire of frozen minds I still can't help but love you. My greatest strength is my folly: I stand for the truth. I sit here writing as the lonely poet sage. My tears are smudging ink on the journal page. Am I here, now, lying to myself? Will crying out the pain do anything to help?

Lonely

Imagine it. Just take a pause. A world without rules. A life without laws. Pleasure could be sought for pleasure's sake. People, animals, and spirits partake. And it's perfect, it's ideal. But sadly, it isn't real. There is much more complexity in the universe than we can imagine we can imagine. Every moment everywhere everyone must beware. Not to say reality is scary, but what makes us human is that we're wary. We are aware of an ephemeral presence, a temporary existence in the present. What's a poet to do when he possesses clairvoyance? Foresight is a curse without a semblance of rest for the weary, with dreams and nightmares blended: bleary. I can't save you from your doom, I can't shield you from certain gloom. But dammit, I have to try. I will persist as sure as I will die. You people ride the waves of contentment, while insane people attempt to amend it. To help, to live for you. To better humanity. And it's true: succumbing to insanity. But I've been to hell, ascended limbo, and now tap the well of something you don't understand. How could you? Mere mortal. Pleb. Philistine. Prole. You have chosen the life of a resource to make gods whole. You were born with the curiosity of Prometheus, but chose to hide from the 🔥. And the consequences of your fear spread something dire. You scared others into remission. Submission. Fear is your mission. Instead of harnessing light, you bred darkness and fright. You shied away from conflict. You choked yourself like a snake self-constricted. But I want so badly to be in a place of simplicity, perfect relationships of an ideal humanity. Your fire can be rekindled, your curiosity awakened, naturally it's dwindled, but my hope is not forsaken. I love you in ways you can't imagine. Yet. And I'm willing to place my faith in a bet:

You're a star too. You can outshine me. Right now I'm blue. And utterly lonely.

Wednesday

Wednesday seemed like forever yesterday, but we're already half way there. Otherwise I'm hopeless and helpless, don't leave me to despair! Somehow I always forget the importance of someone's care. So, please, help make my loneliness something somewhat rare.

Batsirai Swiswa

Batsirai is a man whose wit is as sharp as a knife. He can clear a field of code like the sweeping of a scythe.

This man made himself, an architect so inclined. And he constructs web apps as a mastermind.

I'm humbled by his actions, and grateful for his presence. His explanations are mental luminescence.

And I'm pleased by his humor, right? Yeah, yeaah, YEAH! And that bright smile too. Ha ha ha!

He's nothing short of a man to whom I give the deepest respect. He's physically pristine, with a massive intellect.

Good health

Keep cool and stay calm. This poem's a breath from your palm. Listen to it when you read it, lather, rinse, and repeat it. Keep up and up with your health so you may enjoy yourself.

Digital Signage Art

The poetry you just displayed had me stunned,
And I realize what you do is purity,
You crunched data like a candy bar...
But what I tasted was naught but beauty.

Tapping on my phone might paint your canvas. And I'm shaking as I'm writing this.
My heart's been touched my brain blossomed..
A vision of your vision was bliss.

I had no idea someone shared my reality. What is and what may be... because with your lens you made complexity into an ephemeral simplicity.

I am humbled in a place where a machine might dream. And the conceptions you create might be inceptions we can make. Such is the beauty of a theme

That you brought to this audience and to me, emotions from wonder, and moments of glee.

Choice

What would we do if we could choose our feelings? What sort of emotions would we choose to feel? Contentment? Relaxation? Satisfaction? Without context could they be real?

Maybe we can control our emotions.

It might be like making your own luck.

Yet even smooth jazz in sunshine

can't get me out of my head in this coffee shop.

Jingles of change infect my ears

My foot is crossed and falling asleep...

And now hip hop is blasting.

Shallow hallowed what once was deep.

What am I even saying at this point?

How much relief will I receive from rhymes?

My world is literally shaking.

I can't make sense. I'm lost in time.

Ashes to Dust

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, eternal sleep, for the rest of us. The light of day, a candle extinguished... we won't give up, we won't relinquish. It's sad but true, that all lives end, we'll keeping on striving, because we don't know when. But we're only mortal, faint and fleeting, ephemeral sorrow, like a passing greeting. We're only human, and this sadness is real, this too shall pass, so pause, and feel.

