Burning Bright

I’m stumped why the menagerie
insists it was a foul
despite how snug the cage can be
all Tigers love to prowl.

GET OVER IT SPAMMER!!!!

per-se

I often read the offerings of others
and marvel at the deftness they display
employing elocution that just smothers
intentions to decipher what they say
why be so passé?

Communication isn’t just proclaiming
something you are zealous to relay
uniquely shape whatever you’re exclaiming
to form a potent image that will stay
or be cliché.

Thaw

The solstice brought us closer to the warmth we used to know
a fitfulness as fleeting as the newly fallen snow
that scatters to infinity when winds begin to blow
or melts when a defiant sun decides to fiercely glow—
with luck the current climate will remain serenely so
until this season gracefully surrenders to the flow.

Salvation

Annoyingly the jingling resounds
as tawdry as the tinsel that abounds
but oh the warmth that loosens every knot
each time I drop some change into that pot
for maybe this old rogue still has a shot.

Facture

Is prophecy an act of faith,
does confidence foretell
if dreams will turn from wispy wraith
to cause for joyous swell?

A course more analytical
can often change the view
but passion is so critical
when forging something new.

What's Hot

A girl that's hot
and knows she's hot
is one that leaves me cold
but one that's hot
and thinks she's not
is one I'm hot to hold.

Somnolence

Raucous crows command the morning
crying their collective caw
as we approach the barren slumber.

Skies grow dim with little warning
darker than a demon’s maw
as raucous crows command the morning

coming back in greater number
than the old ones ever saw,
an omen of the barren slumber.

Blaring blue-black fruit adorning
trees will rub your senses raw,
when raucous crows command the morning

bending branches they encumber,
clamoring with beak and claw
to usher in the barren slumber.

Their harsh reports are ever scorning
order, for they loathe the law;
if raucous crows command the mourning,
so begins the barren slumber.

Roused

All my verse
while somewhat terse
is rated Everyone,
so no more links
to little dinks
goodbye ‘rising’ sun.


***In an attempt to stop my blog from being used as a portal to Japanese porn I have eliminated the poem 'Poised' from the archives.***

Damage Control

When things are going well
we seldom offer thanks
but when they go to hell
we scramble for those planks
and crawl about on bended knee
proffering a pathetic plea—

it isn’t God or life
that causes our chagrin
existence is a knife
on which we all begin
but if we choose to lie and hedge
we feel the temper of the edge.

At times it’s worth a nick
pursuing noble gain
but don’t become a prick
preoccupied with pain
for you can only go so far
before you leave a lasting scar.

Unseen

I gaze at my mask in the mirror
employing the eyeholes to see
and realize I am no nearer
the person beneath that is me
the being I’m anxious to be

a vessel immune to resentment
with courage enough to forgive
the demons that hinder contentment
and all the frustration they give,
so I can finally live.

Gobblers

We breed our beasts
with ample flesh
so all our feasts
expand our waste
as meat that fresh
insists we taste;

each unctuous bite
we choose to take
dispels delight
when shrinkage cuts
away the ache
of missing guts.

Oblivious

He really doesn’t care
what other folk think
he just doesn’t care
and won’t even blink
at the thought
that someone cross with him
may want to make a stink
or nudge him towards the brink—
he’s swayed there long enough
to understand the drink
and know that if he takes the plunge
how quickly he’ll sink
beneath the roiling ink,
at least that’s what he thinks.

Nothing Matters

Zero made it all compute
so we could pillage and pollute
the streams with toxic junk we spurt
yet never bother to dilute.

Nothing is (at best) inert
but necessary to convert
our concepts into glossy forms
that skirt the void with which we flirt.

To calculate the coming storms
or predicate accepted norms
you’ve got to start with emptiness
to see how truth performs.

Saccharine

Everything I’ve written is a sham
a shadow of the failure that I am—
if only I could buy into the scam
that someone out there truly gives a damn

for any reason other than to spur
the image of themselves that they prefer
but frank critiques infrequently occur
when sugar-coated scribbles start to blur.

And Now for Something Completely Different

***These song lyrics popped in my head while driving to band practice. I don't have a chorus or a title yet but just thought I'd post them to break up all this iambic BS I tend to reiterate. Enjoy!***

I was stuck behind a General Lee wannabe
Going slower than a tortoise with a banged-up knee
With all six cylinders fired up and ready to go
I found myself wishin’ he would pull aside
So I could rev it up and enjoy my ride
And let the lonesome highway take away my woe

When at last I spotted that dotted line
I punched the RPMs up to nine
And smoked that sucker like he was standin’ still
I was so busy haulin’ ass
I didn’t see the trooper watch me pass
With a radar gun and a gleam upon his grille

Well I was burning up the road
So bad I made his toy explode
Which prompted him to rapidly give chase
I shoulda pulled over and just been done
But all the excitement was kinda fun
So I figured I’d give that cop one helluva race

Reckoning

An ebon tempest swirls across the sky
negating the serenity of dawn
along with any clever thoughts that I
may someday change my status as a pawn
and hinting that Apocalypse draws nigh
like hoarfrost creeping slowly on the lawn,
for scavengers are certain to appear
when chaos conquers all that we hold dear.

