Is It Poetry
Being from Tampa Florida,
and I know now that all of you can.
I am James McLain
the father of my daughter and like some of you
and being tall and true and as such,
a tree a bush, and all those other lovely southern words
we each and each is us, we make and still of thought we use and think when making sufferance to the other, each being we meet each day and my/your could this be and day it is.
Will you confess to a crime you did not do?
I am a progressive red neck.
But then most are not.
I enjoy creating poetry and writing on everything about you and I that one can.
I used to like trying to write the law,... more »
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- Tolerance and Diversity -new-
- The Judicial System And The Poor -new-
- ISIS and American Corrections -new-
- A Cloud Turns It's Face To Me
- God, Guns, Grits and Gravy
- Love and Risk
- How To Create A Terrorist
- Made Electric By The Moon
- The Girls And Their Peep Hole
- Suicide's Lost Note
- The Mask We Wear
Is It Poetry Poems
...................she is afraid, he is ...
She is he, and he is She. The two, now lost, loves heart.
It Is Hard Being Smart
i must hide it) lost in it(s mind.. and try not to offend those.. whom are so much... more smarter.. and so very deep..as I sleep...
You ask me what am I thinking when I look inside you and you see me looking through you, as if I thought. And how in the beginning, it was a point of issue in
' My Heart Is Heavy'
From the center of my heart, your many lost songs. From the heart of one single tear. I am lost like you both apart, one is beating. Gone from our gentle childhood.
Through The Old Oak Tree
A stream flowing through the old oak tree is still alive. The heart of the forest (wood which has lived to long it is, unexpected obstacle, this living log and complicated cover which I lowered)
i want 'too die' a simple death
i want too die a simple death; still i can not but tell.. battle field or hospital... and when again i look..
she is afraid, it is tired.
Wherever you are.. It is..there.. and now you're afraid.. It is..tired...
Day By Day
A little eye not made by man. All woman seem to have. Available to none our honey bees. Clinging to my window butterflies.
a 'Girl' and Now
Lost Girl and Now in the woods, and that which you hug is the tree. You can not stretch them, Full around it, while upward and down ward amazed.
A spell, a well soaked rag
is it wicked of me if i
is it wicked of me if i; buy a peach and it's too soft and ripe. what if after words it does what you thought it would do and then it well, just might.
................'Black Robed The Bench A...
Huddled poor the masses, did you say, not I. Whirlpools hide the dragon and it's eye. Needles would I thread upon one point. Before the Gavel falls, I'd hear your allocution.
Upon Your Shore
This world of both i know my dreams, you dream. They are gone off there into one blue horizon.
hidden in a smile the you the why..
hidden in a smile the you the why It is safe.. It is the safest place... It is the safest place it knows in which too hide and cry.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
...................she is afraid, he is tired..
She is he,
and he is She.
now lost, loves heart.
the yellow sun.
You once we're two,
and ran around the world.
Inside both heads.
He fell inside loves fire.
his red heart pumping burned
burned ice cold hot.
light did give U.S. form.
Over shadows love,
swept out black coals.
Your smile, twin lips.
He kissed, both miss.
His face, from that.
Bright coals, still hiss.
Now alone again,
he walks into.