This is the last dark sonnet I shall write  Your lips aren't worthy of my pen's kisses I am sick of whining about our misses I reject your darkness for true light  Am I but Shakespeare's lover jaded?  He left words for me to give to you  But quite frankly, I'd rather you eat glue  Keeping your mouth of lies shut, you faded I turn my pen to a life more fruitful yielded This is the last dark sonnet I shall write Trust me, you don't want my words to fight  My heart will laugh at you as it's shielded I bid you adieu, old love, lost to the winded My mind stands strong and forever mended  

Nobody knows my soul how could they when   they are so quick to judge me   never knowing my deepest reflections   Nobody knows my heart that dreams such   beautiful dreams and has faced   such horrible nightmares and still I survive   Nobody knows my pain something   I hold deep inside in The Depths of Solitude   Nobody knows my soul   and sometimes I watch time pass and wonder   if it is something that   I will truly one day know   because at times I don’t even know my soul

 

 

 Chary Wilson reads his poem, "SpongeBob SquarePants" for the Louisiana Words Tour at George's Place in Baton Rouge, LA.

    Nick Perere reads his poem, "The Peculiar New Room" for the Louisiana Words Tour at George's Place in Baton Rouge, LA.

We live in effortless echo chambers Plagued by the Algorithm Almighty Vacant and void of our pious prayers The Pendulum of Hate is swinging free. And it’s tipped by the clouded Clementine Right in front of our alert open eyes. I wish we could push past this wretched time While they’re ignoring the Unwanteds’ cries. Let’s wear the disguise of racist rich men. Walk amongst them like we are fucking free. While they’re not scared of our pigmented skin, Let’s gossip gaily and spill the spoiled tea. Just or unjust, we’re dealt a cruel fate. Write freely now, for it may be too late.

What will one do for their art when it pulls them by the heart? When every cell of your body is on fire and every strand of your hair vibrates with desire to weave, to write, to sculpt, to compose. Does the beauty come from the mind? Is it within each artist or does it just appear and disappear like smoke. My throat is dry, my belly aches from hunger, I cannot sleep so I remain woke. I eat at the ash of my desire to  create, to paint a picture with my words that I cannot guarantee will ever be heard. I claw at the dryness in my throat the ashes in my mouth long for the river of my mind, of my pen. Stanzas of images, of creation within.  My last vestibule of thoughts of a crescendo, of wet clay  upon a marble table, of dreams turned  into life, to stay on the page, on the canvas, in the lyrics forever.  I did  this. I wrote, drew, sculpted, composed with ribs showing, eyes sunken. No matter because I know that as long as words flow, and as long as children d...

 

 

I am at war with you My love is forever true You leave me in disgrace  And without any place  What is love good for? Absolutely nothing solid So I remain quite stolid  I can't ask you anymore  I am at war with you  I am at war with love I don't care with who You puppeteer me from above  This war, this love, this pain God, grant me life, I'm insane   

paper crane and aero-planes above us there is only sky pondering the clouds so high like mountains without tops paper cranes and hurricanes there is no gas and no relief but people smile through their grief and move on with their lives paper cranes and window panes people stop and look inside and wonder why we run and hide living in a glass house paper cranes and summer rains flowers bloom in vibrant hues and everyone has lost their blues dancing in the lazy sun paper cranes and aches and pains tell me, doctor, what is wrong? Inside your heart there is a song who will want to hear it? paper cranes and other things are sitting in a pile who will want them now you’re gone and dead for quite a while?

