Right Thing To Do

©. Sept. 29, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

If you can believe in

Hate at first sight,

Then you can believe in

Love at first sight.

Listen: you can do wrong

Or you can do right.

Hear: words we hear

May teach us how to fight.

Secrets we withhold

Can keep us uptight.

Every word we share

Has power despite

Us unfeeling that

We’re human beings.

And I love you because…

And I love you because…

It’s the right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

I forgive you

And my half-smiles

Can turn into

Artistic styles.

We can cheer our friends

When they have success.

Yet, our enemies,

We search their address.

Judgement hurts,

So nobody may confess.

Is it weakness if

We have faithfulness?

If we improve,

It remains a progress.

Feelings suppressed

Are expressed with distress

Like couples that

Take turns giving bed baths.

And I love you because…

And I love you because…

It’s the right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

I forgive you

And my half-smiles

Can turn into

Artistic styles.

It’s okay to learn how

To be lonely.

Hate shouldn’t stop you

From being happy.

Even if they stone you,

Heaven, you’ll see.

Even if they deceive

With misery,

There’s free will,

For you’re not a nobody.

Life they’ll rob, life they’ll feel,

And life they’ll flee.

The word trust can taste

Like Rome in my mouth.

And I love you because…

And I love you because…

It’s the right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

Right thing to do.

I forgive you

And my half-smiles

Can turn into

Artistic styles.

Waffle Iron Indent Design Jeans Sketch

©. Sept. 27, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

Feeling and Being Grown

©. Sept. 25, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

Unfairness is

Living alone.

His dad brags to him

About sex

Like an only child

Feeling grown.

His mom is

Working on projects,

Too busy to

Politely bond.

Here comes his

Brothers and sisters.

If he turns around,

His mom’s blonde.

Provoke him for

Lacking lovers.

How lonely is him

Around words?

Passwords, he sets

On devices,

Designed to make him

Worse than herds.

One day,

Someone sacrifices.

Preferred, he’ll

Fall asleep in love

While his thoughts

Unheard reach heaven,

Bold with the

Spoken word above.

Like the young,

He could be seven,

Staying up like

Blue butterflies.

If the terrains

Are colorless,

Resting fitfully,

Someone cries.

Who is more than

He can possess?

Somewhat of a

Woke polymath,

Learning from

Metaphysicians,

Mistaken for a

Sociopath,

Worthier than

Stone-broke aliens.

How often,

The women treated

Like utilitarian

Objects,

Envision that

They’re completed?

Afterwards, no one

Genuflects.

Adored like

Bittersweet endings,

The men may

Tolerate chit-chats

For sex, prepared

For their spendings.

Women want gold

More than house cats.

Heart-rending texts

Are saved for

An emotional

Attachment.

May they despise

The man next door,

Who radicalized

For the rent?

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

If you want to take,

If you want to break,

You can eat the dirt

The day you get hurt,

Is the same you hate.

On a thousand

Talents of gold,

Beauty has

First-hand knowledge

Of minimum

Interest sold.

Their brains are to

Explore college.

He’ll age, travel,

And buy a slave,

To free the slave

Without gossip.

May he buy more

Or misbehave?

May morals get

An internship?

Unsold food

At supermarkets

Will be donated

To the poor.

He’ll work, but

What if he forgets?

A brunette teases

An amour.

He hears

Plausible persistence,

Telling him to

Get a career.

The peripatetic

Has sense

With sad salience

Crystal clear,

Like sonneteers

In solitude.

Frozen sugar

Is in a bowl.

The words he writes

Are devalued.

On the wall,

There’s a girandole.

A prison designed

For orphans,

Home feels like

Sleeping on laundry.

For famine, he’ll

Give his organs,

To find true love

Over money.

When he talks to her,

She’s upset,

Claiming every man

Is the same.

Hidden tears on

The internet,

He sends her money

Like a game,

But she never attempts

To meet.

When she ignores

His messages,

He wants to drag her

From her feet.

Who’s aware of

The presages?

Destigmatize

Being single,

Then the flat-chested

Woman comes,

Deciding

To intermingle.

First, he’ll brush his

White teeth and gums.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

If you want to take,

If you want to break,

You can eat the dirt

The day you get hurt,

Is the same you hate.

One who loves

Humbly, acts justly,

Touching him

Tenderly with joy.

Such dreams are

Abandoned and free.

He could grow up a

Mama’s boy,

Saying, “Momma,”

Then her phone rings.

“What,” momma says

With aggression.

“Can I have some

Buffalo wings?”

“Gone,” she yells at

His depression.

“You’re musty he hears,”

Lifting weights.

May his brother

Try striking him

While exercising past

Due dates.

Laughter comes if

He joins a gym.

Siblings are

Having paramours,

Then show their parents

Their girlfriends.

“Ugly,” mom says by

The French doors.

“It won’t last,” then

Comes the weekends.

“Brush your teeth. A

Real woman

Wouldn’t deal with a

Man like you.”

He doesn’t want to

Feel less than.

Can a healthy tryst

Be just two?

He never brought

A woman home.

If he falls in love,

He’s disowned.

Like he loss an

X chromosome.

