The Couric Effect

They’ve altered today
sent sunshine away
in hopes of increasing their rating,
but perky concern
results in a turn
of the channel to find one less grating.

THE Code

Obey the demands of imagination
the whimsical flights unrestrained,
vow only to seek the complete liberation
of dreams your fear may have reined.

Wistful Wood

The arc of a long since fallen tree
a bower where I chanced to see
one nubile naiad beckoning me,
her laugh enthralled
my virtue stalled
and ere too long we frolicked free.

On mossy mats near a tuneful brook
she smote me with her fertile look
then laid me down and fiercely took
her wanton fill
with fluid skill;
I gladly languished in her nook.

Too soon she was restless, dispossessed
of current, confined to this nest,
her need for depth coalesced;
she turned to depart
I woke with a start—
then rose with a sigh, and got dressed.

Commercial

I find myself on Sunday watching TV quite perplexed
admonished by evangelists who seem completely vexed,
perhaps they know what fantasy the station’s airing next
the chronicles of living in a city over sexed.

But why become so damned upset
you can’t ply guilt without regret.

Mine

A green embrace
undoes the stone,
relentless sand
erodes the bone,
within her breast
the blind atone—
a mother come
to claim her own.

Tide

Each chapter adds a brand new twist
to bend the paradox,
confounding the protagonist
with mysteries that won’t desist
like crashing waves upon disheveled rocks—
awash with mist and salty glee
we can’t exist without the sea.

Old Glory

The clamor of metallic clips
against a hollow pole
increases as a tempest whips
our frayed and fading soul—
remember how the stars once shone
when liberty was justly sown?

Integer Envy

I feel the difference keenly
getting by with what I’ve got
between the halves like me
and the wholes who are not;
an ocean of disparity
that always seems to ebb—
the tattered silken travesty
of a long aborted web—
a shriveled blossom left to rot
rejected by each bee—
unlike those ones who know they’re not
a lowly half like me.

Remaining plus can sometimes be the hardest part of all
don’t underrate your value, regardless how small.

Strains

Communing with the sylvan kings
whose regal limbs protect me,
enraptured as each creature sings
their part in Nature’s medley;
I gratefully applaud for more
undaunted by the real score.

Coverup

Perfection is profaned,
unblemished beauty feigned
through miracles of modern mud—
new goddesses ordained.

Surface Dwellers

Cracks in the ceiling
splits in the wall
how would life be
with no rifts at all,
no chasms to span
or clefts to explore
no dark little place
to find a new door,
no way to get up
or place to slip through
no fissures to mar
the facade we pursue.

Danger:Flying Monkey Zone

What good is talent
left to fate,
sans fortitude
you’ll hesitate,
morose lament
may incubate
to hatch a brood
inveterate.

Keepers of the Flame

Joining hands we spin around
the fire roars an anxious sound
though filled with joy this is no game
we come to raise the living flame.

Solstice calls us to the dell
to stoke earth’s blazing sentinel
creatures of the wooded glen
watch our clan revolve again.

Embers flare with each rotation
around this ancient conflagration
we laugh and sing with pure delight
vortex twirling through the night.

For eons we have danced just so
basking in the primal glow
circling from dusk till dawn
then like smoke *POOF* we’re gone.

Nouveau Cuisine

The nails of indecision dig
just a little deeper
whether dreams are small or big
be wary of a sleeper
that may sneak up and catch you unaware.

But elements unscripted add
a pinch of spice quite tasty
to cook a dish you’ve never had
so don’t become too hasty,
and try some new techniques when you prepare.

Paying The Piper

A few years of vanity – what could it hurt?
You never know until you try.
Common sense falters becoming inert
and suddenly you don’t feel so spry.
Living life high will take a grand toll
don’t join the band if you can’t rock-n-roll.

Mulch Ado

His house looks appalling
the clapboard is falling
with chips of peeled paint everywhere,
but when he comes out
he stalks all about
ignoring the needed repair;
for all that is seen
are blades neat and green
his mission, to thwart every weed—
he stares manic-eyed
as neighbors steer wide
of a person whose world went to seed.

Where It's At

Don’t you see,
doesn’t anyone see?
It’s not about you
it’s not about me,
it’s about getting closer
to where we should be
the essence of chaos
and possibility,
dimensions of expression
called creativity.

Gotcha!

Don’t clean those cobwebs
don’t dust that dust
the look of decay
is an absolute must
we’ve labored intensely
to make it all drear
a grim ambiance
to evoke scripted fear.
Dancing ghosts, talking heads
skeletons and such
lend to the production
their chilling little touch,
but if these efforts still don’t seem
to steal your breath away
remember when you came in here
how much we made you pay.