But when the sun ascends the crows abate
and roost beside that river to the west,
I labor for the nonce and calmly wait
until the day that I can truly rest,
oblivious to concepts such as fate—
a jester cannot change that he must jest
nor alter when that distant glowing ball
(like everything we know) at last will fall.

Pearls

Words can be kinetic
laconic or frenetic
and those you should have listened to
so painfully prophetic.

Oddity

I’m a curious kind of guy
I love the question – Why?
investigating mysteries
can get me kind of high.

I’m a curious kind of guy
too stubborn to comply
with any other theories
on kind of getting by.

At times I’m kind of shy
and others in your eye
awash in inconsistencies
I’m a curious kind of guy.

Inevitability

Diluted resolve
begins to dissolve
deluged on this rock
condemned to revolve

until an event
of epic extent
delivers a shock
we cannot prevent.

Poll Dance

Misguided Miley
thought she was wily
just like the big fraud she portrays
but most folk are smarter
than peacocks that barter
their essence to be the next craze.

Keepsake

A colorful cardboard picture
in a modest wooden frame
of the classic stunning sunset
at a beach without a name
is all that I could salvage
from an unforgiving flame—
the only proper symbol
the inferno didn’t claim.

It shows a tree that’s leaning
toward a distant setting sun
as though in need of comfort
from a world it sought to shun
a lonely, brooding being
that had wearily begun
to humbly reach for heaven
before the day was done.

Our purpose is unfathomed
as is much of what we see
which makes belief an exercise
in forging your own key;
I know she’s out there somewhere
with the angels being free
and hope she’s found the solace
that this image brings to me.


***Well, it's been a year since my Mother's tragic and senseless death. I don't know why it happened and am still not over it, but have been slapped in the face with reality enough to know when it's time to just accept and move on (which is most of the time).

I've thought about everything, especially why I write, and have come to realize part of it was a secret inner dream that I could write something good enough to snap Mom out of her addictive spiral into oblivion, or maybe score big and have enough to send her to Betty Ford or someplace where she could truly heal. She loved books and always had her nose buried in one.

Alas, such just wasn't meant to be, and now it is quite pointless to dream thusly. Where ever you are, I love you Mom, RIP. ***

Clinical

He stares at the slide
where cultures have grown
they struggled, then died
while he sat alone

observing their lot
and how they evolved—
he’ll plaintively jot
but won’t get involved.

Bereavement

A year is just a sum
a fear we learn to face
a drear continuum
a mere expanse of space
austere as any come
that veer away from grace
a period so glum
no teardrop will erase.

Pegged

A square by any other name
is still condemned to be a frame
for rules that constitute the norm
including how to swallow shame
and forcibly conform.

Twisted

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

a world where any creature comfort can be bought
though all I see smeared cross the road
are hapless creatures caught
beneath the spinning wheels
of a jaded juggernaut.

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

a flimsy funhouse infinitely fraught
with clattering contrivances
designed to keep one taut
in order to forget the fact
it crumbles down to naught,

Just look at what we’ve wrought…

Leave

The green recruits are weathered now
emboldened by the brawl
they weren’t informed but know somehow
tomorrow comes the fall

a brisker breeze begins to blow
as daylight slowly wanes
these telling omens tend to show
how little time remains

resplendent in their vibrant gear
they feel no fear at all
relieved to leave their torment here
tomorrow comes the fall.

Deduction

I’ll stalk the boss’s dime all day
but seldom mind my own
I guess that’s why I’m doomed to stay
forever paycheck prone.

Equidistant

The concept of infinity
is endless incongruity
inhabiting no single plane
with any uniformity,
exploring the enormity
that others shun in vain
an angle from which I can see
that nothing gets too close to me.

Rattling

Antiquity will often choose
the truth of those that didn’t lose,
the spin that vanity commands
will shift as much as falling sands,
but bones beneath uncharted tracts
can ferret out forsaken facts.

Branded

intelligent
People
Obviously
Distracted
senseless

Flagellation

Whenever war is meant to be
I find the foe is usually me—
there is no banner white enough
to soothe this never ending scuff.

