Air Farce One

Remember that ungracious twit
who took a moral stance
elected in a much debated hanger?
Well I just saw his latest skit
and if I had the chance
I’d go back to pick his doppelganger.

The Perils of a Biking Poet

Geared up by inspiration
I search in desperation
and find a crusty pen beside the road;
regardless how I coax
it’s dryer than my spokes
so I rocket home before my head explodes.

Formality

He contemplates her nascent grave
uncertain why he came,
it’s much too late to try and save
himself this fitting shame,

although they lived a block apart
the chasm seemed like miles,
as granite from his distant heart
obstructed likely aisles;

she made her choice so long ago
to let the spirits win,
the only Mom he’ll ever know
was gone before his sin.

Up In Smoke

Puffed like a chimney, constantly high
always knew better, never knew why;
searching for something, lost in a haze
gone like the wisp from a match set ablaze.

Girl Power

The selfish rancor to demean,
to ascertain with eyes of green
and then incite a pointless scene—
GIRL POWER!

Equality is for the weak!
Why stop to think when we can speak?
The final word is what we seek—
GIRL POWER!

What happened to our saving grace,
those sturdy pillars decked in lace,
the better half of our foul race?
GIRL POWER!

Whack Wisely

Inspiration flourishes when nurtured like a crop,
a wondrous bounty sprung from one small seed;
but anxious horticulturists must be sure to lop
only the unsightly kind of weed.

In or Out?

Alluring sunlight can persuade
a darkly shaded bloom,
to pierce the daunting palisade
escaping guarded gloom,
avoiding likely doom.

Aggressive tendrils start to shoot
advancing their attack,
survival of the central root
revolves around one track—
on how to view the crack.

Dam Shame

Modern modality?
tethered totality—
slowly submerged
beneath blind banality.

Manmade morasses,
tribal trespasses,
state saturation;
bereft of bypasses.

The Twelfth of Never

I really should fix that leak
where ice-cold rain sees fit to seep,
this oath of futility that I speak
another vow I’ll fail to keep.

My ambition, like the rain
drizzles intermittently,
then flows quickly down the drain,
a brief sprinkling desultory.

Cursed to flounder in the gale,
hindered by conviction weak;
swearing as I dump the pail—
I really should fix that leak.

Born in Captivity

I’m so afraid to procreate
and spawn a little me,
a loner with a stubborn trait
restrained by gravity,
bombarded with incessant hate
which crumbles amity,
condemned to their own leery spate
in this menagerie.

Family Trees

A small crinkled remnant of yesterday
skitters across the awakening lawn,
his budding descendants that breezily play
will grow to forget he’s gone.

Dig In

Forgive me if I seem defensive
but why should rhyming be offensive?
The melody of parallel sounds
can also be expressive,

as words are just like clay for molding;
unblemished paper ripe for folding
into an origami rose
your mind will relish holding.

So savor sonic situations
that utilize unique relations,
no flowery form will ever bloom
without some cultivation.

Read a most eloquent reply here.

Another poet digs in here.

Asphyxiation

There are no words that could be said
to make the anguish seem instead
as though it were a lesson learned
and not a torch that fiercely burned,
releasing blackish oily smoke
which lingered like the lies you spoke
to leave a thick and tacky pall
upon my pulmonary wall
prohibiting the normal flow
of air, and now I’m fading slow.

Annuit Cœptis

The ‘Big One’ came
the ‘Big One’ went
but it will come again,
to set aflame
the continent
of haughty little men;
a sudden lurch
a nasty heave
the groan of concrete stressed,
prepare the church
our short reprieve
is done, no longer blessed.

Tenderfoot Blues

So many times we see the path yet stumble through the brush
convinced we’ll find a better way to go;
without direction all you tend to do is blindly rush
into the prickly plot where brambles grow.

Forsaking roads of well-trod mud
could end up costing precious blood—
be careful when you long to blaze,
you may burn out before your days.

Epiphany

If you were born omnipotent
could you resist the urge
to cause a little accident
when rankled feelings surge,

and if you lost your only friend
would you commence to raise
a soul that met it’s timely end
to suffer more harsh days?

How could such clay become divine
to sparkle holy light,
perhaps the blessed halo’s shine
is not so lily white;

ascension takes a stronger heart
that knows each day we live
should be an effort to impart
the passion to forgive.

Subjectivity

As pompous, bloated birds of prey
conduct their grandiose display
they’re stalked by one who feels alone, discarded;
a gun secreted in the fist
of one determined anarchist
can quickly injure innocence unguarded.

