Acknowledgment

If I had known how long I'd live
I would have shown more care
in finding reasons to forgive
the donors of despair

for empathy extended earns
(if nothing else) respect
a need for which innately burns
within despite what sect.

Out with the Old

Let's have some new clichés. – Samuel Goldwyn

The clan of cliché
doesn’t mind the decay
destroying our chances for new things to say

these wasters of ink
apparently shrink
away from the pleasure of getting to think—

your prose can be prime
if you take the time
to try and jot lines that are somewhat sublime

the best thing to do
is read what comes through
and make sure the paper is soaked with just you.

Unhook

Relating thoughts poetically
to people raised phonetically
is harder than it sounds at first
they seem to be genetically
disposed to hear the worst,

for matter biologically
condemned to chronologically
decay will seldom think of time
or any other concept logically
(especially in rhyme).

Idio(ma)tic

I play the role I have to play
to keep at bay the fakes that pay
a grudging cent while wads are spent
on leeches meant to implement
their clever brains to triple gains
but effort wanes and then these pains
employ their clout to lounge about
while we without are forced to doubt
our value and the work we do
in bondage to the foolish few.

Not Quite Right

I wish Bob Church was still here
his witty wisdom we held so dear
and it seems that at least once a year
his ghost brings a smiling tear.

Sundown

Receding rays refraction reveals
the churning of uncaring wheels
desertion of arcane ideals

dispersing demolition dust
turns the twilight sky to rust
as red as an illicit lust

filled heart before it's drained
for dreams are seldom (if ever) attained
or infrastructure sustained.

Gifts

At first he's a Power Ranger dressed in red
of course I'm the Bad Guy filled with dread
and just when I tell him "You've beaten me, stop!"
he says "I'm a froggie that goes hop hop hop."
so I playfully tell him that frogs like flies
then with a mischievious look in his eyes
he jumps around flicking his little pink tongue--
there's no cure for aging like time with the young.
At two he can grasp what took me years to learn
and I'm wondering how far this kid will go
when suddenly he's shooting me with a gun,
within him I see imagination burn
so brilliantly he can change the world we know
but for now, let's just have some old fashioned fun.

Nits

There's always something broken
over-utilized or bent
there's always some infraction
we're reluctant to repent

but why should less-than-perfect
ever give us cause to pause
perhaps our darkest defect--
we focus on the flaws.

Whatever

For three years in a row it's reigned
as something utterly disdained
yet everyone employs this word
when too lethargic to be stirred.

Solstice

Winter's first day
aside from the gray
is our longest lapse without sun to belay

the imminent pall
that's stalking us all
awaiting the passage of seasons to fall.

Exchange

On Christmas, as kids, we risked the peril
of parental wrath to sneak a peek
at brightly wrapped presents that made us feral
enough to wildly shred and shriek
but now, it’s just like a worn-out carol
that drones for its allotted week
and trudging through the stores I’ve prayed
for somewhere to return this jade.

Anon

There’s talk of the world ending again
this time it’s the big one (or so they say)
as preachers spout apocalyptic verse
the masses scan the heavens for a sign
but none is seen and life grinds on the same
epiphanies (it seems) are hard to find.

When looking back through history you’ll find
a duplicate scene again and again
the future and the past are both the same
concerned with what the stars might have to say
but soothsayers are reluctant to sign
the prophecies they’ve hidden in their verse

Haul

There is a great deal, in the writing of poetry, which must be conscious and deliberate. In fact, the bad poet is usually unconscious when he ought to be conscious and conscious when he ought to be unconscious. Both errors tend to make him “personal”. Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

—T. S. Eliot from Tradition and the Individual Talent (1917)—


Another trove of treasure found
with sturdy covers firmly bound
I’ll dive into these shining dreams
to scavenge anything that gleams;
this trek has been a constant quest
to find an overflowing chest
of precious gems that sparkle bright
with glaring facets of delight
from kingdoms I have never known
that beckon me (as timbers groan)
beyond the continental shelf
to finally see outside myself.

Focus

Illumination all depends
on what we wish to see
for even through the sharpest lens
incensed incredulity

can make the most perceptive blind
or the wisest one a fool
our greatest asset is the mind
don't ever dull your tool.