Dawn

In the stillness of the morn
I can feel my faith reborn
protecting me from those that prey
upon my mind with scorn.

At the onset of the day
the darkness goes away
revealing crystal cobalt skies
devoid of any gray.

As the sun begins to rise
illumination helps my eyes
to recognize when truth is shorn
by endless compromise.

I choose to live not mourn
no longer am I torn
apart by doubts that fade within
the stillness of the morn.

Bewildered

Hi all, well it's been a while since I've shared one of my personal asides. Life has been terribly hectic as usual but I also just haven't had the drive to create lately. I was greeted with an unexpected email this morning which really made me smile though, and hope to get this blog rolling with more regular posting again. I must thank Ms. Amber Johnson for including my lowly blog in a list of 100 Great Web Sites for Poetry Lovers. Who knew?

Split

I live a double life
that no one would believe
existing on a knife
which logic says must cleave
the wispy thread of sanity
that tethers my humanity—

it’s difficult for one
to bear the weight of two
and no, it isn’t fun
but still I try to do
my best despite delirium
to foster equilibrium.

Scrap

As summer starts to swiftly leave
beyond all hope of spring’s reprieve
an autumn shudder lends a hint
of winter’s unforgiving stint—

auspicious omens can’t predict
what deviation will be picked
to flourish for another blink
while former failures face the brink.

The epochs come then glumly go,
stagnation tends to settle slow,
the seasons change, but just in name
the struggle always stays the same.

Zoning

The spiral down is quicker
with a shot or two of liquor
and things won’t seem so rough
once you’ve had a little puff—

don’t wallow in confusion
just accept the big illusion
and if you’ve had your fill
take another happy pill.

Perpendicular

I’ve wallowed in filth the pretentious can’t bear
and swallowed the shit no elitist would dare
I’m one with the creature that crouches within
who’s done what he must, though they label it sin.

I’ve curbed my ambition – for what is the use?
Disturbed by the angle of those more obtuse
I’ll lurk in the corner where everything’s right
a smirk on my face more bemusement than spite.

Continuum?

I really hate
to calculate
the distance that’s between us
there seems to be
a galaxy
dividing Mars and Venus
and no degree
of astronomy
will cancel out compunction
so two stray spheres
can cross light years
and once more form conjunction.

Clearing

The only bond I seek
is with the world I tread
a haven for the weak
that huddle up in dread
when those in ‘power’ speak—

I’d rather run instead
through fields beside a creek
where no one else has fled
or voiced their mindless shriek
to soothe my aching head

and maybe try to eke
a living less misled
beneath a soaring peak
existing on the bread
that’s poison to the meek.

Seasons

The thyme has withered away
the leaves are limp and gray
there is no hint of fragrant spice
embellishing today

nor zest enough to entice
acceptance of the price
required to enjoy a taste
of fabled paradise,

instead we’re gluttons for haste
our dreams can be replaced
just stack them there, out of the way
with all the other waste.

It’s saddening to say
but silence won’t delay
the barrenness of every plot
when time has withered away.

Interpretation

It means whatever you want it to mean
it says whatever you need it to say
there are no messages in between
the cognitive quandaries I try to convey,

so glean whatever you want to glean
and weigh whatever you need to weigh
my sentiments seldom conform to the mean
so take them however you may.

Stages

Tonight I’ll flirt with Destiny
and every circumstance
I know will get the best of me
if given half a chance,

but will it hold an audience
with dialogue that’s dry?
I’ve got to act with confidence,
we all have plots to ply.

There is no lasting happiness
just moments more serene
that counteract the craziness
before the final scene.

Proof

Some pleasures that I’ve sought to shun
enjoyed would see my world undone
for am I not my mother’s son—

aware the bottle’s less than half
but daily forcing out a laugh
insisting on a full carafe;

and though it caused her cruel demise
I’ll snuggle up with all my lies
until the fire takes my eyes

unless I can remain stiff willed
embracing passions unfulfilled,
a spirit stronger when distilled.

Impetus

Why is it that we make things—
to see ourselves somehow
or hear the thunder of applause
and take a nervous bow,

to curiously instigate
a novel way to see
how truly indefinable
we were meant to be,

or is it just an exercise
of freedom to express
the need to try and make some sense
from this chaotic mess?

Whatever is the catalyst
should never be denied,
we’ll never master harmony
if ranges aren’t applied.

Riveted

The stanchions still stand stoically
assailed by summer storms
they’ve hung in there heroically
a tribute to their forms

for steel can be as pliable
as anything that bleeds
and is, perhaps, more viable
with fewer vital needs

beyond a place to bivouac
beneath an open sky
so they can diligently track
their muses spinning by.