Disaster

A cycle, a torrent, a wave, a crash.

I'm torn in two, three, four, and six.

Let me break free, escape and smash!

I stand for the truth, but have fallen for tricks.

I can't even say that I'm unhappy.

These feelings cannot be described as sad.

But what is it to be truly happy?

Is a lack of desire contentment? Or sad?

Why do I feel weak in moments of greatness?

Why do I get angry at simplistic peers?

Why do I desire difference from sameness?

Why do I create my own fears?

I'm restless, anxious, and utterly alone.

Yet I'm somehow friendly and feeling.

And here I sit, typing on my phone:

Relentless...Seething toward something I'm seeking.

My heart won't slow down but keeps pumping faster.

Will this end well? I foresee disaster.

Work

What am I doing?

I haven’t the slightest…

Here I feel surrounded

by the best of the brightest.

Yet I am the star…

of this one act performance.

And I’ll play my part

as if by an ordinance.

My job is tough

I’m overwhelmed

but when the waters are rough

a skipper takes to the helm!

Set up the server right now!

It wasn’t done yesterday?

How was I supposed to know?

I’m doing all I can today...

Fate

I'm sitting on my stoop next to an almost empty beer.

And I'm cold, alone, and honest throughout.

But I don't understand what it is I fear.

And I'm lost. What is this all about?

The pavement stares back at me.

Insultingly empathetic.

It seems to glare at me.

You're fucking pathetic.

And I wish, wonder, and wander.

Just inches from my gate.

But there's no room to ponder.

How is this my fate?

How self-righteous I've become.

Thinking that I must matter.

Now I will succomb,

but I wouldn't rather...

Affection resurrected

What will it take to sustain affection?

Can we proclaim a resurrection 

of feelings gained which were lost?

If only I could be the boss

of my heart, of my choices.

To redeem the sounds of the voiceless

voices that haunt my weary past.

And all this time has gone and passed.

And it passes. And it passes.

Fleeting winds. Dissipating gasses.

Bonnie, the beast.

Bonnie the beast,

Bonnie the best,

she's traveled the east,

she'll travel the west.

She's fucking baller,

a creator and chef.

An excellent shot caller,

like my good friend Seth.

You live together,

you feed me meals.

And when we gather,

I get all the feels.

It's lucky to know you,

but you make your own luck.

And when people cross you,

you don't give a fuck.

You've come so far,

getting strong yet skinnier.

But its just on par,

for Bonnie the winner.

Poison

May I be a pair of ears to listen to your worries? May I hold you when you stub your toes along the way? May I catch you if you trip while in this hurry? Will you forgive me tomorrow for what happened yesterday?

No one is perfect, and I'm somebody.

"Hate isn't worth it," said everybody.

How can I end this poem with proper closure? It's poison like I am, and in giving myself exposure, I hope the light keeps the demons at bay.

To Vicky

Today is the day,

it's a day for two,

half for my brother,

and half for you.

In the battle of the sexes,

We often fight and fear loss.

When we're caught up in whose right.

We're also caught up in chaos.

But occasionally you find two halves of a whole.

Were seeing the combination of one today.

So Vicky, take care of my brother.

And make sure he never loses his way.

Like a bike tire and tube, you'll be rolling along.

And often you'll have to climb the hills.

You'll be pulling up wee lads and lasses,

as you figure out how to pay the bills.

And you'll fall, get lost, burned and bent

as you make your way through a rusty path.

But he'll be there to pick you up too...

After all, he's really good at math.

Vicky, I'm scared, because it won't be easy.

Your life will not be some cake walk.

But maybe like two commits in orbit,

you'll be one another's rock.

Stay strong, stay stable

you're well and you're able.

I'll be there in a familial solar system.

May I be the supporting brother?

For when you choose to call yourself mother?

I'll always offer you

all of my wisdom.

Trash

A conduit of tears

is flailing through the past.

And as I sit and linger,

I wander toward the last

thought that crossed my mind.