Resuscitation

Dichotomous
describes the us
I always thought we had
indignity
invades the me
that's suddenly quite sad
enormous rue
exudes from you
I know my faults are trying
but if we care
we may breathe air
into a love that's dying.

Making an Effort

I’ve never been so tired
or felt so damn alive,
I’ve wallowed uninspired
but now I long to thrive
forgetting I was mired
and barely did survive.

We seldom face the facts
until it’s time to die
our peevish pride retracts
and we at last see why
the greatest of our acts
is learning how to try.



***Hi all! Boy this year surely flew by, but as it draws to a close I get a bit tired looking back. This week has been extremely busy including a visit from our local TV station’s morning crew delivering 2 dozen cupcakes we won in a holiday cheer contest. Of course the clincher was my grandson Westin pouting for a cupcake in the picture we entered on facebook. You can check it at WTEN on their page.

Tonight the whole main street area around our diner is having a ‘Winter Mixer’ – so we will be open for dinner (normally breakfast-lunch) and are having live acoustic entertainment as well, provided by myself and Tom and George from the bands 3 of a Kind and The Rogues. These two guys have jammed together for 40 years and they are super talented and really harmonize so well with each other, I get excited to just listen to them, now I’m honored to participate. Last year was the first such event and it went over so well, it should be even better this year with milder temps and no snow. Then my wife and I get to clean up, get out of there who knows when, and get back up at 4 am to open for Saturday – whew.

Christmas wasn’t always my favorite holiday as my late mother’s drinking and misery really seemed to escalate then after my parents split, I think in some ways it symbolized the failure she perceived her life to be. I’ll never forget coming home one day just before her 40th birthday and she just sat sobbing uncontrollably clutching a book to her chest so tightly her knuckles were white. I later found out from my sister it was her yearbook and I couldn’t help wondering how her life had scarred her so badly because she never spoke of it, at least that I know of. I miss her terribly but feel the chains of previous misfortunes finally starting to loosen. Unfortunately this time of year is heavily tied up in memories and bad ones can really spoil the mood, but I choose to savor the ones from youth when she was vibrant and healthy. She’d set up her manger scene on the mantle and I’d help bake cookies, oh the smells! She really was such a loving person and that is how she will always be remembered by me.

I want to thank everyone that has stopped by and for all the encouraging comments; I truly hope you and yours have a chance to make some memories worth keeping this year and for years to come. Peace.***

Icing

Dough can be formed
it’s just sugar and flour
that needs to be warmed
with a little raw power

vanilla mixed in
plus butter (yum yum)
with a moppet’s grin
is where love comes from.

Shucks

Conglomerates control the corn
unconcerned with who’s a husk
they only sniff when stalks are shorn
for monetary musk,

oblivious to growling guts
and sunken, hollow eyes
they cultivate unyielding ruts
with hopes the price will rise;

these moguls of the upper tiers
could care what cause is born
our voices fall on deafest ears—
conglomerates control the corn.

Reversible

My ignorance is my weakest chink
and perhaps my best defense
if I don’t know what others think
who cares if it makes sense?

Ground Swell

Incorporation doesn’t stop
with those that wallow at the top
they want a world where everyone
will rush to get their bidding done,
their boards convene with one intent
to pilfer every penny spent
by those that have no choice but buy
the plastic promises they ply;
but now the ones who have it rough
it seems, at last, have had enough
their anger spills into the street
to jar the balance of said ‘elite’
the grazing of the golden calf
should easily be cut in half
provided it’s not melted down
with every self-appointed crown.


***The first year of this blog I wrote a little ditty using an earthquake prone area as a metaphor for social injustice which now seems a bit prophetic considering the 'Occupation' - hmmm***

Enrichment

Good luck improving your lot
the weary world is running low
be happy with what you've got.

Convinced you're such a have-not
when millions have nothing to show?
Good luck improving your lot

forgetting the frozen sot
with nowhere warm to go,
be happy with what you've got

not teeth consumed by rot
that starving children grow,
good luck improving your lot

before you fill your plot
and lose your chance to sow.
Be happy with what you've got

that you even get a single shot
to let a needy person know
you'll help improve their lot--
be happy with what you've got.

Loafing

We've all had breakfast to go
in boxes of various types
that said, I want you to know
about one of my biggest gripes
the foul offense I hate the most
is trying to stomach soggy toast.