Wastrel

I’ve wasted many words but never said
a thing discerning minds would care to read
and now it seems the urge to share is dead;

it’s like a withered skin I had to shed
a ghostly husk of self-indulgent greed
that wasted many words but never said

one single statement suitable to spread
which prompts my inner critic to concede
that now the urge to share should just lay dead.

These empty thoughts that bounce inside my head
and ricochet with ever slowing speed
are wasted words that never will be said

for no one truly cares if someone’s bled
provided they were not the one to bleed—
so now you see, the urge to share is dead.

Can sustenance be something more than bread,
could symmetry fulfill this nagging need?
I’ve wasted many words but never said
and now it seems the urge to share is dead.

Demanding

To maximize your medium
at times can just be tedium
but oh, the exultation
when they crave your creation.

Conclusion

There are ways to do things
and there are ways to get things done
you don’t need matching shoestrings
to get the distance run
or silver void of tarnish
to take a hearty bite
nor selfishness to garnish
your portion of delight—
though you must release the moorings
to get the trip begun
there are ways to do things
and there are ways to get things done.

Mindshift

I’ve mucked in mediocrity for many maudlin years
fettered by the ferrous chains of fundamental fears
but now a nascent noumenon is gnawing with a need
to break the bonds that keep the collars blue among my breed.

Terms

When I thought what I said mattered
there was so much to relay
a brand new page was spattered
with purpose every day
but margins can grow tattered
getting battered by the fray
till confidence is shattered
and there’s nothing new to say.

When I wished what I said mattered
there was plenty to parley
and though those hopes have scattered
I keep bargaining away.

Comeuppance

A happy thought
cannot be bought
it can’t be taught
to those distraught
but sometimes stray ones
can be caught
the moment they’re
no longer sought.

Mourning Personality

The phoniness is freely feigned
her mindless mask so well maintained
reciting every word prepared
as though she genuinely cared
about the hurting and debris
of televised humanity.

Later Gator

You came with every chopper bared
and caused a big commotion
you chomped and stomped
all through the swamp
without a single notion

of your intended purpose there
aside from the attention
but now somehow
they disavow
the need for your retention.

Rider

He blankly goes to work each day
and says the words he has to say
while watching all his silly dreams slowly fade away
it’s true that time does not exist
although he wears it on his wrist
to monitor the misery that grinds him in the grist

but sometimes in among the chaff
he finds a morsel worth a laugh
and savors it just like a drunkard handed a carafe—
contentment is a carousel
that spins the other way as well
condemning everyone to find their own clause out of hell.

Whet

We congregate
to consecrate
the rituals that don’t relate
yet soothe the strife
that dulls the knife
throughout the abattoir of life.

Reduction

Approaching the perimeter of subatomic realms
as mechanized misanthropy completely overwhelms
consumers catatonic from the data overloads
oblivious to how much their humanity erodes.

Drones

In unison they swing
these little flowers roused by spring
releasing scents upon the breeze
with blushing unpretentious ease
attracting adolescent bees
who’d love to land one righteous sting

for summer will adjourn
and winter’s biting rime will burn
away the chance to sow
to nurture, and robustly grow
substantial fruit in every row
to feed the hive condemned to churn.

Afield

No sense to fret
if gross or net
a pound’s a pound
of pure regret

when spent affairs
convert your wares
to empty ground
and tawdry tares.

Speculation

City in the cloud
above the grimy crowd
a lusty throng
that plods along
appropriately cowed.

Towers tend to fall
when they get too tall
and those below
are sure to know
for they will catch it all.

Collective Cans

The search for reason can make you insane
The warmest season can limit the grain
The brightest light can mask what you seek
The sleekest words can cripple the meek
The weight of knowing can stifle your rise
The need for truth can spark bigger lies
The loudest voice can fade to a buzz
The oddest occurrence can alter what was.

Chip

Could any bland automaton
effectively expound upon
expressions of humanity
without the code to spur it on?

As CPUs are brusquely built
who defines remorse or guilt,
the boundaries of sanity,
when simulated tears are spilt?

Emotions set our race apart
they churn in ways you cannot chart
but someday our profanity
may spawn a breed devoid of heart,

compelling art and steamy sex
despite mechanics so complex
they emulate our vanity
with infinitely tighter specs.

Tracks

Neglected ties can jeopardize
the corridors you utilize
to take you where the people care
away from sullen sooty skies

for scathing scum will make you glum
as vagrant as a bitter bum
whose unaware untrusting stare
implies you don’t know where you’re from.

