Bad Poetry

Most of this poetry was written before the age of eighteen and bears the unmistakable stench of adolescence. I thought it might be fun to post anyway. Some of these poems are just unfinished fragments.
BRoets I admire include Walt Whitman, Stephen Crane, Ezra Pound, Jim Morrison, Emily Dickinson Carl Sandburg, W.H. Auden, E.A. Robinson and e. e. cummings

Anti War

100 toy soldier,
their cast from one mold
They all say "Yes Sir",
and do what they are told.
They won the wars, but ...
Where went their soul.


he killed in passion
she talks to walls
It has two psyche, two id

Night Mare

a knight of dreams;
    beckons me to sleep,
        whinnies first; and then
    it screams! -
an equine scream

I wandered in the dark
Like a corpse in an ancient stream
I asked;
and again,
I asked;
Where are my feet?

the poetry of the deep
is but the murky realization of thought;
lost, forever in sleep.

The Wind

does the wind know
  which way to blow
how does a storm cloud relate
    to its o'er zealous mate

I live in a land of fallen, falling stars,
shining brightly then,
dimly glimmering,
now forgotten.
There are no rising stars,
no golden ages,
no perfect planes,
no dominant races.
The sun has set and
darkness descends like
ebony lightning,
fallen ,falling.

The well spring of all life
is near to the gate
and close to the river


mystic - misfit
    moccasin people
chanting - chanting
saffron prayers
gods of dust and
dirt, then
dusk closes in and

twilight fades