I’m a girl with no tattoos, no iron-tight beliefs, no heart to give to any man or a sign.

I no longer believe in fairy-tales or fascination, the world is black, if ever there was a soul to observe it.

She took both the world and the fairy-tales, the ink on my skin as well as the promise. She buried her heart in volcanic soil next to mine and said it was for keeps.

Now her body lay there in the ashes, buried two yards underneath. The world has moved on, as did her soul away from me.

My girl is dead, and that is the only promise left for me.

In 2002, for a wedding present

for my soon to be bride

A pet I chose, to give to

her with busting pride

In the pet shop,

a miniature schnauser did pick me

not by running away but

by running right up to me

So I paid for her right then and there,

and picked her up that night after work

you should have seen the crates, food

and toys I could carry - you'd think I went beserk

So home I went with my prize

the present I couldn't wait to give

and rapt our apt door

where on the mat, our pet had come to live

My soon to be wife, opened the door

And screamed with delight,

like never before

she came and hugged me so tight!

And upon examination of the gingerbread men

on her 'kerchief said, "You shall be Ginger"

And there is was, that was how I spent the next ten

years with the women I loved - around their finger

But in 2012, on May 4th, I lost my father

it was devastating and I took care of my old

girl, who now had to have shots and was blind

but who still ran to me with her heart of gold

And three weeks later, on May 23, a day after

my Dad's birthday, Ginger had a stroke that took her

And I cried for the second time that month

as she was on the table, stroking her fur

You tell me that you love me,

but I think that isn't so,

Perhaps you're only as fond of me,

as is a farmer of his hoe,

Still you take me to your bed each night,

there you have your way with me,

Why you treat me like you do,

that I'll never see,

Because each night,

after you've done your deed,

you say something,

that makes me sicken,

You compliment me on my sour thighs,

Then say I tasted like chicken!

(c) BAM

Welcome to the Nightmare Café

What are you in the mood for today?

Our special is ghosts, and ghouls

Boiled in protoplasmic oozeA favorite of the insane

I was so drunk on you

that I couldn’t see

that you were only

a ship in the harbor

of endless turbulent seas

full of hungry whores

and the rage

of empty bottles discarded.

I hesitated to blot out

the jangling reality

of your hostile façade.

Torn and drowned

in rapture,

I hardly noticed

the deep bloody scars

but I remember

the hammered pain,

the acid tears

burning a hole

in my psyche,

and my frozen heart

and empty soul

as I lost my grip,

piece by piece,

pleading to walk

with you

through savage seas.

Our voyage ended

when you sailed off

without me

but I still craved,

and remembered,

the driving rain

and your vacant eyes

as they drilled craters

into my essence.

Have you heard of the Aiken Drum?

You may have eaten one

He's a fairy that wears edible clothes

Where he comes from nobody knows

With a hat of cream cheese

A coat of roast beef

and buttons of penny loaves

How he doesn't get eaten, nobody knows

How can anybody resist?

i am someone

i don’t know

not without you

how

i ask myself

how did i start identifying myself

only with you

and the moment you take a step back

i lose balance

stagger backwards

you and i

used to be an us

now it’s just me

and every song you left me with

songs that break me

because i don’t have you

and without you

i don’t have me.

That morning I knew it was over,

I was young, I didn't understand but, now I am older,

The crazy stupid notion of love grew colder

On the day I found out my dad was never a soldier.

He didn't march on or even retreat,

He sat in the middle of a battlefield and admitted his defeat,

That battle field was called depression and it killed him it did,

He did something so terrible even God forbid.

The deep scars you gave remain,

Deeper than the ones I gave myself with feelings I couldn’t contain,

These crazy ideas used to bounce around in my brain,

All because you never gave yourself time to explain.

Time to explain why felt that way,

Time to explain why you couldn’t stay,

Time to explain the reason to why

You thought the easy way was to die.

I am sorry, I truly am,

Sorry I thought better of you as a man,

Sorry your love didn’t stretch so far,

And sorry you destroyed all that you are.

Now this is me saying, it wasn’t me it was you,

You who tore apart everything I knew,

You who set a bad example which I so nearly followed

You who made my heart feel icy and hollowed.

You took your life and part of mine,

The part where I have a father who doesn’t resign,

The part where my dad watches me climb,

The one where everything turns out just fine.

This was a break up between you and me,

A break up you cast upon the whole family,

We haven’t recovered don’t be fooled,

The mask I have created may look like a jewel.

So, what I am saying in this rhyme of mine

Is that you gave us battle wounds that won’t heal in time,

Instead they will shrink and become less sore

I won’t let mine swallow me anymore.

Poetry is a universal language that is either completely misunderstood or completely understood and when applied, can be life changing. It is the written ability to say so much by saying very little. Poetry gives life to the still pages of a book. It has the power to sting, the power to heal, the power to transform, or the power the destroy. The power of poetry when it is understood, is limitless. Poetry is timeless, and transcends the hand of the clock, reaching from generation to generation. From era to era, giving lessons from the past to those who absorb it in the future.

Poetry's my world-voice, an interface, a hotline to God and the guitar strings of the universe; it's my marble and mortar and methodology for building castles, the foundation of my empire. Poems in hand, I architect worlds of honey and stone; I hold hands with kings and listen to them breathe; I feel the air I breathe all the way to my fingertips. It is in me, it moves through me, it possesses my pen, until I think in its rhythms and walk in its steps. In the moments where there are no words, the poetry lingers, until it breaks the bonds of language and steps naked into our understanding, a window to the world beyond.