Deadline

I go through spurts of great ado
where spots of rest are fairly few
and then I have those little lulls
where my imagination mulls
the questions I can’t quantify
that boil down to one lone why
which likely will remain unknown
as fleeting days have nearly flown.

Spillage

Does anyone know what happens here
will somebody ever care
about the words I hold so dear
and try my best to share?

The worries of a weary world
encumbered by despair
dissolve within the ink that’s swirled
then dribbled everywhere

in little enigmatic blots
that change the more you stare
but currently just idly rots…
is anybody there?

Curses

Financial aggravation
Upsets the docile masses
Coercing this citation:
Kiss our freakin’ asses!

Bone Us

The flow of gravy ended in the dungeons where we toil
then watching television only makes our juices boil—
the pinstriped pigs should be cut off like us malnourished slobs
their lone incentive being that they keep their (so called) jobs.

Good Life

Again the sun begins to burn
as migratory birds return,
a giant V across the blue
to start the cycle up anew.

How many days like this are left,
how many strands to fill the weft
before we are, at last, bereft
of time to perpetrate our theft

of these few quiet moments here
upon a metamorphic sphere
with (currently) so few concerns
beyond what bounty being earns.

Hazy

All night the trains were restless
clatter clacking east to west
beside that swollen river
ever threatening to crest,

the ebon winged cacophony
that lands here every fall
became an eerie canopy
looming dark and tall;

as lunar luminescence
lingered lightly on the lawn
the promise of precipitance
demoralized the dawn

foreshadowing a dismal,
archetypal winter day
where everything once knowable
disintegrates to gray.

Severed

I’m feeling slightly out of sync
I don’t know what to do or think
for circumstance has shorn my link—

the funny thing about chasing dreams:
despite how close their capture seems
they fade as fast as futile screams.

Management

Convinced that copper has no worth?
Well my friend, have you ever worked
or worn a tattered, sweaty shirt
that (much like life) could not be shirked?

It’s doubtful that you’ll ever scratch
while scrounging for the scruffy scraps
revered by any weary wretch
that keeps resentment under wraps.

The jingle of impending change
commingles with the clink of chains
restricting a respectful range
when class related claptrap reigns.

Stimulus

Already, golden goodness starts to radiate
upon the crusty banks of gritty residue—
as cheerful chirping makes the morning chill abate
secreted dreams of freedom resurrect anew.

Exploding fiercely from the damply dormant sod
tenacious tendrils teeming with ambitious grasp
attempt to overcome the overwrought façade
whose insubstantial surfaces are hard to clasp,

while water reawakened from a crystal sleep
begins to stir lethargically and leave it’s bed
perennial pangs of passion that run so deep
revive what was reserved, but refuses to be dead.

Muss

Substantively we’re hollow
coarsely callow and pampered,
we’ve hampered our advancement
and enhancement through the languor
and the anger that’s our creed.

It all seems so uncertain,
like a curtain separating,
obfuscating an objective
and effective way to buffer
how we suffer and succeed;

but who am I to query,
form a theory or conclusion,
my confusion makes me wary
and contrary to the notion
that commotion fills a need.

Plowed

Institutions fall
rising profits stall
anxieties increase
until you want to bawl

the credit they extend
just wasn’t meant to spend
or dubiously grease
their hidden dividend

you can’t make ample feed
without a plot to seed
but never sign a lease
with harvesters of greed.

Flash

The faster we spin
the quicker we go
creating a din
attempting to know
our place in the mix
and how we can learn
what problems to fix
before we all burn.

Ahem

Some blabbers have convinced themselves there’s so much that they do
they can’t remember half of what they planned,
but talking isn’t quite the same as striving to pull through
a concept those of action understand.

Cropped

The disillusioned sheep
have woken from their sleep
their pastures aren’t as green
their wells don’t run as deep

deprived of those obscene
assaults on the machine
how rapidly their haughty airs
move closer to the mean

for nothing truly scares
contributors of tares
than finding they won’t get to keep
their undeserved shares.

Oxymoron

If only I could scribble verse
succinctly without seeming terse
adorning every strophe so
the image won’t disperse

and maybe satisfy a yen
of someone else who chuckles when
they read enough to know
I find escape within a pen.

Segue

The ghostly silhouettes of trees
accentuate the current clime,
so gaunt and lifeless in the breeze
devoid of leaves destroyed by rime
their bony limbs morosely mime

a tale of winter’s woeful span
when dreary dirges tend to loom
until the lively tune of Pan
accompanies the welcome boom
of thunder, calling buds to bloom.

Roundabout

A muse meant for me
can also (sometimes) manage to
amuse - meant for me
each nether nudge that filters through
propels my pen to plot anew
amusement for me.

