11 Summers

Could eleven summers ever be
enough to taste and touch and see
all the wondrous elements
that fashion this reality?

As innocence is laid to rest
will your conscience now attest
that hedonistic selfishness
helped the hand of death to wrest

one sprightly spark before it’s due,
causing you to surely rue
the budding flowers every spring
that signal summer will ensue.


*Dedicated to all the unfortunate victims of drunk drivers*

Reform

I saw something thrive in cement
it was quite a reinforcing event;
akin to a rose
with it’s own lovely scent
it proved there’s a flaw
in this unbending gent
providing enough of a dent
to find if life is meant
to sparkle, or be spent
(though it seems there’s nothing it can’t circumvent).

Recondition

You can hear the great behemoth’s labored breathing to the east
and it shouldn’t be that long before we overhaul the beast
to stop it’s oily breath from clogging up the sooty skies
along with that vociferous breed that poisons as it flies.

Labor of Love

I took a slab of lifeless stone
stood with chisel held in hand
thought about my life alone
and let my heart take command.
This hammer clangs, as I perspire,
with ringing echoes of desire.

As the outline slowly forms
unworthy fingers gently caress
the fractured rock until it warms,
ardently trying to express
my less than sane expectation
to somehow grant it animation.

Halfway done when suddenly
she seems to be a bit more real,
I know it’s just a fantasy
yet sometimes I could swear I feel
dark orbs intently watching me,
pleading for a chance to be.

Bathed in Luna’s silver glow
I pause to take a needed rest,
all rules of nature I forego
and scream out loud a bold request,
“Please grant life to my creation!”
then, I feel a strange sensation.

Her smooth midriff starts to shimmer,
pulling back to form a hole,
within me I feel something glimmer
and I know it is my soul,
half of which I freely give
so that my dream can finally live.

Lying face first on the floor
I wake up a bit diminished,
obsidian eyes calmly implore
and I can’t halt until I’ve finished
my labor of love, she must be freed—
never scorn the power of need.

Sweetness

She offered me a brisket
I figured that I’d risk it
until she started eyeing me as though I were a biscuit
which wasn’t very funny
so I handed her my money
and left before she plied me with some plumper plops of honey.

Choke

Complication compilation
indignation, indigestion
regurgitation, resignation
aspiration aspiration.

Cause

Poetry is like a pill
that keeps my nervous neurons still
and helps to elevate my mood
with every therapeutic thrill,

it keeps me strong like healthy food
that makes me grow the more it’s chewed—
I rub my hands and smack my lips
for hunger shouldn’t be eschewed.

Like honeyed wine that sweetly drips
I quaff the eloquence of quips
whose heady essence makes me think,
inviting long exquisite sips;

it’s captured in the colored ink
my thirsty skin was quick to drink
and when I’m saddled with chagrin
it always makes me smile and wink.

Yes poetry is everything
to me you see, and so much more
at times it seems the only thing
in this life worth living for.

Pane Relief

The plywood panes are finally gone
I’m starting to feel less withdrawn
and learning how to cope as I get older;
I’ve had some cause to be depressed
but today I felt completely blessed
when he whispered “Papa”
with his head upon my shoulder.

Reception

To pests that make my patience wilt
I muster my most gracious lilt
and jerks that make my joy disperse
will seldom hear my muttered curse,
for static from the sullen sort
is never able to distort
the view that somewhere deep inside
we all have angels that reside.

Perplexity

If you can’t have light without the dark
why choose the pit above the spark
as many seem to do today;
has evil truly left its mark

upon our slowly crumbling breed
eroded by torrential greed,
or have we simply lost our way
misguided by neurotic need?

We plod along beneath the pall
that permeates each slice of sprawl
but those that prey on those that pray
become the most confused of all.

That Stinks!

I’m mortified
my homeward ride
collided with a creature
it’s head and tail
were very pale
but the most apparent feature
when soundly hit
it’s kind emit
an overpowering odor
how odious
it is for us
to maim so we can motor.

O Men

She squandered her contentment
on a boy with golden hair
and eyes so blue
they made her do
some things she shouldn’t dare,

but then she felt resentment
from her family and friends,
they asked her why
and her reply—
“A lonely heart pretends.”

And such was her presentment
that they all began to bawl
as everyone
had now begun
preparing for the fall.

Galvanized

There’s got to be a better way
for me to positively slay
this less than entertaining lapse
that now confounds each stalled synapse

but I’m in such a static state
I simply sit and vegetate
restrained by steely locks of gray
that signify my slow decay

when suddenly a blazing bolt
of insight gives me such a jolt
it flings me from this creaky chair
to go and flavor life with flair.

It’s meaningless to wrangle rot
be happy for what time you’ve got
and face each moment fearlessly
with naught but hope for what may be.

Mice & Men

Existence now fits on a stick
accessible with just a click
our world is run by rodents who
can ferret out the facts you rue
the question is – just who or what
will analyze this data glut
and if they have a skipping stone
or one designed to keenly hone.


ozymandiaz said...

the data, sir, i dare to say
has been analyzed in every way
though not in manner to find truth
but as method to show proof
so simple folks with simple minds
will buy the poison so sublime.

Venture

A lot of people tend to shrink
away from what I put in ink
because it really hurts to think

about the truth we seldom face
that we’re all part of one sad race
condemned to fall just short of grace,

our evanescence nurtures greed
on which self righteous vermin feed
why can’t we germinate the seed

of sacrifice for ages hence
without the need for recompense,
as love should never gauge expense.

Occupation

We seek a trade to supplement our means
but seldom find contentment in a chore,
to grunt and sweat for money like a whore
can make one sore, and thoroughly demeans
a people’s pride, like prisoners of war,
our island nations hurt by death machines
coercing us to help them make more beans
so they don’t have to mingle with the poor.
Behind the concertina we commune
our furtive whispers tricky to discern
though truly, they don’t care what we might say
their condescension makes them quite immune
and tragically, the only way they’ll learn
is when we have our liberation day.

Indistinctive

As plumage pales
the finer details
are slowly becoming less clear,
ignoring each hint
I grimace and squint
rejecting all ocular gear,

and as it gets worse
I struggle with verse
that once made me inwardly stir,
which leads me to fear
that I’ll disappear
like everything else in the blur.

Special

The recipe for irony:
a misanthropic chef-to-be
condemned to serving those whom he
would rather never even see.

Devalued

I’m not privy
to how you divvy
the profits we peasants produce for you
I’m much too busy
and often dizzy
performing for one more cent or two.

Immaterial

How much is enough
can you answer me this,
does a mountain of stuff
bring limitless bliss?

Or is the weight such
it’s not worth the cost
for having too much
means more to be lost.

A miser will pinch
a penny in two
and give you an inch
when miles are due

but never refuse
a beggar’s request
if you buy one new shoes
in heaven you’ll rest.

The rich will acquire
the most of us all
then into the fire
they’ll rapidly fall

consumed by the flame
of implacable greed
while the wretched and lame
are eternally freed.