Those two sharp reports of misguided rage
would hail the premier of the media age.

Looking for Lilacs

We still seek the streams
unfulfilled without current,
the threat of erosion
a forgotten deterrent.

As months become cruel
our own darkness grows deeper,
no vision more piercing
than the gaze of a sleeper—

beneath skies of slate
in the shade of scaled towers,
I pause in this moment
soon revised by April showers.

Double Crossed

Are trinkets of impurity
enough to buy security
and make the threat of treachery abate?
Depending on the impotent
to hammer hard when provident?
Be careful of the martyr you create!

Doing Everything Better

I hear it time and time again
about the faults of piggish men,
their loutish, crude, self-centered quirks,
how all of them are just big jerks:
if only everyone could be
like all those women on TV
obsessed with their expanding thighs
and fragile egos twice the size.

POP!

The finest day of spring so far
and I looked up to spy
a single white balloon ascend
the perfect azure sky,
and though the doorway seemed ajar
allowing dreams to fly
a sober blast of icy wind
just blew it right on by.

New Spin

Another trip around the sun
oh what unrelenting fun;
just one more whirl before I’m done
a chance to finish schemes begun.

To harvest, dripping, from the vine
a bunch made sweeter by that shine
which helps produce a richer wine
that could someday be seen as fine,

when every contest has been run
and every dream by anyone
alive today has paid the dun—
another trip around the sun.

All Lines Are Down

Among some trees I see a crooked stanchion overgrown,
quite powerless to halt the harvest entropy has sown;
disconnected from the grid and streets of polished stone,
a totem of humility tomorrow hasn’t shown.

A Giant Leap

We came for wind but too much force could rend
our frail machine, or toss it like a toy
upon the sand, to utterly destroy
the willow frame, or maybe even end
it all. The Lifeboat Men and Johnny help
to bring her out; we face a vacant beach
with pounding hearts like wings that long to reach
a brand new height. Excitedly we yelp
when liftoff takes our flyer up into
the air for twelve eternal joyous ticks,
above the seaweed clumps and little sticks,
to change this world like no one ever knew.

That tiny hop across a rippled dune
has left immortal footprints on the moon.

Leaving

A tree with dark
and weathered bark
stands tall upon the plot
where long ago
another joe
filled up his chosen spot.
But did he know
this hulk would grow
with tendrils probing downward
to slowly tap
his precious sap
while reaching ever skyward?

Beneath The Tracks

I’ve lived down here forever it seems
on Thunderbird and nickel dreams,
I plunged headlong into the crack
from which there is no coming back,
accustomed to quite harsh extremes.

The rumble of an evening train
alerts me that it’s time again
to face the horde which claims it cares
but only offers sickened stares—
my steady diet of disdain.

One day perhaps the fates will grin,
some country club will vote me in;
until then I’ll keep keepin’ on
and hope someone can look beyond
these mottled streaks upon my skin.

Poof

When I am gone will they sing my song
will they know how much I cared,
how I searched for answers all along,
how I lovingly prepared
each varied verse, verbose or terse,
how I pounded out the beat,
or will it all, like smoke, disperse
an evanescent feat.

The Scenic View

Have you looked out the window lately?
Tell me, what did you see...
was the world in despair,
was there no one to care,
did you come away feeling a little lonely?

Staring through the dirty pane,
did chills assail your soul?
Were you feeling fear,
did doubts appear,
could it be we’ve lost control?

Take a breath, look again,
give the images time to clear;
it’s seldom wise
to trust your eyes
when common sense is curbed by fear.

Have you looked out the window lately?
If not, give it a try.
You can’t be sure what to do
without an over-all view,
take the time to really explore life!

Degree of Difficulty

Be cognizant of misconceptions haste conspires to gleam,
for things are often more complex than what they first may seem.
Inserting those with pedigrees to navigate through red?
Forsaking practicalities will double what you’ve bled!

Positive?

Each new year we
construe more clearly
how little we knew all along,
yet still hold dearly
and quote sincerely
our truth regardless how wrong;
but candor can’t measure
the answer we treasure
existing as actual fact,
use prudence to censure
your impudent pleasure
as nothing in life is exact!

Who's Pulling the Strings?

Divinity affinity:
the stuff of self delusion?
Avaricious artifice
continues its profusion;
effervescent empathy,
or ill-conceived collusion
with benefaction’s nemesis
the master of illusion.