Glimmer

Considering the vastness of an undetermined why
impatient to decipher hieroglyphics I espy
composed of glowing characters that captivate the eye.

It seems to be a message speaking urgently to me
but I can’t crack the code without some type of cosmic key
unless subconscious inklings can unlock the mystery.

This path of beaten stone conveys my often futile quest
to understand the knowledge that the heavens have expressed
so I can lay contentedly beneath the stars and rest.

Nuisance

Just cruising through the corridors
while everyone has kept
themselves aside, being courteous
but you are so inept
you blow right by, eyes unfocused
much too smug to brake
unmindful of the wreckage
that smolders in your wake.

Misguided

Although the shrines are shutting down
this land is not a godless place
we praise ourselves in temples made from clay,
oblivious to obvious decay,
convinced our grandeur nulls the need for grace
or temperance on which to hang a crown—
there’s no illogic reason can rebuke
when basing all belief upon a fluke.

Extinction

How much is your dénouement worth:
integrity, a cozy berth?
The forfeiture of reason blares
discordant strains, though no one cares
to dampen mandatory mirth
with facts a lowly fool prepares.

Hypocrisy resembles tar
for once you’re in you don’t go far
each move constrained by sticky goo
that constantly pulls down on you
until (despite how glib you are)
you’re in the pit, existence through.

Capitulation

I want a new job
devoid of all strife
or reasons to swab
I need a new life

I’m sick of the bills
that foster the mess
which thoroughly kills
my chance for success

so screw the whole world
whose problems are rife
the flag is unfurled
I need a new life.

Later

That gator’s on the loose again
but I won’t fuss and stomp
I’ll find a much more peaceful fen
to hell with this old swamp!

Downed

Forgive the abrasion
and bruises that shine
it’s just the persuasion
of sparkling wine,

I should be as bubbly
as this brimming glass
instead I want doubly
to blister your ass;

hung over tomorrow
I’m sure to abhor
that I’ve caused you sorrow
so hurry, pour more

to grant me some slumber
an hour or two
before I encumber
your future anew—

the vessel is hollow
it’s hard to decline
each deadening swallow
of sparkling wine.

Belch

When corporate clowns are loosed
and food is mass produced
indulgence is induced
while taste becomes reduced.

Dwelling

The plywood panes are testament
to how her final days were spent
withdrawn from all but her best friend
the spiteful spirit discontent;

but truthfully, did we extend
accepting arms, or did we send
the promise of discouragement
from rigid limbs too scarred to bend?

Each day the dwelling cries – REPENT!
and fuels this lachrymose lament
I fear will haunt me till the end—
the plywood panes are testament.

Axis

Amidst a spiral swirl of stars we spin
obliquely round a minor yellow sun,
adrift among the cosmic eddies in
this vast expanse with which we all are one
while questioning the consequence of sin
and barely grasping how much we have spun,
for every body turns at its own rate—
eccentric cycles constitute our fate.

Kicking Back

I grimaced at the feet of snow reclined in my deck chair
because I knew, by rights, that should be me relaxing there
but I won’t let a lack of rest deplete me to despair
for one swift punt propels the stuff careening through the air.

Finish

Some people label thoughts a poem
because they used a form
fastidiously fashioning the flanks
so perfectly it shines like chrome
and feels about as warm—
you can’t forge art by filling in the blanks.

Straighten

Arithmetic is not a slant
though data skews where truth is scant;
perhaps our time would best be served
pursuing plots a bit less curved.

Submission

Another match another fall
another after hours brawl
the greatest strength that he can claim
is living with forgotten fame;
they used to cheer like maniacs
while imitating his attacks,
the stadiums would overflow
to watch him land that trademark blow.

But age comes on with no holds barred
to leave a body frail and scarred
as weak as bulbs that don’t illume
each moldy, dingy motel room
he’s flopped in after every fight
since his defeat that fated night
just like the one they’ll find him in
when he at last can’t shake the pin.

Dropout

These letters that you’ve sent
make me loathe the time I’ve spent
in a void of discontent,

each simple heartfelt line
invigorates my spine
to somehow make you mine

and your images inspire
me to wiggle through the wire
with the data of desire,

but words cannot break through
this reservoir of rue
that roils twixt us two

and we will never clinch
for love is tough to cinch
when broadband starts to pinch.

Luminosity

Like photons through a fractured pane
I suffer disarray
attempts at unity are vain
but still I shine away.

The darkness tries to dampen me
beneath its dim dismay
degrading my intensity
and still I shine away.

Super

The warriors will take the field
their colors worn with pride—
behind a moving human shield
they’ll struggle to advance
a perfectly proportioned hide
beyond the stalwart stance
of a fierce defensive tide
and score enough to wield
the prize that proves they tried.