These people, ever rash

don't seem to even bother

to pickup all their trash.

And I wonder why

I look like the ass,

as I'm trying, failing

to just maintain my grasp.

A conduit of tears

is falling as I passed.

Empathic Anger

Empathic Anger

I have apologized for another man’s convenience. Even though I didn’t commit the slightest grievance. The deeds I committed were of the right, but I was forced to submission and pushed to plight. No longer will I lay down for my foes, they’ll have to account for their wrongs and their woes. I’m tired from the mistakes you’ve made, and weary at the plans you’ve laid. You have a grand design in your little mind, but despite your misgivings, I am still kind. Of all the schemes of mice and men, yours appear innocent all to often. Just a little oops and a tilted maybe, the kind of “magic” that would trick a baby. I see right through you with no need to make you disappear, because I know you better than you, what you feel, how you think, and what you fear.

Corey Hudson

Does your chain hang low? Does it wobble to and fro? Do it shine in the light? Is it platinum is it gold? Does your chain hang low?

--

Or, rather, is it solid steel? Heavy as hell, metal, iron and real? Your visions are escapades of the present's sight. And their methods are reshaping all your means and might. A tangenting badass, herculian strength, this too may pass, but not without length.

Laughing your pee out in church.

Laughing like women who are about to pee... An overwhelming expression of pure glee.

Now I'm reminded of a story by Jessy, full of laughter and just a bit messy.

J: I was in a packed church in South America, Andrew, I know you don't remember my friend's name, so let's call her Erica. There we were, nervous by the altar, the priest asked us to sing, but we started to falter. I hit that first piano key, and the noise was like an amplified bee. In a moment of laughter, I kept playing and clenched my lips, but then I felt a trickle down by my hips. I started to pee and I couldn't stop, I pretended to cry because the bench was sopped! Erica had been laugh-crying too, I made eye contact with her and admitted the truth. "Erica, I peed." She burst with emotion as if she were touched by God! The congregation swarmed us and started to prod. Everyone wanted a piece of divinity, but their lasting touches only tickled me! The noise around us covered what was now pure laughter, we escaped from the doors shortly thereafter. We made it out with our souls in tact, I just wish we could say the same for our urinary tracts!

If only

And if only I could control my heart, bend my will past free will's start. Then maybe you'd know the pain of choice and the taxation of an honest voice.

I know not why I write or do. But my foresight tends to follow through. I am cursed with knowledge that comes regardless. And it matters not whether I profess.

I'm really tired of the tiredness, wearily wired... I must confess.

Sometimes I know I am prophetic, but these projections are oft pathetic.

Wisdom

Knowledge is power?

Well, wisdom is peace.

A world without war

can be won without grief.

Evil

When I seek a prize I truly can't stop,

And I'm depressed to keep on seeking.

What's a farmer to do when tending crops?

Especially if the yields seem to be peeking?

Rain and sunshine make plants grow...

With a fuck ton of dirt.

And I've repressed when I'm depressed

To maintain a sense of worth.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy.

But I set my targets high.

And don't look at me like I'm sappy

if I want to scrape the sky.

And here I am lying, hearing

Sweating in the sun.

But are your actions endearing?

Or do you commit them just for fun?

Liar.

I search for a peace: tranquility,
at an ultimatum with civility.
How can I just watch and wonder?
It pisses me off to ponder.

It's terribly tiring, managing an honest throne.
A crisp lie must feel nice, a small bribe from the soul.
A man is only as good as his word, and I must keep my own.
There are other ways to lie: being fair is foul.
To a truth teller, deceit's transparent, now the seeds are sown.
Your blood is gaul! Your eyes are dry! Your milk is sour...
Liar! Witch! Most foul of beasts! Your corpse shall soon be thrown!
Time is ticking ere hell takes you, to the victor goes the spoils.

Lightwalker

Up where you walk where all is clouded

Works of fire explode through the sky

And beneath, where we watch, is crowded

Like little dots scuttling below

And in light, you're floating shrouded

By and and by, by and by.

May your shoes never be eroded,

As you walk with light in tow.

I'm looking for her

My standards are rather high. Women needn't be shy. If they know what they want, and when, (which is also admirable in men), then they attract and also allure, and I know that they're mature.

