Poised

Each day as dusk descends
a motley murder wends
its way across the sky from west to east,
with eager ebon wings
these crassly cawing things
look greedily for scraps on which to feast;

we scurry through the rain
ignoring constant pain
unsettled by the hungry heckling call,
I’ve had my share of grief
don’t need to see a leaf
to know we’re at the apex of the fall.

Oddity

I’m a curious kind of guy
I love the question – Why?
investigating mysteries
can get me kind of high.

I’m a curious kind of guy
too stubborn to comply
with any other theories
on kind of getting by.

At times I’m kind of shy
and others in your eye
awash in inconsistencies
I’m a curious kind of guy.

Inevitability

Diluted resolve
begins to dissolve
deluged on this rock
condemned to revolve

until an event
of epic extent
delivers a shock
we cannot prevent.

Poll Dance

Misguided Miley
thought she was wily
just like the big fraud she portrays
but most folk are smarter
than peacocks that barter
their essence to be the next craze.

Keepsake

A colorful cardboard picture
in a modest wooden frame
of the classic stunning sunset
at a beach without a name
is all that I could salvage
from an unforgiving flame—
the only proper symbol
the inferno didn’t claim.

It shows a tree that’s leaning
toward a distant setting sun
as though in need of comfort
from a world it sought to shun
a lonely, brooding being
that had wearily begun
to humbly reach for heaven
before the day was done.

Our purpose is unfathomed
as is much of what we see
which makes belief an exercise
in forging your own key;
I know she’s out there somewhere
with the angels being free
and hope she’s found the solace
that this image brings to me.


***Well, it's been a year since my Mother's tragic and senseless death. I don't know why it happened and am still not over it, but have been slapped in the face with reality enough to know when it's time to just accept and move on (which is most of the time).

I've thought about everything, especially why I write, and have come to realize part of it was a secret inner dream that I could write something good enough to snap Mom out of her addictive spiral into oblivion, or maybe score big and have enough to send her to Betty Ford or someplace where she could truly heal. She loved books and always had her nose buried in one.

Alas, such just wasn't meant to be, and now it is quite pointless to dream thusly. Where ever you are, I love you Mom, RIP. ***

Clinical

He stares at the slide
where cultures have grown
they struggled, then died
while he sat alone

observing their lot
and how they evolved—
he’ll plaintively jot
but won’t get involved.

Bereavement

A year is just a sum
a fear we learn to face
a drear continuum
a mere expanse of space
austere as any come
that veer away from grace
a period so glum
no teardrop will erase.

Pegged

A square by any other name
is still condemned to be a frame
for rules that constitute the norm
including how to swallow shame
and forcibly conform.

Twisted

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

a world where any creature comfort can be bought
though all I see smeared cross the road
are hapless creatures caught
beneath the spinning wheels
of a jaded juggernaut.

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

a flimsy funhouse infinitely fraught
with clattering contrivances
designed to keep one taut
in order to forget the fact
it crumbles down to naught,

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

Leave

The green recruits are weathered now
emboldened by the brawl
they weren’t informed but know somehow
tomorrow comes the fall

a brisker breeze begins to blow
as daylight slowly wanes
these telling omens tend to show
how little time remains

resplendent in their vibrant gear
they feel no fear at all
relieved to leave their torment here
tomorrow comes the fall.