1000 Posts

The moon is as high as high can be
reflecting the sun half-heartedly
while every choking gutter overflows
with the brown remains of spring’s last throes

a bilge releases brackish ooze
that stains the deeply rutted road,
it slithers like an irritated snake
as Slowhand amplifies the blues
I come back for another load
of clutter from an old abode,
my deadened foot discreetly on the brake.

Perusing yellowed pages of the past
compels one question – did it go that fast?
The spine corroded
when faith eroded,
for how can friendly winds prevail
to fill a limp and lifeless sail
that isn’t even fastened to the mast?

~THUNK~
another post goes deep
to shield this outlook that I keep.

We’re here for the doing
so get the job done
refrain from your ruing
those races that you failed to run
and fleeting moments in the sun

reflected by the moon, still rather high
and feeling, for the moment, keenly shy
it ducked behind some clouds that scuttled by
while I repeated – “Why beloved, why?”

Our independence day
relied on the establishment
of reasons for abandonment
to help ignite the fray

the corporation stands to profit
when we decide to deftly doff it
though interwoven with the weft
is doubt that loomed in those bereft
of leisure
or pleasure
or any decent chance at all
of finding buried treasure.

We fraternize beside the pool
such restful relaxation
made possible by chlorination
isn’t murder a handy tool?

The nectar from the sweetest fruit
can’t quench a thirsty point that’s moot
but still we seek that fabled draft
with all our crude attempts at craft,
the frantic fumbles of a green recruit.

~THUNK~
another post impales
the earth from which this body hails.

We’re here for the doing
so get the job done
refrain from renewing
your doubt in the gun
when it comes to bullets
it only takes one.

The ghostly moon is paler still
from starting to come down
its pock-marked face looks deathly ill
with such a stony frown.

An abundance of redundancy
makes creativity arcane
indeed, almost profane
like shadowy cave paintings
made from some forgotten stain
that lingers in your brain.

The something we wish to become
will become only when we’re a sum
our destiny won’t be decided
while the world is so clearly divided
we strove for a land void of class
a status we more than surpass
unable to garner comfort from
the time we foolishly bided
when evil was still coiled in the grass.

~THUNK~
another post and still
I need some more to ring this hill.

We’re here for the doing
so get the job done
and stop misconstruing
the words of The Son

for the night will continue
relieving the day
while the moon, looking brand new
comes anxious to play.

The sultry air of summer
clings just like a lover
that wants to crawl inside your very skin
enjoy it while it lingers
for soon your crooked fingers
will wrap a tattered scarf around your chin.

The matriarch
whose fragile spark
endowed the courage to embark
could not foresee
the agony
of eremitic artistry.

~THUNK~
the thousandth post and nowhere near
the palisade I pictured here
perhaps it’s time to engineer
a bridge.