Crossing

I passed that trail along the brook
that led us to a wooded nook
where giddily we braved the brush
to savor that forbidden rush
our sapling hearts mistook for love
which slowly waned with every shove.
Beside that stream we knew no shame
enraptured by desire’s flame
as willful youth swam unabated
a new condition complicated
but then the term was terminated
and my regrets were so belated
there was no way to not have hated
me.


The tinkle of that forlorn creek
which flows beneath the bridge I seek
reminds me as it nears the sea
how short some spans were meant to be.

Trick

The bigger the cheese
the sharper the wedge
or so they would have you
proclaim from the ledge
where you sit every day
with your chair on one leg
performing posthaste
so you don’t have to beg.

Spoof

In the arms of avaricious abandon we languish
so pampered and prideful we patronize anguish
forsaking compassion for crass levity
a biased brigade of baroque brevity.

Halflife

Discouraged by decay
I sit here every day
uncertain how to make myself
react the proper way.

Shell Game

Every egg cracks differently
it’s something I now see
for every morning, sleepily
I break a dozen or three.

Some have skins quite durable
requiring one more cuff,
their doggedness commendable
though never tough enough,

while others suffer fragmentation
from the slightest touch
the cool façade an affectation
relied upon too much.

So many seem so satisfied
within their ivory vaults
unconscious of the world outside
until you find their faults.

Tumblers

Regardless of the coming spill
we always choose the steepest hill
quite confident our favorite pill
will cure the ills with every swill
from glasses showing little skill
except to suckle at the still
ensconced behind a bolted sill
and sculpted shafts of tempered steel.

Bad Form

Nothing can thrive in cement
I know, it’s a rigid lament;
you may point to a rose
and imply it’s content
but if it could speak
I’m sure it would vent
about the extent
of this gray miscreant
conveying dissent.
Nothing can thrive in cement.

Sleightly Cloudy

Those vaporous crabs are darkening
scuttling on high
hearkening the lonely sun
who calls them to draw nigh
for mischief making nebulae
are happy to comply
with their capricious carapace
athwart the winter sky.

Crows Feet

They bend the boughs
such raucous fruit
and coat the bony trees
like soot
in search of bags
through which to root
to find a juicy
scrap of loot;

then with dawn they’re gone
the scavengers of night move on
to dim the sky, indemnify
an aging son that soon will die
demoralized, ostracized
beside the stream that rushes by
chaotically, hypnotically
to fool the most observant eye
encased in lines that lend a hint
how often we are forced to squint.

Hanging

A camera never lies
but the truth is no surprise
you can’t construct perfection in a snap;
with every twisted line
you’re bound to redesign
a noose that gets more lethal with each wrap.

Shelf Life

If I dropped anon I’d be satisfied
that at least I tried before I died
to do much more than simply bide
my time,

but then my penchant for the facts
recalls a youth innately lax
that dawdled, doodling pointless tracts
of rhyme.

Ironically it’s truly moot
for all we are is spoiled fruit
routinely bruised in our pursuit
to climb.

Charming The Snake

Structure comforts those who find no solace in exemption
reaching for generic rungs of plasticized redemption
certain their conformity will guarantee a placement
upon that helix slithering its way beyond the basement.

Bored Meeting

I sighed, uninvolved
while nothing was solved
as pointless conjectures were voiced
with each awful tick
prolonged by a prick
whose death I foretold and rejoiced.

They Can Dish It Out But...

Today I dropped a vaunted plate
designed to never break
and witnessed shards repudiate
the brazen claim they make.

Fold

The misty luminescence of a January moon
immerses me in portents of despair that all too soon
will make me rue the day I drank the bitterest libation
to mark that dismal moment of my excommunication.

No wick can wipe the wickedness away
No hymn can offer harmony that soothes
No staff can staunch the wounds from those who prey
as whispers scurry forth from curtained booths
and shadows dominate the drafty aisles
imbued with incense of demonic wiles.

Flotsam

A fading picture’s yellow crease
is crisp upon the wall,
the portrait of a fine young niece
he never knew at all.

No glowing hearth or imminence
secures him to the ground,
displaced by vast indifference
too stubborn to be drowned.