It comes from the toaster hot
and crispy to be assured
but pulled from the box it's not
some radical change has occurred
it's damp and limp, a mushy joke
not worthy of soaking up golden yolk--

just think of what we've acheived
as a race, the list is immense
but is it to be believed
this problem is too intense
and hopes of mobile breakfast are dead
for want of a piece of toasted bread?

Most Important Meal

Ice cold pills
with steaming hot brew
bye bye ills
for an hour or two
and then perhaps a spot of food
to help improve my morning mood.

Urbanism

The curbs are low and worn
the granite crudely shorn
in this town where I was never born,
a legacy of rust
and long forgotten dust
awaits the fools that blindly trust
the scavengers of scorn
that just this very morn
sought perches to adorn
on pillars of concrete
that frame the indiscreet
surviving in the street.

Snug

Freedom isn’t free
but why the lofty fee
conception comes without constraint
isn’t that how life should be?

Our minds should be immune
to any hateful tune
toxicity that tends to taint
our outlooks much too soon

resulting in the chains
that pinch some vital veins
the stifling self-imposed restraint
we trade for social gains.

Waxing

As finite fuel is burned
the wick becomes concerned
with how far it must go
to keep that healthy glow.

Execution

The Satrap’s frame was corpulent
(he seldom had to move)
his servants were quite diligent
maintaining every groove
they scurried all about the tent
in hopes that he’d approve
their work before he faced the crowd
to claim the head that he’d been vowed.

Assassins are a tricky sort—
a blade that’s up for hire
may kill another just for sport
if that’s their true desire
but often they’re the last resort
for cowards that aspire
to covet someone else’s lot
by plying an atrocious plot.

The gathering was set for dawn
to keep the Satrap cool
he paused to stifle one more yawn
then said “Where is the fool
that promised when his sword was drawn
my target’s blood would pool?
Such failure is a foul disgrace
and now his neck shall take her place!”

The axe man towered dark and slim
and resting on one arm
his scimitar looked deadly grim
impatient to bring harm
to anyone whose private whim
opposed his Master’s charm
the pitted blade was ample proof
that no offenders stayed aloof.

The Dark One was brought out in chains
that dragged across the ground
his passive face showed little pains
the crowd conveyed no sound
the only noises – clanging strains
that ricocheted around,
and a buzzing fly oblivious
to all of this official fuss.

“BEHOLD!” the Satrap loudly cried
from where he perched on stage
“The craven killer that denied
your Satrap’s righteous rage,
deliberately he stood and lied
about the war he’d wage
my chosen victim continues to breathe
which really makes my anger seethe!”

The silent crowd remained sedate
they’d seen this scene before
the tyrant would pontificate
and then he would implore
those listening to never hate
enough that they ignore
his needs as soon as they were voiced,
such graciousness should be rejoiced.

Meanwhile, just outside the town
some phantoms stalked a dune
Verona wore a worried frown
she knew that very soon
to save the man of dark renown
she’d challenge a platoon
her only fear? Not death, you see
but that her lover won’t go free.

Her lookouts signaled – time to ride,
the dark one bent to kneel
they thundered forth and hit full stride
while bristling with steel
the executioners eyes grew wide
he stopped his blade to wheel
and join the bloody fight
but a whizzing arrow felled his might,

acute confusion claimed the day
the shaking Satrap ran,
Verona made it through the fray
and now she had to plan
on how to snatch the keys away
from the jailer of her man
when much to her surprise she found
he stood before her, wrists unbound.


***Well this is part VII of the Desert Saga - here's a link to part VI which has links to previous chapters. Enjoy!***

Intermission

I'm certain of which strings to cut
to make your puppet fall
I'd really love to do it but
I haven't got the gall

it seems I'm just too nice a guy
to interupt your show
be thankful my true motives lie
in getting up to go.

Portent

You've had your time to rest
and now they're coming from the west
they fill the winter sky
these harbingers of hell that fly
on wings as black as night
to fill our mortal souls with fright
there'll be no more delays
it's time to face the final days.

Reprogrammed

Amos the android could be quite beguiling
he practiced the premise of unrehearsed smiling
his circuits were coded to simulate life
to learn from both pleasure and strenuous strife
constructed of alloys that made him eternal
he knew to find truth you search by the kernel
without the depression of living to die
he began to unravel the riddle of why.

