Confirmation

An apocalypse shall come
be it mortal or divine
the overwhelming sum
of our sins has grown malign

and once the world's been trod
beneath the heel of evil's boot
if accused of loving God
will you refute?

Dimming

From week long days
to day long years
encroaching grays
declining peers
and fear that preys
upon your tears—
eventide ever nears.

The sun grows cold
esteems will stall
no stack of gold
despite how tall
can ease the scold
when ravens call
as eventide begins to fall.

Substitute

You try to never hold a grudge
but this resentment just won’t budge
while forced to prettify the plate
of he who taught you how to hate:
his angry, sneering, pock-marked face
a memory you can’t erase
along with all the pointless pain
delivered with intense disdain,
unprepared to be abused
your confidence was badly bruised
which forced you to escape your hell
by crawling deep within a shell.
Traumatic times can be repressed
though someday they must be addressed
when startled by the bony frame
you thought you’d buried with your shame
for you were raised right from the start
to keep forgiveness in your heart
and while you try to figure how
your hospitality works for now.

Remake

Edifice Wrecks was a CAT
that never could find a good home
he always left things kind of flat
and was destined forever to roam.

The day he rolled off of the line
he crushed a man just like a house
and when he was told of her pine
he hinted at digging the spouse—

it’s hard finding someplace to park
when constructed to murder and maim
or seeing ones way in the dark
with halogens shattered by shame.

Weathering

Every port eventually sees a storm
even cozy harbors tucked away
opposing fronts are always bound to form

and fill the sky with swirling clouds of gray
that promise to unleash torrential tides
obliterating settlements of clay

until the heavens wrath at last subsides
and everything that's soaked begins to warm
because the fickle sun no longer hides.

Easy as A B C

Hey how is everybody. As you can see from my sidebar I have decided to join in the A to Z challenge this year. All the details can be found by clicking the badge at the right, so if you're ready for a true writing challenge go check it and jump in!

Weeping

The willows weep
because their plot
is filled with tortured souls
that try to sleep
but only rot
within their shallow holes
and when the windy winter blows
it whispers of the willows woes.

An evil man
whose mind has snapped
dug every heinous grave
his cleaning van
is where he trapped
each unsuspecting slave
the victims of his twisted whims
interred beneath those weeping limbs.

When out at night
don't ever stop
or talk to someone new
because they might
just plan to chop
you up when they are through
to leave you where nobody knows
lamented by embittered boughs.

Conviction

My unobtrusive utterings
go utterly unheard
the mushy mealy mutterings
of an inmate that's interred

within a pauper's prison
of his own unique design
where every bad decision
is just another worthless line.

I'm a poet-on-the-go
with my trusty mobile phone
but when reception's low
I'm a lyricist alone

I've digitized my diary
and keep it in my cell
the parts of me that I set free
from the cage in which I dwell.

Passage

So many things get lost along the way
to clutter up the thoroughfare of gray
horizons beckon those that look ahead
despite the human tendency to stray

(another way to say that one has fled
the straighter path they previously led)
you never know when somebody will burn
away the final remnants of their tread

or take a screeching unexpected turn
to try and find that spot for which they yearn
beyond congested causeways that convey
the flock that thinks to follow is to learn.

Pounce

Don't dwell
just dispel
the thoughts that make you feel unwell
pain scares
pride impairs
the lions locked in leery lairs
be brave
not a slave
refuse to let them see you cave
sharp claws
jagged jaws
will always make a poacher pause.

Ratings

She was a blond-haired blue-eyed corporate clone
whose tragic death was widely aired
my mother suffered drunk and alone
and no one cared, no one cared.

Who decides the worth of souls
remanded to the Lord?
I hope it’s not the louts whose polls
delineate the horde.

Allspice

A grain of poetry suffices to season a century. - Jose Marti

A tasteful touch
of flavored flair
can be too much
for some to bear

I live to write
and write to live
the pungent night
my additive

which helps enhance
the endless spread
that circumstance
ensures we're fed.

Mystification

What’s the difference between pedagogy
and hair that’s soggy?
They both weigh down the cranium
and make things slightly foggy.

Observance

We have to choose what we believe to see;
this fractured fixture shows us just how cruel our kind can be
but will forgiveness ever grant us courage to refuse
what we believe to see? We have to choose--

do we see the light, or do we see the beam
the broken concrete symbol of a sorely wounded dream,
for only our transcendence can eradicate the night
do we see the beam, or do we see the light?

*** Here's a link to a story in our local online paper about a world trade center artifact that inspired this poem***

Protean

Words can be bent
to express your intent
or twisted at times
into musical rhymes,

they're dropped on the ground
to rudely resound
and bandied about
to help conceal doubt,

sometimes they're blurted
at best disconcerted
or hurled so they hurt
then whispered to flirt,

they're often misguided
to delve the divided
but laden with love
they're a gift from above.