Carless, his dates

May be postponed.

He’d rebuke

Levirate marriage.

What if his brothers

Touch his wife?

He can’t pray for

A miscarriage.

The nosy wants

To know his life.

Grown men are

Chestfeeding children.

People are

Shooting anyone.

“You don’t want

Children,” says women.

Be cursed like him,

You’d want a gun.

Wouldn’t he take

Care of his kind

Where they grow up

In the right faith?

He don’t want to

Get left behind,

With somewhat sinners

And their wraith.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

If you want to take,

If you want to break,

You can eat the dirt

The day you get hurt,

Is the same you hate.

He wants a woman

With beauty,

Who snow-blinds

His intelligence,

Still not use

Him for money,

And will love him

With confidence.

Her hair strands

Shaped like curly fries,

Draping down to

Her spinal cord,

Give more reasons

To fantasize.

The love he wants

Is unexplored.

Fond of forever,

He can smile.

She’ll speak with

A formal language.

If it’s colloquial,

It’s worthwhile.

Would he lose brain

Cells from slanguage?

Dating in public

Leads to hate.

Groups make

Reaction videos.

Their flirting speeds

Up her heart rate.

If he’s alone,

Everyone knows.

His thoughts,

Treated like fratricide.

Who’s giving him

A chance to feel?

Kissing in slow motion

Is eyed

Leaving couples tongue-tied

And still.

Healing, they

Can mail love letters,

But who’s invited

To her place?

Shades, he wears,

Like the trendsetters.

He can’t bear

To see the disgrace.

“They’re killing people,”

His dad yells.

The outdoors are

Full of strangers.

Who’d give him

A million farewells?

Him free, a life

That endangers

His family,

Forced to follow.

If he goes to a

Clothing store,

Who eyes him

Like a commando?

Maybe his grandma

Comes out the front door,

Meeting up with him,

So they’d talk.

“Hey. How are you?

Anything new?”

That’s basically

The whole walk.

“Not much” that’s new;

Maybe that’s true.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

If you want to take,

If you want to break,

You can eat the dirt

The day you get hurt,

Is the same you hate.

A mini

Refrigerator,

Pantry stuffed

With nutritious foods,

Water and

Candy dispenser,

Is overwhelming

Like blood feuds.

He wants a kitchen

Full of meals,

Self-made paintings

And cool skateboards.

What garage

Needs automobiles?

He may have one

And collect swords.

He may collect

Action figures;

Not to the point

Of obsession.

He’d have 10 figures

And triggers.

In the future,

There’s perfection.

A love like

Samson and Delilah

Would make him

Think twice about love.

Dusty Bibles

From his momma

Are left in the

Closet, above.

He hates the

Delilah spirit.

He doesn’t want

A Jezebel.

“Read your Bible,”

She says read it,

But maybe she’s

Watching cable,

Taking up his

Time complaining.

He gets compared

To his siblings,

Then in the evening,

It’s raining.

Bedtime, he feels

Like piston rings.

Reaching ataraxia,

He tries.

He can make

Free daycare centers,

For free-range

Children in his eyes.

At such a place,

There’ll be mentors.

They’ll learn and grow

Like Rumspringa.

Why’d he buy

A woman a drink?

He buys her gas

And sees dada.

She’ll be at a spa;

May he think?

It’s her

Anachronistic soul

Giving him permission

To care.

With legs open,

No gun control.

She teases him,

Making him stare.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Look at what I have.

Everywhere you laugh.

If you love your wrath,

Look at what I have.

If you want to take,

If you want to break,

You can eat the dirt

The day you get hurt,

Is the same you hate.

They’ll sue him

Within a minute.

People may not

Call the police.

They’ll wear pavé

Diamonds to cut.

They prefer money

Over peace.

Greet her; she may

Want a lawsuit.

She may mock blacks

With white chicken,

While she eats black

Chicken acute.

Hired by high school

Dropouts is when?

When he heads downtown,

There’s a frown,

Forgettably as

If though skin.

They may meet up

With him; he’s down.

He’s black and brown

And can’t fit in.

Some ideas he has

Gets stolen

Just like his

Online privacy.

Dad knows when

He emails women,

Complaining loud;

The irony.

Dad’s having sex

With other foes.

“You don’t need

A relationship,”

He yells over the

Phone and goes.

A lady walks up;

She may slip.

She gives a flirtatious

Eye stare,

But dad asks,

“Do you need help?”

Online lovers feel

Like childcare.

Thin air, for the

Famished dogs yelp.

For the interviewers

Laughing,

Hiring bullies

To get money.

Some women trust

And start grabbing,

Shunning the the

Strangers with honey.

They’ll name call, but

Mostly, stand tall.

They’ll slap him because

He’s too nice.

They may die by

A know-it-all.

They may not have

Time to think twice.

Idolatry is

What they keep.

Forgiveness can be

A weapon,

Designed to put

Someone asleep.

He’ll be in heaven

With the Son.

Somewhere In Waterville Painting

©. Sept. 20. 2022. All Rights Reserved.