 

 

 

  Ted A. Richard reads from his book, "The 16th Second" for the Louisiana Words Tour at Cavalier House Books in Lafayette, LA. Get an up-close-and-personal look into the life of Ted A Richard - Author/Activist, who survived homophobia, addiction, abuse, and HIV/AIDS, in THE 16th SECOND: https://bit.ly/3VEpsLV. Why readers are raving: “THE 16TH SECOND is well worth reading for its portrayal of 40 tumultuous years in LGBTQ history, as told by a funny, flawed, and human man.” ~ IndieReader “The gay community has few elders because of the AIDS epidemic, and with this memoir, Richard steps into that role. He provides an insider's social history of gay men in the American South during the 1980s and 1990s. Though there are many solemn and heartbreaking moments, Richard also writes with great humor and cheer. The most delightful part of this book is the author's conversational tone. It reads like oral history, with chatty (and sometimes catty) asides throughout the narrati...

  Lance Wise reads his poem, "Uncle" for the Louisiana Words Tour at George's Place in Baton Rouge, LA.

These chains and whips hurt Where has my sanity gone? I'm sitting here eating your dirt Hoping that it will soon be dawn  This sonnet is third in my misery  You don't even care about us  Oh, how love has become dreary Humiliation seeping out like puss You bit off my hand as I fed you   I hunger and thirst for any love  Because you ate my cake too Our love has become sour love The bondage of my soul to yours  Has me down praying on all fours 

  This whole world is a pageant!! We live our lives in a constant state of judgment, which is why so many of us often feel like we just don’t “measure up”.   “Are we pretty enough?” “Are we smart enough?” “Where do we fit in on that scale from one to ten?” Yes, our life is a pageant, and everyone is trying to win!!! But why do we allow others to judge us? Who the heck entered us in this pageant? They don’t know us? They don’t know who we are? All “the judges” know are what they SEE, and that’s only half of who we ARE !! It seems like we are always trying to win this pageant in which no one ever gets the crown. Yes, we all WANT the crown! But why does no one ever GET the crown? Truth is, anyone can have the crown… But is it really that important? Is a little bit of sparkle on your head really worth all the trouble we went through to get it? We have allowed ourselves to be culturalized into a society in which the basics of our beliefs and the content of our character are constan...

I am extremely powerless for you  This submissive game isn't new  When I pick you up out of the dark  You bring me down like a shark  I am miserable with the desire  To set our desperate lives on fire  Burning for your love over and over  Damn, I wish I had a four-leaf clover  This sonnet is second just like me You are first but that you can't see I want to be done with you forever  Your manipulation of my heart is clever  You mock what my heart has to say  This is just my feelings on display  

  Don’t misunderstand me. When I say I’m only human I mean I can no longer stand your brutal silence. I can no longer be your emotional punching bag.   Don’t misunderstand me. When I say I’ve been busy I mean I have been depressed, bored, lonely falling asleep to Grey’s Anatomy reruns on the sofa.   Don’t misunderstand me. When I say I can’t meet you I mean it’s not possible to look at you another minute without touching you.   Don’t misunderstand me. When I say it’s late I mean my shattered heart cannot drag my body out of this bed — this bed that has become my tomb.    

 

      “Whoa! That is far down,” I peered over the waterfall fall. We were in Hawaii. Kauai. Na Pali Coast. 11-miles around most of the high land. The trail went around the coast lined with jagged rock. The death tally on a sign was at 63 that year. The waterfall, we discovered, was 2 miles in. “You want to jump?” “Yes,” he said to me with the hugest look of fearlessness on his face. “This is living! Look how beautiful!” “We could have gone bungee jumping you know,” I had slight fear of heights. “Where’s the fun in that? We don’t need a cord. It’s a simple jump in safely deep waters,” he warmed up my shivering body. “What’s stopping you? It’s just me and you. I can handle who you are.” “It's just that my friends…..” I was interrupted by him. He usually didn’t interrupt me. “…your friends aren’t here. They only know pieces of you. And, I must remind you that they had the same opportunity as you did to be here.” The warmth of his body was so right for me. “This is...

  She whispers to her own: "Tonight, we fly among the stars. This full moon, the fear in their hearts  Will be inspired by us. They will clutch their children And shy away from Her,  As they have always done, Since man has thought himself Learned enough to close his mind."