Not to be dumb.

The early light of dawn,  just broke the clouds and I awaken
I envisage the drips on dreams, to perspire on a sunrise. I'm shaking
In weekend passage. Natures mother massaging an ego of I am the lord
Yet the veins are flowing with hurt and love on a sweet drip of life and chords

Playing on a bass a state a reason why I committed the treason that sent daddy to the hangman
Because I was a loyal, institunialised, duck and dived , sheriff , law silver star lawman.
Turned in my papa, he gunned that woman down and will spend those days in cells
The noose will end the giver the provider of life for me , my conscience? I lived, I hate myself.

But he crossed the lines. And I'm sorry daddy. I know you'll plauge my dreams
As the snap of the neck causes mr respect. The bulging eyes popped in a peppermint scream
Harsh against my own theist of anticipation, bastardised. This whole scenario makes me pretty ugly
Dad?
Daddy?
I apologise for finding you out. I guess you taught me well. In the underlying poverty
The force of rebellion in a destructive silver star, you were the first to invite me
To the party.

Dressed like the clown
One last breath on the noose I drown
With you. But you murdered my mum
And I celebrate your demise daddy. You taught me.
Not to be dumb.

Poet puppet a poet a realm.

I've been a puppet a poet a pal a realm of dimensions
A part of a billion situationist. A posistion a of beggars that breath
And yet, the Parisian ambush in the heart of walkways
In my heart. In my blood vessel of dalliance in dispairing.

Red sails on sunsets. Hives if bumblebees cried amongst tbe cells of
Honey  you struggle don't you, the posistion of just you and I. The
Because and confusing of depth and super confusion.
If you go away. To the tundras. To the trees, to the forest of enyd blytons
Tree of delusion

The folk of the far away
Tree of bark on
My son and permission. I'm here. I'll never let you
This puppet , the poet? The sadness the trial.
 I'm a trial a tribulation a cope of then
I'm continuing I'm trying I really am. a

The rich

Done. The breath you breathe to me
A lover setting free
You never knew entanglement, he thought of  a billion sentiment
I cried every version, the persuasive, the caustic, ice cream dark chocolate and mint

I scream in a migraine over complicating on the abbacus of a Greek calculation
It's the situation, the complete
Fabrication of the  truth the absolute, your Just a Pygmy of a vessel in the blood
Driven eye. I play eye spy. I caved into the realms of multi dimensions do, did, could.


You  are the ephinony of a Parisian light bulb
In a flat above a
Treble
Tribulations? Floors and scores of I hate you I really hate the reasons
You produced the double
The anger. The stranger. You the ephinony. Of a Venetian light
Bulb in a trip of electricity trouble.  I saw beyond the realms of futuristic box and fight and  flight

The very epitome. You then the
Strength beyond my muscle
I hate you, you son of a bitch
The hatred
Of my birth to that last man standing of gold mans standing
Amongst the
Wealth
The rich

Brain matters

All for one and one for natures law
Hanging by a branch the negro slave accused of the eye of the crow
That he succumbed , on art splatters brain matters
Black man. Haunting, the bodies of his ghost just got embellished and fatter.

A soul of deceased trouble? A part of necks tangled in rope
Dope, a reason of treason against the government. The sentiment of the reason why he coped
Intrinsic why his mother cried , against a sun set into it's not my fault it's the white mans anger
Snow on the iceberg, shouting like a fucker. I never realised the hatred from the whiteness of danger

Of sentiment, twist and be a part of the ambience, lighting the edge of ghetto cave
I'm sorry for my daddies twosome, the resentment of I did, I had, I want and I have.
You made me
Into what I became, I'm going to get all Shakespearean
Cream on strawberries but I shouldn't be a part of the spoil. L
Reason,
I'm giving in
Me and you
It's a mythanopic catastrophic reason and I want. I always need
There's a better conclusion. The reason seldom feeds.

between the heart of dark and blackness

There's an unfortunate moment during the step torn passage between the heart of dark and blackness
A caustic iron exhaust ing back fire on a BBQ grilling in the FBI interrogation subtleness
I caved like a bosom filtering milk to the newborn baby , scratched like a foot. against Momas nipple
Creased like the wave crashing on the surf tides crippled ripple.

