Flux

We greet the planet polarized
aspire for attraction
but oft become desensitized
by lack of satisfaction.

Specific mettles propagate
the proper situation
required to facilitate
conflicting fascination.

Exchanging Gifts

The writer wrings reality
with words of willful wit
a painter pencils purity
impassioned by the pit
the sculptor slices symmetry
with every shard that’s split
their lies – a liability
or lamps that should be lit?

Incognito

We never knew the name or face
just simple words of subtle grace
adrift throughout this cyberspace—

with links and thoughtful pleasantries
extended forth from friendly keys
an artist crafted legacies.


**I just read in the comments at Anonymous Poet that the writer had passed. This blog was the first to link to mine I believe, and I am speechless with remorse. Take care friend, may you rest in peace, and thanks for your beautiful words.**

Wake

I heard the dreadful news Thanksgiving Day
and wondered as I prepped our festive food
if Paula could express her gratitude
considering how Jim had passed away.
My wife insisted we attend the Mass
for Jim had always liked to hear me sing;
we steeled ourselves to face this somber thing
then left to make our own respectful pass.
His lifeless mask was grayer than the cold
November sky, but everywhere were those
affected by the selfless path he chose
in celebration as the bellman tolled.
I opted to ignore the plastic shell
and focused on the life he lived so well.

Snarled

Commemorating gratitude
groggily nonplused
deciding what should wind up chewed
and what is better trussed.

Fossilized

Wavy snakes slither from pavement into air
charmed by silent rays’ insistent sultry beat
polished chrome sparkles in the late morning glare.

Roaring engines generate their own fierce heat
dragon’s breath comes forth as though they were alive
anxious to do battle on the banded street.

Tremors shake the earth into a jaunty jive
swinging everyone to seek an earthbound flag;
only those that stomp the floorboards will survive.

Oily smoke rewards the one who tends to lag
cheers will greet the hero’s checkered episode
driving them to shift their mouth right into brag.

Clouds of desert dust arise, an epic ode
to steeds whose time has come to head down the road.

The Fall

The muted ocher testament
of summer’s swift retreat
meanders dazedly across the land,
with resignation evident
it tumbles in defeat
until some green recruits can make a stand.

Tap

I thought I just heard something
almost being said
a low persistent murmuring
somewhere in my head
like sap beneath the weathering
impatient to be bled
I swear I just heard something
almost being said.

Linkage

Hello everybody. Just wanted to let you know that I’ve added a new link to the right and if you love language and words as much as I do you might want to check it out. Lewis Turco, author of the ‘Book of Forms’ has his own blog and my latest poem was inspired by some dialogue there which mentions this poem I had never read before.

Bon Voyage

Another misty morning of misgivings has been met
by the midnight-winged menagerie that hasn’t left just yet
for every dawn they migrate to the river down below
like vultures at the murky Styx, in search of those too slow.

This gargoyle squats upon my brow, its shadow like a veil
that hinders therapeutic light routinely, without fail
my data are confounded with agendas and conceit
which tends to skew the plot in convolutions of deceit.

The firmness of my grasp is often open to debate
undistorted views have been infrequent as of late
perhaps it’s time to ride the current, blissfully serene
while all those blaring buzzards pick my weary carcass clean.

Cultivation

I penned this beast on fertile ground
confined by rhythmic beats of sound
a scheme they’ll never call profound—

but doggedly I won’t refrain
(despite resistance by the grain)
from plying the uncluttered plain.

Nags

With a shirk we’re belittled at work
for a fee we accept the decree
that the rich hold the reins and the switch
while we trot for the nothing we’ve got.

Lot

The crows are rather raucous as cold rain
comes down in sheets, their caws reverberate
across the parking lot to penetrate
my sleepy mind with barbs of harsh disdain;
November seldom promises a thing
except for loss, despite the extra hour
obtained, but I refuse to let their dour
derision cut me deep enough to sting.
I nonchalantly saunter to the pen,
my sentence (as it is) quite incomplete—
escaping, for the nonce, the final sheet
which emptily awaits this denizen.
Inside I’m laughing harder than those birds
for nothing mocks me louder than my words.

Fireworks

I watched the glowing orange streak
descend then slowly fade
hot ashes brushed against my cheek
I gripped the balustrade
my eyes were stung by sulfurous smoke
as oohs and ahhs were made
and then my six-string gruffly spoke
impatient to be played—
A plea no bard could ever refuse
so we cranked it up and lit the fuse!

Word Catalyst is Live!

Hi all! Don't forget to go and check out the fabulous monthly E-zine dedicated to the arts and run by my friend Shirley called Word Catalyst. There are some great pictures and articles contributed by some truly talented people, and even some of my mediocre prose too. It's got a great new look provided by the vision of Shirley and the know how of Harry, great job you two!! I am proud to submit to such a well thought out and professional looking publication, thanks for all your efforts.