Get Up & Go

My mind is seeking avenues by which it can skirt
the gridlock that renders momentum inert;
a nice quiet highway where I can just roll
avoiding the smog and an outrageous toll.

Trickle

As madrigals reverberate
the beat begins to quicken,
a highly flushed and fevered state
enlivens those thus stricken;

the endless cycle starts anew—
an ocean from a drop of dew.

No Class

It’s sadly true we’re judged upon
the color collar that we don,
or if a skin has gaudily stated
we stand among the educated;
if only all could see the same
that fortune, power, great acclaim
mean naught compared to how we treat
each fellow guest we chance to meet.

Love Text

Though it goes against my usual policy of letting a poem stand on its own, I feel I have to share with you the genesis of this little ditty. For poets, the growing popularity of ‘texting’ would seem to be a fertile ground to explore, but as with all things, there are limitations. Take for example this poem which was composed for my darling wife’s new cell phone to receive; it had to be abbreviated into chat lingo to be small enough to go through. Fortunately, I have a penchant for brevity, but even my usual succinct delivery was still too large, so here it is in all its shortened glory:

I luv u mor than words can say
I need u mor than u could know
I vow until my dying day
to hold u tite n not let go.

Perhaps the programmers/developers of this technology could be lobbied to increase the size of messages that can received, or we can just wait until capacity increases naturally, or better yet, the self-proclaimed poets can foster this new language by employing and embellishing it, after all that’s why I write, I love text. But just remember, until then – less is more!

Ollie Ollie Oxen Free

The vernal equinox went by and I,
quite anxious to enjoy the robin’s song,
instead encountered one that ere too long
encouraged graying doubt to cloud the sky.
A penetrating rime has chilled my bones
with icicles like daggers taking aim
at any understanding I could claim
to have of life; my sagging shelter groans
beneath the weight of blinding snows that swirl
in patterns previously unforeseen,
aroused by lively biting winds that mean
to change the scene with all the white they hurl.

Determined now to flee this lonely drift—
in debt to Frost for leaving such a gift.

Doing Time

What happens to a clock
when it no longer ticks,
does it quietly sit and pine?

Will it fret, and wring
it’s little hands,
or accept it’s fate, resigned?

Could the numbered face
form a frown
morose, and deeply lined?

If you ask me,
I think it would welcome the chance
to finally have free time.

Brook

The rapids rage, engorged it seems
with swirling songs of sylvan dreams,
each frothy chord cascading by
to sweep the sleep from waking eye.

Reclamation

And so, I feel I must atone
for all the times that I have shown
a penchant for the darker side,
those ugly spurts of youthful pride;
a lack of heart for those in pain
who hurt enough sans my disdain,
along with every grunt of mirth
at all who shame my lack of worth.
Behold this earnest supplication,
a humbly offered reparation:
respect and love shall flow unhindered
into the heartland of my kindred.

Wrapped Too Tight

This crown of thorns became a cap, which grew
as burdens do, into a hooded cape;
I watch my lifeblood pour from each sinew
that this infernal shroud has rent agape.
I cower in the cowl I cannot shed,
infused with dread, I hum a frantic hymn;
but still the anguish puddles deep and red
foreshadowing a future more than grim,
where everyday is just another scrape
without escape, enveloped in this shell;
a wretched raiment that shall ever drape
around one unrelenting private hell.

Within the folds I struggle to remain
as shadows help alleviate my pain.

Stand Up

Arrogant arrangements accent aggravation
belligerent belittlement begets banishment
expectation energizes every exclamation
formulating fantasies of fret-less fosterment.

Crasher

Words cavort and socialize
within my mind they mingle
I raptly sit and fantasize
a dream in which one single
brute comes in, then suddenly,
all the other prospects flee.

This crasher can be quite a drag
dampening festivities,
as cozy as a rocky crag
expressing dark proclivities;
a boorish lout that will not leave
tormenting me without reprieve.

When the party finally ends
each idea soon wanders away,
most of them will remain friends
except for one that ruined the day
sulking off to calmly await
another chance to rush the gate.

Waxing Poetic

I’ve got me this carnauba stuff
it seems ok, but I’m no buff;
a fluffy pad that’s nice to feel,
a haggard hulk of waiting steel
that gains a glint with every scrub,
inviting me to fiercely rub
with all the power I can muster,
yet every finish seems lackluster—
perhaps someday I’ll proudly beam
when I produce one brilliant gleam!

No Show

Self-indulgence only comforts those who cannot face
the fact that they were never even in the bloody race.

