Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Biography of Is It Poetry

Is It Poetry poet

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, but a few of the laws concerning me have changed so often that as those same laws helped create such panic and fear trauma in hearts of family in part, that I will not make mention of small lives broken obviously; so then, it is not a law.
Laws are meant to protect not destroy, it is that my unlearned opinion.
When of that it was written to cause such wide spread presumption of fear, when it does not appear, then it's
your mind they have numbed, and theirs yours is then off again of.
and It concerns you, us the all.

Kick them out, you can vote, I dislike cowards whom hide behind others to get what they want.

Applied force under any pretense is simple coercion to obtain one's an end, broken down made thus
is immoral or amoral
under any application when one person knows and the other one doesn't.
That is the law of the land.

I like speaking on many subjects, subjectively, such as politics and real life experiences including the horrors I’ve seen that have happened to myself and others. I will try to speak of things most are afraid to and may even loose their job. Forensic psychiatrists can be paid to say whatever you want. Life to me seems like one long experiment, although the ocean helps the journey, as I love to swim and explore the sea life, catch & eat most often, is yours a saw cutting interesting?

I feel the arts are important and history. What little I know I have taught myself through Moore books that my friend and his wife bought me.

Editing and punctuation can sometimes be my weak points, depending on how you read it, I just lovenly love to, just because I must and some like her understand this because you write as well, deep as it is that you find you are and I know you now Grace is lined flowing as rivers of ink even deeper.

The sciences are more than Steven Hawkins...isn't he moore than star dust and still you like that he is forever, beings facing the sea are fascinating.

If some of what I say makes your ears burn, do not run away, and know that I know you still are, and can’t even try turning away, smile. Though if words like the tree hides the moon when love and green the bush…concealed in white clouds…causes you harm, you may need to seek out the professional, country council woman with a PhD. If you think I have traumatized you, be aware that I have no civil rights, which obviously means…To those who think people are just numbers…057512…If you have not figured out your own issues, go in peace. Otherwise, do not hold me back, please pray. I am still Ameri-Can. I would beg your pardon, and try and try and try. What is it like to vote…Do you take it for granted?
What is it like to have civil rights?

I used to lie when I was younger, I even stole.
It is so much simpler now not having to and yes,
to enjoy the surroundings wherever I go.
Perhaps in the end it’s all we have, credibility, lost, then found.
If you wish to help me, the more I can help others.
If you think something may sound better, I'm open to suggestion, just give it a shot.
I am still an Ameri-Can.
Is the American dream just a fantasy?
One must keep in their head until it becomes your reality? Are not all things possible to all.
Gather me up unto you, If you are close I will come and.

is it poetry

PoemHunter.com Updates

C*Taking Turns *

Short of wind your breath belies
the dragging of your heal in
dust we trust.

Sweat dried sand to face
scoured fresh blush the
wind has made
to know.

Wind lifts my arms to take
from you this gift is
precious so.

[Hata Bildir]