Title: Somewhere In Waterville

Medium: Acrylic on canvas

Size: 11” X 14” 

Date: 9/19/22

Uniqueness That No One Prevents

©. Sept. 13, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

In a bedroom, watching TV,

Drinking an ice-cold soda pop,

Athletes lift cars like cups of tea.

Nutritional meals, they can’t stop.

They’ll flex while the camera rolls.

They’re superstars with revered guns.

They have chiseled abs and thick goals.

Tree trunks for legs could be someone’s.

Rebels with the cheers everywhere,

They’re flaunting money like women.

How easygoing is a stare?

Their lifestyle is tough now and then.

Back to the gym with medicine,

Exercising three times a day,

Watching their calories, they grin.

Sweat drips down and women say, “Hey.”

If loving this is

Based on true events,

Here’s that uniqueness

That no one prevents.

Will they workout on the Lord’s Day,

Fall a victim to vanity,

Or make any effort to pray?

Their fans are their humanity.

The boy watching wants to grow up,

With a championship title.

Like he use a measuring cup,

He’ll wake up to use his idol.

As if foreign accent syndrome

Dwelled within him across the map,

Where he’s from’s not what he’ll become.

If he loves, then it’s a death trap.

Verbal abuse from handicaps,

Challenges his respect like chains.

His scrawniness makes thunderclaps

In his mind, hard like candy canes.

If loving this is

Based on true events,

Here’s that uniqueness

That no one prevents.

Often, they turn the TV off.

Relatives learn to strike him down.

Has beens invent new ways to scoff.

One day, he’s out of this small town.

Nobody taught him how to swim.

Men carry apoplectic hearts,

With more muscular arms than him,

Working out their glutes, thus, theirs farts.

Stuck on public transportation,

Gyms are expensive for his time.

Working out with innovation,

At home, the barbell turn to grime.

His dad throws away the barbell,

For more space in the living room.

He shouldn’t cry, for he’s a male.

When the weights touch the dumpster “Boom!”

If loving this is

Based on true events,

Here’s that uniqueness

That no one prevents.

Each week, his dad moves furniture.

“Does the couch look good over here,”

Dad says, expecting an answer.

Who cares if no one walks in fear?

What his family eats, he eats.

The jobs he applies at, they mock.

A mental lightbulb overheats.

He hears complaints pass the hour clock.

Unemployed with unchanged pipe dreams,

Carrying heavy groceries,

Undropped to his jeans, he redeems.

Mom’s having the birds and the bees.

Flexing his arms in the mirror,

Like he has a dad bod again.

He has no children, but terror.

When he survives the pain, “Amen.”

The Outdoor Bookstore Wanted

©. Sept. 7, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

An existential angst alleviated

With a kiss

Pass the break of dawn,

Soaring in an outdoor bookstore.

Walkways surrounded by dolphins

Thick like a Brown Swiss,

Where parrots use typewriters

And words shout door to door.

He knows that brown eyes and blue eyes

Can create green eyes,

As well as how they apotheosize

Her bubbliness.

A presence, relaxing like chirping birds

In the skies.

They learn about death, but they learn

To love nonetheless.

A loveliness of ladybugs flutter

In the clouds,

Wider than when the Tower of Babel

Was destroyed.

A Hopi tongue mixes with a Chatino

In crowds.

Their differences turn to dizziness

While employed.

He can remember

1 Peter 3:3.

Would a gold wedding ring

Be an utter disservice?

When their dizziness

Turns to discipline, they can see.

When their discipline

Turns to destiny, they have bliss.

They have humbleness while children

Have a laid-back chat,

After reading groups and exercising

With hand grips.

They have dignity with a quill pen

And a cocked hat.

Everyone’s polite and there’s no need

For memberships.

There’s bumper cars with roadways

Leading to massage chairs.

There’s pizzas, nachos,

Tacos, lasagnas, and much more.

A Tibetan tongue mixes with a Sámi

And cares.

The store never closes, but is viewed

As a folklore.

They’ll Judge On These Days

©. Sept. 7, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

The love I may share

Could be my self-respect.

It could be the world

Grown like wear and tear.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

No one’s in the way,

But it’s fair to think.

My love, pucker up,

Then the world won’t blink.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

I’ll love you if you’re

A little person.

The world will assume.

You’ll be my loved one.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

I’ll love you if you’re

An older woman.

They’ll be disgusted,

Laughing a lifespan.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

If your skin is dark

And your eyes are blue,

It wouldn’t matter.

I’ll say, “I love you.”

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

If you lose eyesight,

I’ll keep you closer

Than my emotions.

The world gets worser.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

Never walk again

And “Please don’t complain,”

For I’m not to blame.

Still, I’ll feel your pain.

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

Tell me anything.

If I ask you out,

Will you accept me

Or can deal without?

They’ll judge on Monday.

They’ll judge on Tuesday.

They’ll judge on Wednesday.

They’ll judge on Thursday.

They’ll judge on Friday,

Then comes Saturday.

Don’t forget Sunday.

Morals and Values In Cookies (Tanka Poem)

©. Sept. 1, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

Morals and values

In cookies like belly fat,

For syrup-like tears.

Homemade goods are for sharing

Like sugar after dinner.