My Landlord Wrote A Poem


My landlord wrote a poem,
About how I’m the worst,
I’ve managed to hold my tongue,
My swear vault filled to burst.

I don’t care what religion,
You’ve failed to understand,
Thoughts don’t make you Christian,
Only actions can.

Comments on my life,
Comments of derision,
How can you torment me,
With your indecision?

So, no, I didn’t read it,
I didn’t have the time,
I doubt I really missed much,
Shit probably didn’t rhyme…



Internet Intercourse


Time for a discordant discourse
About internet intercourse
A fine way to waste a week
Or a year of your life
But for most it proves
Inadequate to find a wife
Strife and pain; and happiness
Sometimes but not usually
These poems are getting
To be fitful and frugally
Telling the truth from
Within my soul
A dab and a smear
And a burning red coal
Searing and scorching
A hole in my heart
Western medicine cannot find
Or begin to heal
The chakras are twisted
Like the knots in my stomach
The illusion of privacy
Less than in public
Pervasive and petty
Knowledge in all things
If I knew where to start
My healing could grow wings

Seize Something


Perhaps I should write

In iambic pentameter

No that’s not right

Perhaps a Haiku

It doesn’t matter

Eventually the rain will come

Cleansing and clearing

Washing everything away

In the end there

Inevitably must be

An end, so why

Bother living anywhere

But inside the moment

Inside the now

The past is an excuse

And the future is a fantasy

Now is the now

Seize something




Kicked out
In a sea of pain
And disharmony
Left outside in
The cold, it freezes so
Skin turning warm, the ice
Eventually burns
The warmth of
Whisky in a squat glass
tearing down your throat
Chemical Castration
Artist’s procrastination
The sea is endless
The horizon surprisingly far
Unreachable unattainable
Shimmering with promise
There is no ending
To the distance required
To go, to stay would
Be the end
And yet, it seems like
Staying safe
And comfortable
Is the only recourse
Taking the leap
Will fail of course

To support the artist, visit Patreon to donate. Visit Amazon to purchase Adam’s published work.



Memory is a fickle mistress
That bitch rules our lives
All this soul searching
Because of the Ides
Of March
Approaching Fast
Already gone
And yet it remains
We retain
The sliver of information
Fed piecemeal
To the nation
To the world
Cannot allow
The truth to air
The billionaire
Is sacred
An immutable
Impugnable and
Distant master
Ruling over
Filled with laughter
At the struggles
Of the man
Beneath the heel
Almost beneath
The very notice
He craves
And when the stars come
Out to shine
Their light down
Somehow it hits them just
The same
There is no difference
Excepting intention
Pure effort and yet nothing from the
Right direction
Free the people
And yourself from greed
Find the only truth 
You need


To support Adam’s Art please visit Patreon to donate to the author. Visit Amazon to view Adam’s published work via Five59 publishing.

Pens Cut Deeper Than Swords


Why do I do this?

Perform self flagellation

Mutilation upon oneself

Tear away layers

Revealing and telling

But somehow not truth

Askew and somehow distant

Awkward at parties

Where did the rhyme go

Make myself sick

Remember the feeling

Maybe this time it’ll stick


Time for a change

Feel it inside

Those without conscience

They cannot hide

Peace and Forgiveness

It has it’s own weight

The revolutions happening

Just give us a date

That Old Fear Dance


Living in fear
Despite no one around
No one to hurt you
Face pressed to ground
And surprise ain’t forthcoming
Not on my behalf
You sold out to the fear
It’s been a year and a half
Since you saw that
Terrible sight
I don’t know what
Perhaps a terrible fight

A terrible fright
For you and yours
And now you want vengeance
But without any risk
Now you want freedom
Are you taking the piss
Family is utmost
And you just killed theirs
But the bombings don’t matter
They aren’t the cause
It’s just that Fear friend
The fear it is powerful
And palpable
And palatable and potable also
They’ll jam it down your throat
Any which way

News about porn stars and
Chocolate labradors
Mass media’s horn trumpets
News about whores
But where is the content
That addresses the why
Of all the fear
Felt by you and I.

There are but two emotions
From which all others stem
Our receptors are broken
We can’t feel one of them
Fear and fear, and FEAR alike
Rule our lives now
I’d say let the Love in
But I don’t know how

Show your support for the author by donating a dollar at Patreon today. Find Adam’s published works at Amazon via Five59 Publishing.