James K. Blaylock

Hi, I'm James K. Blaylock and I'm a poet/writer. I'm 39, and I live in Texas. I was born and raised here. I have been writing now for 13 years and I've been blessed to be published a number of times. And I have faith that Jesus Christ is moving on my behalf to get my message out there more. Be blessed!

I love music, movies, reading (The Bible), writing, painting & stargazing (whenever I'm out in the country).



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"Flowers"

"Ripe Ruins"

"Wild Dreams"







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Self Pity

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

D.H. Lawrence

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Resum

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Dorothy Parker
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The Owl and the Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely P***y! O P***y, my love,
What a beautiful P***y you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful P***y you are."
P***y said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I will"
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear
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When the Trees Sing

When the trees sing
It doesn't really matter
If you know the song,
Or if you know the words,
Or even if you know the tune.
What really matters is knowing
That the trees are singing at all

Mattie J. T. Stepanek
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Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost
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Kitchen

Everywhere i go it's the same old thing
Spoon is always stirring up something
always in Knife and Forks business

talking 'bout how Knife just ain't cutting it
and Forks gone poking around on his own
it's getting hot

Equal is busy trying to take Sugar's place
Broom is talkin' 'bout how Vacuum sucks
it's getting hot

Pot just called Kettle a racial slur
but it's cool since they are of the same
ethnic origin (right?)

something fishy is going on in the trash
i swear at any moment now
Teapot is gonna blow the whistle

i never learned to trust Crackers
he crumbles too easily under pressure
and Cheese is starting to grow hard 'round the edges

something funky is goin on in the refrigerator
Jello is tryin to play it cool
but we all know how shaky he is

Ice thinks he's cool, slick, hard
but there's a whole rack of fools just like him
locked up in the deep freeze (bunch of squares)

some find this funny because they live plush living room lives
but here in the cold linoleum of the kitchen
it's getting too hot

and i can't find my way out

Twain Dooley
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Senses of Insecurity

I couldn't tell fact from fiction
or if my dream was true,
The only sure prediction
in this whole world was you.
I'd touched your features inchly
heard love and dared the cost.
The scented spiel reeled me unreal
and found my senses lost.

Maya Angelou

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Infant Sorrow


My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.

William Blake
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I'm nobody! Who are you?


I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd advertise -- you know!

How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Emily Dickinson
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We Real Cool


THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.



We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Gwendolyn Brooks
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A Dream Within A Dream


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe
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It's Dark in Here


I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.

Shel Silverstein
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Richard Cory


Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.

Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeons justlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what I want to know is
how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death

e. e. cummings
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Midnight Swing

When I can't fall asleep
I sneak out to the yard
and climb into the swing
that's attached to a branch
of the sweet scented pine.

As I glide through the night
and I hang back my head
I see stars and a moon
that's following me
through the evergreen trees.

And I fly on my swing
through the midnight ice cold
as the swirling white clouds
of my own frozen breath
brush my tingling cheeks.

And my nightgown wafts up
and my hair billows out
as I float through the air
and there's only the sound
of the dark whooshing past.

And my thoughts drift to you
on a day long ago
when my legs were too short
so you helped me climb up
and you taught me to pump.

Sonya Sones


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Sunshine And Rain

The days were filled with sunshine,
The cloudless skies were blue;
The weather seemed so perfect,
No sign of rain in view.
But then I looked around me,
And all was desert sand;
The earth was parched and arid,
A dry and worthless land.

If life had only sunshine,
No stormy days or rain;
If everything were perfect,
No struggles and no pain;
It soon would be a desert.
So let us not complain;
The hard things make us stronger,
And growth comes with the rain.

Eugene L. Clark

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In the night we shall go in,
we shall go in to steal
a flowering, flowering branch.

We shall climb over the wall
in the darkness of the alien garden,
two shadows in the shadow.

Winter is not yet gone,
and the apple tree appears
suddenly changed into
a fragment of cascade stars.

In the night we shall go in
up to its trembling firmament,
and your hands, your little hands
and mine will steal the stars.

And silently to our house
in the night and the shadow,
perfume's silent step,
and with starry feet,
the clear body of spring.

Pablo Neruda

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