Hello Faux Poets! Thanks for imbibing fresh poems the fresher conversations that pertain to their poetic nature.

I sit in awe of Athena's superior voice and her astute literary observations.

Thank you Asset Athena and thank you Faux Poets.

Keep writing, or--at the very least--don't cease writing altogether.

I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!

Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!

-Faux Poe OUT!

(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Time to Spare, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.

Hello Faux Poets! Thanks for imbibing fresh poems and the mistakes that sometimes adulterate them. While the reading is flawless, I wish I had made some modifications to the poem itself before Ms. Spooky was magnificent and magnanimous enough to read said poem aloud.

I sit in awe of her superior voice and type these words humbled and grounded by her spookily nuanced essence.

Thank you Ms. Spooky and thank you Faux Poets.

Keep writing, or--at the very least--don't cease writing altogether.

I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!

Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!

-Faux Poe OUT!

(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Time to Spare, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.

Greetings Faux Poets and Writer Ghosts,

For those of you who doubt your ability to write, your own artistic kindling you must ignite, fight to write tight and the reader's emotion…incite. But are you true?

People don't change. You know this is a fucking fallacy. We oft see people fall from grace, grow worse, more intolerable. We know it is a mortal fucking fact that we can get worse and let ourselves go.

That is a change, is it not. If we can decay, disintegrate, demoralize ourselves, then it stands to reason brilliantly that, so too, can we improve, enrichen, embolden and take our humanoid leopard spots, mix them, erase them, rebrand, recolor into an unrecognizable tapestry of human emotions, pursuits and fucking preferences. This is key in artistry, keeping an open mind and always allowing an out from narrow inclinations. As intense introspection can rob your words, your performance, your artistry of any affection, produce your very best literary crop and leave its fate to the metaphorical wolves, followers, fans and determiners through natural selection.

They tell you to take pride in your work but too much pride is a sin and that begets a jerk. You have a tender heart for your writing, you want to take the rusty and cleanse it, stain it, polish it, perfect it, but be wary of diminishing or disintegrating the very thing that made your work original, raw, idiosyncratic, incomparable and inimitable. I have been constructing poems for a very long time, but in that time I discovered, more often than would make it a fallacy to say, I got the poem mostly right the first fucking time, so the bulk and body of those revisions was arguably a waste of my time. If you really want to succeed in achieving the stupefying struggle between efficiency and originality, take heed: write it once, revise it a minimum of thrice, and let others read your work who will be as candid as they're nice.

I'm a Rogue Poet, my poetry format is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it.

I am Faux Poe, your igniter host, you are my writer ghosts. WELCOME, you wired, inspired, miles from retired, writers to: Lecture 5: Faux Poet: Perfection…upon Further Inspection; Reflections of Imperfections, Intense Introspection, can Rob your Poem of Affection--How to, Perfectionism, Silence through Poetic License

Easel of Havoc (Paint Till You Faint)

Dribbling dyes, still stalling

For sharp features to surface

Your palate cradles dull puddles

Clutched firmly, impatiently

While pacing my frame

Clashing with painter's block

You rub timidly at first

Briefly cheating with chalk

Muddling your muse with masking

My visage mired in varnish

Your tongue slides side to side

As the pastels pull you close,

Closer to still-life it seems,

Flesh and rouge oils seep--

My canvas bleeds acrylic coats

Now, you rush your brush

Lacquered layers baptize me

Intense gaze melds immense craze

My lifeless eyes cry colors…

Frenzied, focused fingers smudge my skin

Your struggle intensifies,

Exhaustion swells too soon

Deft dabs, harsh stabs slow;

I sense your wrist waning--

My half-finished eyes see all of you

Tune in so very soon for your next aural lecture, my solo creative conjecture of the written word with: Lecture 6: Faux Poet: Reciting Writing Begets Rewriting; There's a Key Need to Read and Reread; Feed that Need, Read Aloud, Plant Verbal Seeds, Embrace Both Flowers and the Weeds--How to Orally Concede and, Your Own Words, Read

I'm a Rogue Poet, my classical poetry approach is counter vogue, in case you didn't know it. Do not concede the fight in your quest of writing to ignite!

Write to creativity ignite and, the readers' passions, incite!

-Faux Poe OUT!

(Procrastinated Statement) *Intro/outro song, Time to Spare, courtesy of the artist, An Jone.