Their was a she spent time into the creativity of this depth and for gone a rhyme
A misprint on the head of a typing error, an eye over,  applying the mascara of hell bent to the crime
I regret my fortitude the attitude the substitute the cute partner of the grenade
The serenade of a saxophone and a string of guitars , visiting , of my mind standing, and acting on this very staged display.

The cherry breath I taste whenever I ignite a cigarette , the taste of life
No matter the brain, splatter, on the car window, so slow, in intrinsic poetry, a look at dreams and strife
The left of all that matters
Of sinew and haterd, the spasticsted spasms of a man down but not out.

The trial every evening I experienced before the fire logged in timber
The thoughts I crave, the reason I try to remember
But I'm afraid the senility had over loaded the senses , the apprehension
I'm a shadow of myself now the fog has defended upon the lacking of my decision

And into the naked light I saw, amongst the world in which I disappear
This extinguished
Illuminated anguish, a told you so, a clue that you never knew
And all I am, is this
A remembrance of solitude between the heart of dark and blackness.

free style. I never read this before posting.

No one will ever, tell me how to live my life because it's a chapter, bookmarked, ready for
When, you pick up the next sentence, two years after you read the first leather bound
Hard backed saddle screwing with your spine, it's intertwined with a text, a fuck the caustic leather
You don't offer a single dime to me or to the categorically thought process of the grey mind.
Who the fuck do you think you are, your an autumn reason, a life of the varicose leaves browned
By the seasons stress and the scar. The reticent thought process, in which I feel so like the king crowned , in the streets of a parliament , sent into A  plus B equals a lifetime of dubious frowns.
Etched like the son of a bitch that always makes into the recurring, slurring words of a drunk subway
Homeless sleeping bag dwelling, head swelling after being hit by the umbrella fella, who struck in the temple of your head, not the temple of the dead.
There's a fucking situation going on here,  a queer partisan , partying into the depths of insecurity
A real cutie pie, calved into half, like the mother cow who demands that now, is the reason that it's all a part of how.
You're a beast roaming, a storming part of the thunder cloud, a whimsical tornado destroying the farm
The houses blasted into oblivion, you're just a civilian, a passerby, a pedestrian sucking in the air provided for the only lungs Mother Nature knows
I could slow,
This entire shit down, but I'm afraid this first try at freestyle poetry begs me to post
At the most I'll bow out.
I'm a chore master
I'm an eighties boom box blaster
Take it in my will, my sentiment of clarity so stark
And we are all a passage, a sentence, a simple bookmark

Yorkshire man.

I'm a Yorkshire man, proud and quite in a crowd of unceasingly unbelievable silence
I'm the steel factory chimney pouring smoke into the dawns early air, choking, I'm a matter,  an interference
Grandads inheritance of a pocket watch, medals from the ww2 service, never knew what by which he gained them
Was he a brave man with a rifle in hand , was he the petal of crazy standing tall above the stem

Distilled grilled and puff like the dragon of a smoking , cheering crowd of nazi behemoth
Just like me, fading into the background, a sinkhole of obscurity, cut from the very same cloth.
Don't even know which continent he served in, Asia, Europe, a travelling bulett gypsy with no recognition
From the survivors, I fucking exist because of his efforts, his trials and tribulations.

Guilty, ghosts of intrinsic soap suds flowing over my naked and guilty your honour mind
The hurricane, instability of the diagnosed insane, try to be better than the insecure obscured, I can't grasp the intestines of that stomach connected double downed and blind
Through trenches of apprehensions. Am I crazy because of what he did, the composer of aggression
Yet the wizard of sympathy and kind.
It's a maze of thoughts. A bastion i will never scale. I can see the end in hope although I'm clearly blind.

There's a multiplication drumming inside my complicated mind
A need to cling onto a rock face, dazed and wonderment we find
Grandad plages the cells he may have spent time in, thinking he had to get home for the sake of future child
To touch the face of my grandmas cheeks, rough, rouge, he cools the heat reduces the hot to a tepid mild.

All I know is he came home. He found his girl and he reproduced the character of the man you see today.
Took it on the chin, head spin and carried on. Every day I dalliance with the creator of hell, yet I never remember how he created the pottery wheel that moulded the clay
Of my brainchild, that's hidden from today's society, I'm in the trench hole with him eighty years ago on my birthday plan
He stood, understood, created, survived, in his blood, a proud reason, a Yorkshire man.