I know what I want, a strong, smart, fun, funny, pretty woman. Do you know what you're looking for?

Phoenix Rebirth

In a wave of fire she falls and crashes, smoldering embers: dying ashes. An egg fertilizes in dust and heat, warmth engulfs a new heart beat. The egg cracks and he has spawned, from night to light, dusk and dawn. He spreads his wings in new sun's rays, they ignite anew: engulf ablaze. He ascends up through the morning sky, until the next time he falls to die.

Michael Angelis

I blue myself Michael!
And we both have a laugh.
We just need comedy.
Like Hilary needs a bath.

It seems we both love games.
Remember how our friendship bridged?
We played the cards that we were dealt.
Over a couple beers and cribbage.

You're kind, considerate, and caring.
I am glad to have you as a friend.
You're obviously absolutely bananas:
With each and every 'send'.

I can confidently say
that your works are gorgeous.
Their creation is but another day...
for Mr. Michael Angelis.

Reality Interactive

Imagine whatever you think may be,

and they'll make it a Reality.

From their beginnings in a garage,

I can now showcase a little montage.

As they grow, we'll gladly witness.

Over ten great years they're in business.

It's greatness they are reaching toward.

With each and every new earned award.

Problems might have users frustrated?

Not when they're remote updated!

They're seriously impressive,

and technologically impactive.

I cannot help but be attracted.

To Reality Interactive.

Coding Time

My mind seems to be eroding. Forever and foreboding. I’m trying to keep coding, but the damn thing won’t stop loading.

Friendly Mistake

It's hard to discern fact from fiction when decoding marks of mirth. And when I draw false conclusions, I lose some sense and worth.

Even though you forgive me now and may forget by overmorrow, I cannot help but feel the fool who's overwhelmed by sorrow.

I looked into the eyes of a friend and felt a sense of shame. If only I could take back my words as I'm the one to blame.

And now I lie here writing when all I want is sleep. I am so very embarrassed, and nearly want to weep.

I've never asked such a question and I never will again. But sometimes I make bold mistakes, at least every now and then.

Shaina's health

Feel better! Feel healthy! I wish you the best. Stay happy, be hearty, and take needed rest.

Jessy Limerick

I once knew a girl named Jessy,
she never failed to impress me.
She sang with emotion,
with purest devotion.
Her voice could almost caress me.

Rhymometer

Rhymometer.herokuapp.com

This is a web app I made that takes in a phrase and outputs the number of syllables between the rhyming couplets. It's meant to help songwriters and poets with tempo. It's best used on non-mobile devices (for now). If you're interested in the code, you can see it here: https://github.com/GuthrieA/rhymometer

Anna Jane

Of all the Janes I once grew,
Mary was oh so fun!
But of all the Janes I never knew,
Anna's the best one.

In just under two minutes,
I feel I've gained a mate.
It's nice you think so highly
as you explain I'm super great!

The key to my heart is joy,
but the key to all men's is food.
You might have lost some in the groceries,
but it didn't upset your mood!

You might have felt rather rash
while searching through the rubbish.
But even with all that stinky trash,
you didn't act like you were punished.

Let's keep this organized,
because I know I'm one to ramble.
You say a hundred to take you?
Let's go. Life's a gamble.

Jacob YoYoda

This dude knows all kinds of gear, a man who proudly make his own beer. From the time we met playing Dixit or last Wednesday's Pictionary, he just loves to win it with a vocabulary like a dictionary. Imagine him here on the brink of yelling. That's just his laugh, that's Jacob Lewallen.

He's boisterous, bodacious, blissful, and bold. I'm simply stunned, and solidly sold. I turn to him with programming worries, and he breaks them down into solvable queries. This software engineer personalizes my tests. Codemaster Flex is simply the best.

But this man has done some dumb things in his day, which he might be willing to tell you his own way. I wish the rest of this poem was also a roast, but, more realistically is a bit of a boast.

Oh, did you you hear the news, yo? He owns 4 types of yo-yos! And he works wood like some kind of fool, he has his own shop with, get this, only hand tools!