Mortal Wounds

Why is it that just when you lower your shield
you’re scarred by the lance that the malcontents wield?
Why does each endeavor we strive to design
end up being skewered by those with no chine?
If there’s no code of honor to which we adhere
then all good intentions shall die by the spear.

Contact

In order for an arc to flare
opposing points must somehow share
a common need to light the spark
whose aura helps assuage the dark.

Bracketed

I try to find a remedy
for this malaise that’s caging me
but all I do is flounder in confusion,
of all the poultices applied
the only one I can abide
is pouring forth these words in great profusion;

with every stinging verb I place
my sluggish pulse begins to race
imagining escape is over yon,
but each new ending punctuates
the fact that no one here relates—
this compound sentence just runs on and on.

Spoils

They broadcast smoking charred debris
the windfall of a life less free,
such battered flesh crushed easily
beneath the boot of liberty.

Club Meds

Poison contaminates our kind:
seeping out from every pore,
being sold at every store,
compelling us to purchase more!

For every little ache and ill
that plagues our race you will find
pushers offer colored pills
white coats peddle quick refills.

Mutated ailments constantly
best Hippocrates progeny,
no matter how well designed
drugs aren’t always the remedy;

yet corporate fools coin new phrases,
spreading toxins out in phases,
their goal, to put us all in dazes—
then they will control the mind!

Plain Fool

A muted crown of umbrage sits askew
upon the sullen brow that seeks its due
from jackals, with their snarling bookish jeer,
oblivious to accolades sincere
exhibited by those that feed the pride,
and soon such loyal presence will subside.

Life Sentence

How many trees would have to die
in order to erect a fence
obstructing every spying eye
encircling each wasted sense;

how much mud, how many bricks
does total solitude require—
how many lonely tortured ticks
until the self confined expire?

Limited

I can’t perform translations
of ancient cryptic verse,
my grasp of punctuations
couldn’t be much worse,
to offer up a sharp critique
I really am hard-pressed;
one single goal – to be unique
is all I have addressed.

Give Us This Day

We measure and sift and incorporate flour,
then knead and let flatulent beasties devour
the portion of sweetness we’re willing to spare
in order to gobble our diurnal share.

ICU

I stare into that rheumy pane
upon a dark and puffy sill,
framed by silver flowing mane
and see a light that glimmers still.

Interred within this sterile tomb
I wonder why you do not cry,
as helpless as a babe in womb
perhaps your tears will not comply.

A cold and withered hand I grasp
some grand design I sorely doubt;
on vigil till that last dry gasp
signifies the spark’s gone out.

I hear a thin metallic tone
the waning warmth completely fades
your creaky prison now lies prone
through tranquil surf your spirit wades.

Settling

An avalanche of anxious angst
comes roaring without warning
to bury deep the joys I’d reap
beneath a mound of mourning;

this rubble tames my lofty aims
it’s time to ply the plain,
I’ve had my share of thinner air
and treacherous terrain.

Pretty Petty

Please forgive my lack of tact
but let’s dispense with mincing,
those clowns renowned for how they act
could try to be convincing;
their smarmy spiel so thinly veils
a haughty disposition,
replete with glowing gowns and tails
they gloat in Panavision.

The reel world of glitzy glam—
where blinding glare conceals the sham.

Let It Go

What is real?
What is false?
What is make-believe?

Strive to deal
with all my faults,
garner some reprieve.

I sympathize
with your desire
to relive all your dreams;

please realize
you can’t inspire
those who love extremes.

Cold hand of fate
with steely grip
determining our path—

release the hate,
work through hardship,
exterminate the wrath.

Seeing Stars

Dedicated with all my heart to Emma.

We dreamily drift in a rumpled cocoon
our limbs intertwined neath a translucent moon,
discounting the heavens that once stirred our greed
as brilliant expressions of love supersede.

Salinated Sycophants

Only those with lip to cheek
get a chance to ever speak,
but I can’t make much sense of it
because they are so full of ****!

Time to Prune!

I try to always stay upbeat
and laugh away each new defeat
but lately life’s been so unkind
carefree thoughts are undermined
leaving my schemes incomplete
regardless of how well designed.

I look inside my heart and see
this growing seed of misery
once the roots have taken hold
fresh pain will blossom and unfold
with petals of self enmity,
a garland of remorse untold.

So tired of asking, “What’s the use?”
Self pity – such a weak excuse.
This garden of regrets I till
is full of weeds that quickly kill
all budding hopes I introduce.
Get the shears, I’ve had my fill!

Farsighted

Upon my departure to enter the force
my path is illumed by a heavenly source,
as streamers of twilight crisscross the sky
a distant horizon beckons my eye.