Flocked

They affably bleat
immune to the scorn
that's heaped at their feet
the sheepish are shorn

they're constantly fleeced
from when they are born
until they're deceased
the sheepish are shorn

rebellion has dimmed
they gather each morn
content to be trimmed
the sheepish are shorn.

Truant

The sun is out,
it's golden tone
is so devout
it warms the stone
and spurs the sprout—

the sun went out
it's dying moan
was like a shout
that made one doubt
it ever shone.

Dispersal

Burn my body on a pyre
return my soul to smoke
unfettered by the fire
from this fragile mortal yoke

the wispy bluish curls will drift
wherever winds may blow
beyond the rapids and the rift
and weary worlds of woe.

Shades of Humility

A milky moon meanders through
the murky sky of night
as pensive as a pupil who
suspects the sense of sight

and once again it seeks to coax
with strident sterling streams
of lust, the spirit which provokes
a dialogue of dreams

the cool and stony way it peers
into my very soul
is amplifying atmospheres
conducive to control

but rebel forces counteract
conceited queens-to-be
that try their darnedest to extract
the prose of perigee

and all the would-bes of her court
watch grandeur coyly blink
as umbrage rules her lone retort--
a long, determined wink.

Dynasty

For some a poem's a lifetime
for others it's merely a thought
and then there are those whose bad rhyme
is better left unwrought

a strophe can be but a season
a couplet can birth something fine
the search for a logical reason
may end with the newly found line.

Phraseology

In a discriminating age
is there age discrimination
or an all-consuming rage
is there raging consummation
once they demonstrate their wage
can you wage a demonstration
if you dominate the stage
will it stage a domination?

Visionless

There's a fold in my eye
where oversights fly
I'd rather let lie

it's a wrinkle some say
or flesh gone astray
I blink either way

and sometimes I cry
because of that sty
where dormant dreams die.

Partake

The crescent of the moon is like a cup
unable to contain the flood of stars
which spill across the sky as I look up
and seem as close as Jupiter or Mars,

a vessel doesn't always bear as much
as thought by those intent on having more
who curb their own capacity (as such)
though drafts of Heaven's splendor can restore.

Festooned

An archetypal day for spring
and it seems as well to fly
as several sterlings all take wing
to streak across the azure sky
their ghostly streamers snaking west
to hail the place the sun will rest.

Dozing

Why must momentum be totally stilled
before the light becomes green
shouldn't we let our kinetic force build
to raze the rusty routine?

Spur

The dark canal was moist and still
until a keening screech of steel
delivered me unto the night,
the nubile nurturer of naught
that knew those reinforcing ties
would be like anchors on my toes
and every time it drove a spike
a whispering within me spoke:
Release your guilt and you will find
no greater freedom can be found
the shame of indiscretion weighs
a thousandfold adorned with woes.
And with a click a willow switch
that whistled in an arcing swath
reminded me of youthful lust
(an armistice we pray will last)
but like a fading welt it's lost
in memories of healing, while
a hauntingly receding wail
continues to support the role
of conscience doomed to ever rail.

Vection

The pleasantries are said
as though they're merely an allusion
he's lost within his head
where he can prey on the profusion
of fauna that are fed
by the colorful collusion
of idiom that's more than green
with florid gobs of glib between.

He watches others go
and it seems that he's in motion
the movement tells him so
but it's just a faulty notion
as age begins to show
while supposed locomotion
takes place within his frontal lobe
where he's content to ever probe.

Back Talk

Tulips puckered?
Well they're just tuckered
from vibrantly heralding spring
so don't get snippy
they won't get lippy
again until next years fling.

SWAK

Remember the days of handwriting
when sentiments came from the heart
the scribbles were just so inviting
in a manner that print can't impart

the fact that a person would fashion
a message completely by hand
is a testament showing pure passion
that only true love can command

inhaling the ink imbued essence
which poured from each perfumy pore
would lend us a hint of the presence
that flowed from the one we adore

and then on the envelope edges
were sayings and coy little quips
but nothing compared to the pledges
that came from the sweetest red lips.

Grapple

Don't hem and haw
or mutter awwwww
when you're upset
just set your jaw

then scratch and claw
if questions gnaw
but never let
your dream withdraw.