Arms Length

Does it hinge on the breadth of your reach
to determine how much you’ll embrace?
Don’t shun all the things love can teach
in favor of personal space.

Props

Your absolute best
can’t match my worst—
and keeping abreast?
You’d be the first.

You did put the flam
right after the flim
but lately your sham
could use a good shim.

Struck

The moonlight on the desert
is a truly wondrous thing
it makes the sand as golden
as the coffer of a king,
though scorpions still sting.

Across the dunes that glistened
rode an agent of the dark
determined to deliver
a swift and silent arc
to a duly sanctioned mark.

No glimmer of compassion
helped to soften his harsh glare
he hurried without respite
to the small encampment where
his victim brushed her hair

completely unsuspecting
of the target on her back,
she prepped herself for slumber
while he squinted through a crack
impatient to attack.

Abruptly she stood naked
in a scintillating beam
of moonlight that portrayed her
as a goddess from a dream—
what madness made it seem

a sin to harm such symmetry,
what demon stayed his hand?
He struggled with new feelings
he was loath to understand
that shifted more than sand.


***Part I***

Cataract

The mountain speaks in voices
many mortals can’t perceive
it rumbles and rejoices
rising up with every heave,

relating all the anguish
men endure to reach a peak
while scolding those that languish
when there’s still so much to seek;

it cries with tears cascading
down it’s thoughtful craggy face
unsettled by the fading
depth of vision in our race.

Ceded

How long before another rock
collides with our blue haven
obliterating everything we know
in a planet-wide inferno
while leaving craters graven
by the future building block.

Trespasses

We are bound by buried lines
that lurk like deadly mines
or choking twisted vines

which cling to reaching limbs
with parasitic whims
while daylight slowly dims

behind dejected drapes
prohibiting escapes
for those who’d rather traipse.

Shady

The sunshine through the trees
becomes a strobe light in my head
as I nonchalantly breeze
beside a quiet riverbed,

I can tell the day is waning
by the angle of the light
but I’ll savor what’s remaining
like a boxer prizes fight.

The jangle of my chain pervades
this shaded little trail
bisecting rising blades
that grow much greener as I sail

beyond where they are rooted
on this evanescent ride
that’s turned so convoluted
no one covets my divide.

Bitten

The musty and primeval spoor
that comes from deepest growth
inveigles me to linger like the moss
but I have made a binding oath
and will tarry here no more
for someone may be saddened by the loss—

forsaking Eden’s lush embrace
to don eternal gold
I hear the roaming creatures smugly jeer,
though later when the night is cold
I’ll revel in the grace
of sweeter flesh than any sacred sphere.

Husbandry

There’s no way you can penetrate the wool
that those within your stable deftly pull
and if you’d like to keep your pockets full
never fall in love with your own bull!

Crossed

Alone upon a snowy hill
a marble cross stands mute and still
just like the vessel it purports to bless
but if it really helped them cross
to reconnoiter with The Boss
is ultimately anybody’s guess.

Spectacle

Betrayed by orbs of blue
that used to be so true
reduced to rims I rue
to vivify the view.

Colored

Belay your boasts
of conjuring ghosts
I’ll take a swipe
at all the hype
and taint your toasts
with one small gripe

there was no test
to prove he’s best
despite his grin
what got him in:
the heart in his chest
or tint of the spin?

Journey

Where sultry ingots line the lane
that dwindles in a golden haze
adventurers are bound to gain
enhanced perspectives on their ways
provided they are not too vain.

Led

The thoroughfare
was salted bare
which bleached away the lines,
at three am
my stratagem
was seeking solid signs
when suddenly
in front of me
a shooting star struck loam—
one glowing guide
to aid the ride
I hope will take me home.

Less Gone

I dreamt of Mom the other night
she was distant from me (big surprise)
and moving perpendicular to my path
at the end of a long narrow room.
I instantly recognized her
and started to increase my speed
so I could talk to her
the way we used to,
the way I wanted to that night
her charred, disfigured body
laid twitching before me
in a room that smelled
of burning death.

Continuing forward it dawned on me
that this must be a dream
and I wished that somehow it could be real
you know, as Poe so beautifully said
“A dream within a dream”
but then I remembered some dreams
turn into nightmares
from which a person can’t be roused.

Then suddenly I was right beside her
and she slowly turned…
into someone else.
An older, chubbier woman
wearing glasses with smoky lenses
stood before me
as stoic as a statue.

I had my hand out to touch her
but quickly withdrew it saying
“I’m sorry but you look just like…”

“I know – tell your sister I’m alright.”