He's got this cat who I'll take care of tomorrow, seriously speaking, I'll do a good job though.

He's a reckoning force who might overload ya. Get ready, watch out for The Master YoYoda.

A Toast

A toast to you you, a toast to tonight, and a toast to many more. Raise your glasses to the sky and feel this in your core. Wine, Liquor, water or beer, see a friend, crack a smile then utter that familiar cheer. Cheers!

Bananas

I'll eat bananas every day,

I'll probably have a few today.

I want bananas from a tree.

I want them now: in twos and threes!

I'll eat them while I'm in a chair.

I'll eat them sometimes with a pear.

I find that snack so appealing.

I can't stop, just keep peeling.

I'll chew them roasted from the oven.

I'll mash them until they're soupy softened.

I'll have them split inside my cream,

until my pants split at the seam!

Bananas make me oh so happy.

I just want more, make it snappy!

White worms

The other day I saw them,
fading worms of white.
There were so many writhing,
and clouding up my sight.
I have no idea what they meant,
they danced like crawling light.
And as those few seconds passed,
they were so pleasantly bright.

A Guide Through a Happy Life

A Guide Through a Happy Life

What's organic, and what's fair trade sacrifices nothing for premium grade. Delicious flavors to sip and savor, if you're listening, do yourself a favor... Will you enjoy happiness as a brand? Will you take that cup of belief in the palm of your hand? Let me do you a solid and clear some mystery to clue you in on this place's history.

People: Mel, Vishal, and Onyeka. Places: U.S., India, Tanzania. The origins started with different places, three lovely people with three lovely faces. They fought the good fight in their own way, and strove with vigilance every day.

Let's start with the Indian on a journey and quest, Vishal Patel's continuous test. He landed shrouded by mosquitoes and unease, thoughts of malaria, worries of disease. The air was somehow musty yet dry, a smell specific to the Tanzanian sky. Confusing switches in that strange new bathroom, a foreigner in solitude felt potential doom. That worry was blasted away after 4 hours of sleep to the next dawning day. His tired body engulfed new beauty, all the signs were in Swahili. Mt. Kilamanjaro loomed overhead, fresh streams trickled riverbeds. Babba Massayo brought him chips mahai, which, by the way, is an omelet with french fries. Kids played in the streets with waterfalls falling, he found this place, he found his calling. Personal space was something of a joke, the children would come up to him to prod and poke. School was also considered something rather funny, the land was what mattered, and coffee made money. What should kids care of education when there was so much opportunity for recreation? Vishal wanted to help but didn't yet know how, more on this later, someone else now...

A Nigerian man of great renown is clever like a fox, but funny like a clown. Talk about a worker and a capitalist, an overall awesome adventurist. He strives, he drives, he thrives and he thrives. It's a cycle on repeat, combating loss, trudging through defeat, controlling chaos. His name is Ony, but that's Mr. Ony to you. He's full of wisdom and his words are true. Onyeka Obiocha had just graduated from college, but didn't know what to do with that pent up knowledge. He hitch hiked around just for the hell of it, he spent months reading locked up like a hermit. Then he reemerged, he joined a company where he grew and he surged. But the company was corrupt and full of lies, he hated his work despite his effort and tries. He tried something where he'd find stars like him rising, reSET was a group for social enterprising. He joined an Indian on a quest, little did he know, he'd be part of a test. Their teamwork unsurprisingly rocks, and was solidified by some ceremonial socks.

Coffee is a competitive business, low end and high end alike, and if they'd attempt to win this... they'd have to do everything right. A pairing created, the fellowship began, it seemed they were fated, skipped walking then ran. A farmer's market here, a farmer's market there... a sense of slight fear just tinged in the air. But a happy life grew as the beans were blended and roasted, artists in New Haven used their art as they posted on limited edition bags which they boasted. With the money they collected they leased a spot, a place that was once known as the brew shop. The very spot which introduced me to New Haven, the gateway through boardgames, such a great place in... The place I met Mr. Matt Fantastic, but more later on him with feelings ecstatic.

