Spring Garden

My Father's lovely wife Ila posted this on Facebook

Breezy

The trees are swaying fiercely in the wind
Their motion makes me feel like I have spinned
Around enough to fleetingly rescind
This unseen force that binds me to the earth

I burden withered limbs most every day
A stationary clod of crusty clay
Endeavoring to always find a way
To mask a life amiss with mindless mirth.

Madness

March became my mantra
Despite each searing jolt
Of agony (like plasma,
The price for my revolt)

Which forced my knees to buckle
While I just muttered March
It isn’t hard to stumble
In the ruins of an arch

But I would not surrender
Or be shot for standing still
I’ll stagger on forever
Just to have my own free will.

Mixed

Sausage is just jumbled bits
A glaring lack of glitz
But if the casing fits

Perhaps you can somehow regain
An outlook through the pane
Exhibiting much less disdain.

Remote

Push the button
See the change
Pause the program
Things get strange

Click the channel
Cut the cord
Turn antenna
Into sword

Reconfigure
Dented dish
Pull the trigger
Make a wish

Watch horizons
Now unfold
Binge on visions
Flee the old.

Ninth

This is the last year you can claim
A solitary digit by your name
So make sure you enjoy it my friend
For soon the bliss of youth will end
And though our lot is far from set
I hope you never will forget
The loving things I’ve gladly done
To make your life a happy one.

Flinty

I know I’m not alone
Despite this nagging loneliness
That festers in my bones
And we’re all on our own
I guess
So it’s meaningless to moan
Especially for those composed of stone.

It’s not that bad a lot
As hardness can be beneficial
And flesh, it tends to rot
Pursuing the proverbial plot
So superficial
And twisting everything into a knot.
I’m solid with the solitude I’ve got.

Resolute

“I could if I did
But I don’t so I can’t”
Bemoaned the poor fellow
Whose options were scant

“But wait!” He exclaimed
“I won’t be subdued!”
And onward he forged
Conviction renewed.

Combustible

The flicker will caress
The wax with much finesse
Providing needed light for those who labor in the dark
And though it hardens quick
It satisfies the wick
Of any burning to be lit by one conclusive spark.

Stripper

I hope she doesn’t reek
Too badly this week
For last week I started to gag
As much as I cringe
When I hear the hinge
Announcing this odious hag

She comes in to flop
And cackles non-stop
While I gasp for breathable air
The whole freaking room
Immersed in perfume
An ancient cadaver would wear

But I’m all about
Working things out
Despite feeling nauseous and faint
So when she comes here
I’ll park her stank near
Some projects with unwanted paint.

By Your Leave

Majestic maple sprout
I’ve watched year in/year out
Each flaming orange gem
That gilds your growing diadem
Makes it plain for all to see
That you be crowned a tree.

Ominous

Like a scene from the apocalypse
Above the trees and little strips
Of outlets where the lost are led
The morning sun is dark and red

It festers in a toxic sky
Resembling a battered eye
With puffy purple clouds that look
Like bruises from a donnybrook

While in the valley where I vent
The mists maliciously prevent
That sun from helping me keep warm
As I await the coming storm.

The Pariah Theorem

If I told you I felt fractionalized
Would you ask me what was my point
Or would you call me divisive
And put me in my place?

The quotient of dismissal
Can never quite subtract
From any person’s value
And that’s a stone-cold fact.

Unfounded

I am (or so I think)
But who can really say?
I shudder for a blink
Then claim naiveté
To keep me from the brink

We are (or so we’re told)
Endowed with our own will
But those who are controlled
By keepers of the till
Can’t see what they have sold

They lie (or so it seems)
To one who never fit
Into their twisted schemes
Ignoring all the shit
To chase unlikely dreams

Grasp

My options are open, my mind not so much
For endless deception requires a shield
I must get a grip before I lose touch

And go find myself a hidey-hole-hutch
Some cave where I can stay concealed,
My options are open, my mind not so much;

I need a conviction that calls me to clutch
My brothers and sisters so we can be healed,
I must get a grip before I lose touch.

Condemnation is a crooked crutch
A defensive tool the guilty wield
My options are open, my mind not so much

But I feel that maybe, if we self-adjust
A better way will be revealed.
I must get a grip before I lose touch

Grab hold of redemption before I am dust,
This fate adrift forever sealed;
My options are open, my mind not so much
I must get a grip before I lose touch.