Then I woke up.

My heart was racing, I was sweating
and my stomach was on fire
I’ve never felt the way I did that night,
it was terrifying.

Of course I told my sister when I spoke to her afterwards
and strangely enough
she had apparently been asking our mother
(talking to her share of the ashes)
if she was okay
and why she hadn’t come around
to see my niece’s new baby
that very same night I had had the dream.

Needless to say my sister is convinced
that Mom came to me,
that her spirit actually entered my mind
to relay the message.
I voiced my concern over why
she changed to someone else,
was it because I didn’t know her anymore
due to my own aloofness?
But my sister assured me
it was because she didn’t want me to see
how badly she had been injured,
that would explain the smoky glasses
for her eyes had been burned completely away.

I guess it all depends on what you believe.

I’m not sure about all the metaphysical stuff
but I do know one thing—
every night I pray before sleep takes me
that I dream of her again
real or not
so we can really talk
like we used to
and I can tell her how much I miss her
and love her.

Show

The worthless turds
with polished knees
use lavish words
to foster fees,

they don’t say much
that’s proven fact
but lie with such
impeccable tact

that soon the truth
becomes passé—
it’s so uncouth
to earn your pay!

Advances

Work is a chore
it’s a bore
you’re a whore
prostrating yourself
right there on the floor
accepting it for
your name on the door
a better position
so you can take more.

Fact or Fear

And what would it take to believe:
a steady procession of ills,
or a miracle that fulfills
your dream to never grieve?

Faith doesn’t need a reward—
motivation to care
shouldn’t hang by a hair
like that infamous double-edged sword.

Cluster

The darkened room was brimming full of kin
impatient to emphatically partake
and gobble down a piece of flaming cake
which glowed as much as Dad’s contented grin.
We sang the song that everybody sings
with love to either Grandpa, Dad, or Bill
then greedily inhaled our frosted fill
while savoring the succor kinship brings.
At last we had to brave the frigid night
and stood outside beneath a brilliant moon,
it seemed the time to part came much too soon
which prompted us to gauge the stars in sight—
Orion sparkled brightly in the sky
reminding us to never say goodbye.

***Happy Birthday Dad!***

Welfare

He blankly extracted his benefit card
to purchase the tonic that softens the hard
but soothing libation on which he resides
in hopes that the anguish completely subsides.

Altruism

Tonight on my way home from another long day
I stopped at the market for coffee and lotto,
exhaustion pulling at my sunken eyes,
the need to be home in my own little space
(as hand-me-down as it is)
my sole motivation,
but as I near the counter
I see a hunched over person who
in an overly apologetic voice
asks how much the cheapest cigarettes are;
he flashes a guilty glance my way
and I can see the fear of living
reflected in his furtive eyes,
then I hear the splash of random change
and inwardly sigh
knowing my homeward trek
has been momentarily derailed.

I watch his cracked and soiled fingernails
sorting through the pile of coins,
my own detached digits
caressing the jaded tokens of greed
that line my pockets,
reluctant to intercede and possibly destroy
what may be left of whatever pride
he once had;
finally the last penny is tallied,
his defeated shoulders sink even deeper
and he turns to go empty handed
until I lean over to drop
two shiny quarters on the counter.

“Thank you sir, thank you, thanks.” He stammers
barely able to meet my gaze,
I smile half-heartedly
aware my true incentive is getting home
(damn my honesty)
and turn to conduct my business
resisting the urge to playfully say
“You know those things will kill you.”
because the profuseness of his gratitude told me
he already knew.

Burnt

I’ve stewed and now I’m steaming
be ready for a reaming,
if you think I’ll simmer down
you really must be dreaming—

the pressure is horrendous
with tremors most tremendous
and when the lid is finally blown
the stink will be stupendous!

Join The Banned

My lack of social grace
won’t get me any place
except a list of black
for never chatting back.

Playing It Again Sam

Hi all, Happy New Year! The band had a great gig on New Year's Eve and we have another tonight so I'm just too tired to try and write. This seems like a perfect chance to pull out some 'old records' and play them for you again. I love jamming with those guys and can only hope that my fingers are ready to do some talking later. We've had fantastic jobs that make me want to shout with joy but hopefully it will only get better, and with a little work we can really break free. Hope everyone finds a way this year to make their life the way the want it to be.

Aspect

Mesmerized by Jupiter
I failed to look about
to see what other stars there were
and now the sun is out,

if nothing else I’m patient though
enlightened by mistakes,
my head will swivel to and fro
as soon as twilight breaks

attempting to somehow absorb
the breadth of boundless sky
that circulates beyond this orb
with truth the charmed deny.