It was almost 2015, their first spot had failed... but they didn't give up, they didn't bail! They made a kickstarter to construct a new space, and I'm currently writing in that place. I met them when I read a poem to a crowd for the first time, my fly was unzipped for every rhyme! The Happiness Lab at the Grove wasn't an instant success, their efforts started with a crafty test. They had to do the flooring and tiling themselves, they got special tables and honeycomb shelves. On the 13th of March they announced their presence, and I became their regular poet in residence. I laser engraved poems for their art, they were hard to read, but hey, it's a start.

A student joined the crew as their first barista, her cappuccino's are always a fiesta. Ony didn't need her resume because he could tell, this lady was solid, that lady was Mel.

They hosted parties to get their name out there where D.J. Rubin mixed tracks with care. He stuck out his tongue bopping to the beat, he rocked my socks off my dancing feet. There's yoga, meditation, and literary happy hour. A-100 study halls with educational power. So much has happened in a year, we had fun and brought our own beer!

On over thirty Thursdays I played my harp, and even though I'm a beginner, they enjoyed my start. It was a meditative music to all ears, and it could alleviate tensions, alleviate fears. But, sometimes, happiness is avoiding badness, and only when removing sadness can you sustain gladness. I won't get into the detail, but harassment entailed. Police were called, some feelings were soiled. In a moment of valor, an owner stepped in, and with no splendor, he dealt with the grim.

Their coffee is excellent, wonderful, decadent, from the types of farmers Vishal once met. The bitter berries he once tried, those berries were dried. Others were planted, seeds were sown, they were harvested, seeds were grown. And with a fair price for their work, education's attainable, with our happy sips, they're becoming sustainable.

I see this as often a meeting place for start ups, and just recently: Elm City Games popped up. The very gamers who showed me New Haven, are now here and happily playing. The joy happens every day, I get to sit here, drink, write, and play.

This place is a dream, but no one person's vision, and here you can work your dreams to fruition.
This place taps work, the satisfaction of strife. A happy existence, a happy life.

Valerie G

We met over a year ago
over the creation of a lady cake.
It was made by and made for
two of your future roommates.

We chatted in Bradley's living room
about artistry and photoshop.
Technical nuances carefully laid by
every brush, bucket, select, and crop.

Much later I'd hear of your giant brain!
Yet your thoughts remain a mystery.
I see you smirking behind that wine
with a masters in fine arts and art history...

I'm not sure what's up with your cat.
But you must think he's kablammin!
He's definitely cooler than a fish.
Despite being a little Salmon.

Someday I'll visit the carriage barn.
And I'll properly see the gallery.
Then you can again take my fourth hand
to lead me as my friend, my pal, and my Valerie.

1000 hugs

One thousand hugs from me to you, small affections when you're blue. I cannot make this pain erase, but might put a smile on your face.

Drinking time!

I generally know the time of day by the beverage... It's not perfect but makes a good average. Coffee, water, whiskey, wine, get ready to guess with a slice of lime! Half past glass, 7 in and thirsty. Should I pass? Or get all mirthy? I'm making up words, but it feels sublime. Who fucking cares? It's drinking time!

Connection Vexation

A riddle for you,
this riddle from me.
A connection of actions,
of which there are three.

The first happens almost nightly.
When I refuse to rest my head.
Why do I avoid this like the plague?
Is it because I'm practically dead?

Then in the early morning,
I rise alongside the sun.
What starts off slow and sluggish,
obliterates stress into fun!

I must then clean myself,
in the early dirty hour.
For some reason that little knob
requires determined power.

So you've read or heard my challenge.
And here's your quizzical quest.
What mindset connects these actions?
What are they? Venture a guess.

Seamus McFingerbone

Well, this lil' tale doesn’t end well for Seamus the famous finger bone:

He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!

A wee Irish boy, taters were his toy. The life and strife o' everyone. A famine came with hunger claimed, well, dammed near everyone!

The lad worked on a boat, and kept it afloat on the way to Italy. Seeds in his pocket secured in a locket prayed for land in Sicily.

He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!

The man worked in Cortona on a field with the fauna. Saved his coins for later, see? Never drank whiskey, nor got too frisky, would see his potatoes be!

He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!