Searching

Searching for something I can’t seem to find,
The prospect of tears flows through my mind,
Thoughts of conformity stay left behind;
I know I’ve got to be me.

Searching for someone with whom I can share,
The prospect of judgment seems unfair,
Thoughts of myself may need repair;
I long for my identity.

Searching for answers to questions obscure,
The prospect of change makes me unsure,
Thoughts of deceit leave me impure;
I demand my share of liberty.

Just Sew

I’ve earned no vellum that warrants linen,
no parchment or parcel to pad my position;
I lay on coarse sheets when the workday is done
constructed from thread which my languor has spun.

Sprayed

Perpendicular vapor trails delineate the sky, a ghostly grid that quickly pales yet haunts my inner eye; as residue of locomotion permeates the air, we fossils of a dying ocean zoom without a care.

The Networks

Our twisted strands
crisscross the lands
to form a silky mesh,
with lines galore
we’re trolling for
a juicy chunk of flesh;
each dangled rate
such tasty bait
to catch the unprepared,
as every school
jumps in the pool
impatient to be snared.

Three Chord Wonder

Awakening to taste the dew,
Growing into something new—
Enlightenment rings loud and true.

Grin & Bear It :^)

**Author's note: Penned after my last anal, I mean annual review at work. May not be suitable for younger readers.**


Instruct me how to see the light
and thank you for the f***in’
it’s easy to extol delight
when you’re the one who’s buckin’
I shut my trap extremely tight
to stop myself from cluckin’
and smile when it’s done despite
the object you just stuck in.

Fickle Trickle

Particulate accumulate,
will it pass or inundate?
I pray the cycle never stops
dropping drips and dripping drops.

Milquetoast Whine

Sickeningly sweet, deceptively acidic,
supposedly enhanced by methods scientific;
an intoxicating brew proffered liberally
by those too high to see their own pomposity.

Truth be told, it’s a pervasive potation
billed under the label ‘No Color Designation’
distilled from sour grapes off a bleeding heart vine,
a potent concoction called Milquetoast Whine.

Remnants

A damn good buy
was available, but who gave
a damn? ‘Good’ by
their standards wasn’t worth a try;
we kept on cutting, staying brave,
they left and didn’t even wave
a damn goodbye!

Perspective

What is our purpose, what is the purpose?
We struggle for freedom, conquer oppression;
for what?
To have time to sit around and bitch
about everything we don’t like
or better yet,
to watch someone pretend to do it on TV
and feel we’re being represented,
vindicated by a kindred spirit?

Look closer, you’ll see the strings,
though they’ve gotten much better
at making them invisible.
Reject the Yoke!

Today a tower fell, golden bricks
scattered in a circle,
our dependence on its shadow
an arbitrary tangent,
a vector of depression.

If five people are walking on the same road
and all glance up at the horizon together,
what does each see?


Well here's a little changeup for the two people that may actually read my blog. I've been playing with fv lately, let me know if it's worth it or should I stick with rhymes?

Also, while we're on the subject of work and prosperity I see Billy the Blogging Poet just posted my new theme song, I just hope he plays it in B flat, as in I be flat broke!!

Demolished

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

As golden bricks come tumbling down
a shade is looming over town,
no more will blooming clouds of toil
precipitate their blessed soil.

The ancients shake their heads and frown
as golden bricks come tumbling down,
they gaze with tears upon the mess—
a crumbled icon of success.

But now that the horizon’s clear
what promise can be seen from here?
As golden bricks come tumbling down
we say goodbye to past renown,

then pave the way for someone new
to mosey with the revenue.
A deathly quiet carpets town
as golden bricks come tumbling down.

Well everybody, it’s time for a little history/sentimentality (from me?). I’ve provided a couple of links below about the story that inspired this poem. My little hometown used to be internationally known for rugs and many other industries back in the day, and now one of the biggest smokestacks around here is finally going down. I’m not sure if you can see how big it truly is from the pictures, but I will try to get a shot of the fall and update later. Check out the link to Amsterdam’s history, some cool stuff there. Just updated the link below, check out the video.

Bye Bye

Amsterdam's History

Immigration Reform

We gave them glass beads
and counterfeit deeds
then pieces of land less than prime:
without reservation
they’ll take back their nation
one little bet at a time.

Headway

Every truth there is to plumb,
every fraction, every sum,
each regret we cower from
resides inside the cranium.

All the aches that radiate,
urges to investigate,
manic love, unyielding hate
will bubble from a yearning pate.

Stirring tales to fill a tome,
the dying need to freely roam,
that soothing fire known as home,
are kindled in the sacred dome.

Anomalies of wry chagrin,
discoveries of how we spin,
the fortitude to cry or grin—
Eternity reflects within.