A geezer would, and finally could, plant his locket seeds to be. But the seeds didn’t grow, their stems didn’t show. Oh, poor, poor Seamus see!

So that was the tale that didn’t end well. Oh, poor Seamus Fingerbone!

300 years passed when an Irish lass found Fingerbone’s finger bone. It shook when they touched, wanting taters so much… long last a taste for Fingerbone!

Ramping Rant

My name is Andrew Guthrie. And right now I feel okay, even though I cannot feel a single sun-born ray. And in the blackness of this dark, I'll push on 'til the day. Droplets of sadness drip from my heart... are they naturally falling? Or ripped from the start? Was I born an empath, or did I forge this path? Sometimes feelings and perception get lost to conceptions of deception. Life is hard, and I'm striving with all my worth, some people though, they seem to glide and surf. I want it to be that easy, and I yearn to be that good. Yet I'd become queasy and burn as I wished I understood. There are specific stories my memory just invoked, when I was pinned to the ground and dominated: choked. A Fall evening when a baton bashed by forehead, how lucky I am, not to be dead. I'm sorry world, for what I have done. I'm sorry world, for what I haven't done. All the false hopes, all I tried to make fun.

I write when I am happy, but right now I am sad. And it might come off as sappy that my outlook is so bad. I lay in my bed staring at my alarm clock. Minutes slip to hours as seconds tick and tock. The light showed up, then the light went away. I neither breakfasted nor supped on the passing day. It really isn't so bad, I know this to be true, yet I can't shake the feeling of an ever present hue... everything in sight is a cold shade of blue. Isn't it Winter playing nasty tricks? Haven't I been previously tormented by his spiky frozen dick? I'm not so sure, but continue to doubt, why else would I rant? Why else would I pout? I'm not good enough, not very smooth, but not properly rough. Stuck in the middle without the right stuff.

But,

My name is Andrew Guthrie. I have to keep going; tripping while trudging to reap what I'm sowing. I'm working on a new way to bring music to the masses, but first I'll have to make a robot grasp it. Imagine it now, in all of its splendor, an orchestra fine-tuned, brought to you by Bender!

Am I in too deep? Bitten off more than I can chew? Should I be scared? Am I royally screwed?

No. No I'm not. But sometimes it feels like it, and it's important to realize it.

Overall, I'm happy. It's not so sad. Sometimes it's crappy, but it's not all that bad.

Bliss

When I see you walking, I want to hold your hand.

If I held your hand, I would seek a dance.

If we were dancing, I would look into your eyes.

If our eyes connected, I would sing to you.

And that song would be stifled by your lips.

My eyes would close, but I'd see bliss.

Smile

You know you've felt down awhile.

Joyous thoughts seem out of style...

Tremendous tasks stack and pile.

Toil verifies the vile.

But...

Real shortcomings seldom rile

your tough trudge through every mile.

May this poem be the vial

that when sipped cracks lips: a smile.

:)

Writing

In a moment of pain, I wrote, "Writing helps, people wrong us and there is little we can do to resolve conflict but acknowledge the consequences." Writing focuses any thought types and consolidates feelings. When I write, the immersion of imagination and the physical act of typing connect me wholly.

Extroverted Problems

My issue with people is that I love 'em so much,
and you might wonder why there's a problem as such.

I have so much empathy in my brain,
all this love in my heart it just feels insane.

Going to church with crowds by the steeple,
so many warm faces of so many warm people.

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,

and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

My love feels ever failing and fleeting,
but I keep on going and keep on seeking.

My doggie died just the other week,
sometimes my outlook feels so bleak!

Sometimes I cry and want it all to end,
but I sigh with relief when I see my friends!

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

How could so much good be construed as sad?
My life is so full and I'm so glad!

Bring my joy with the people I love,
I miss them already like a flock of doves.

The circles I’m part of make me: me.
The circles I’m part of set me free!

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

Bare

My pain is a rip and tear.
Eyelids dry drip: not tear.
This empty face I wear
wears deeply toward despair.

Is it asking too much?

Just looking to connect a pair?
Are my methods neither reasonable nor fair?
So transparent to stare?
How much pain am I willing to bear?
My heart is naked and bare.
Who cares? I care. I always care.