A movement sprang up inspired by his writing
which cautioned against the futility of fighting
and once people started to heed what he said
they found their aggression was easily shed
all flags were torn down and nations disbanded
the concept of freedom was vastly expanded
a world where redemption was finally supplied
by an android named Amos who never knew pride.

Seconds

I had soup with my grandson yesterday
it was quite an amazing treat
it filled me up in a special kind of way
and I even got to eat,

his celery became a green dinosaur
his carrot a crocodile
while I stood basking on the shore
in the radiance of his smile;

such silliness was so sublime
who ever would have guessed
that my weary days of wasted rhyme
could be so truly blessed

and although time will play its tricks
by moving much too fast
I’ll binge on these few precious ticks
as long as they may last.

Aerodonetics

To stand upon the precipice
that overlooks a gorge of bliss
encouraged by a zephyr’s kiss

and hazard the voracious void
in hopes of being overjoyed—
we fly reborn or die destroyed.

Skids

Observe: metallic mites proceed
along the avenue of greed
their glaring glassine eyes aglow
and creeping up on those too slow
oblivious to risks of speed
or having nowhere good to go.

Report: indifferent fools condemn
this race to shun what’s good for them
by paving under gray concrete
the verdant earth beneath their feet
so they can drive a gleaming gem
down a dead end street.

Broke

It’s tough to save when you’re a slave
surviving on the runny gruel
some handsome, haughty master gave
his favorite feisty fool.

You scrounge but never get ahead
(it’s tough to save when you’re a slave)
you’ll scramble for a crust of bread
they love to make you crave

to lure you right into a grave
there are more to take your place,
it’s tough to save when you’re a slave
a sliver of forgiving grace

within your anguished mind.
It’s an asset to be brave
but when you’re strapped you just may find
it’s tough to save when you’re a slave.

Count On It

Mathematics never lie
but numbers can be sly
the most pragmatic answer rests
in understanding why

for ignorance infests
what vanity divests
just look at all the would-be kings
beneath their fallen crests

as the victor's fanfare rings
(betrayal really stings)
subjective misconceptions won
by more self-serving things.

Get Cookin'

Life is like a can of hash
alot of filler, little flash
but if it's rendered properly
what a banquet it can be.

Common Sense

I need my own voice
so I can sing
the song of my choice
and let it ring

but also an ear
that finds the key
ensuring I hear
what sets me free

with keener sight
I might confirm
that pointless fright
makes one a worm

and using touch
I hope to find
the love of such
as my own kind.

Thankful

In search of even ground to tread
a clearer path on which to wend
extensive tours within my head
were quaint but never did ascend
I thought of all the poems I'd penned
and helpful things I tried to say
ironically though, in the end
it took a child to chart the way.

Justifiable

So many wander aimlessly
you can see it on their faces
they stand and dawdle shamelessly
incognizant of graces,

they prop their carts perpendicular
across the narrow aisle
and when you say “Can I slip through here?”
you get a vacant smile,

or when they swerve their vehicles
serenely cross the road
unmindful of the ventricles
that threaten to explode

and now that it’s the holiday
their kind are everywhere
holding up the lines to pay
completely unaware—

the world could use some levity
and clemency to boot
but block the way in front of me
and I may have to shoot.

Transcend

Don’t dwell on the line you forgot
just think of another to jot
the stars and the stories you plot
comprise the extent of your lot—

resist that reflexive restraint
when prepping your palette to paint
don’t let your timidity taint
your flicker until it’s too faint—

creation is crucial you see
to prove to ourselves that we’re free
and that deep inside you and me
is the essence of all we can be.

Cheesy

When did my compassion turn to varnish,
my modest mettle slowly start to tarnish?
I must search inside to ascertain my center
where moderation manifests as mentor;
serenity’s insidious asylum
can turn malign, corrupting healthy xylem
but was it Sheryl Crow or was it Buddha
that said – don’t long for Swiss if you’ve got Gouda.

Breakers

The ocean gnaws the shore
I bite back with my oar
a turbulent tug-of-war
as is the tide.

My valiant vessel braves
the brunt of warrior waves
though billions in their graves
already tried.

Upon our fluid fronts
the flow of battle stunts
advancement for the grunts
that die denied.

Icarian Idyl

An amber autumn sun
is sinking in the sky
like golden leaves that run
on winds condemned to die
as all the deeds we've done
despite how hard we try,

a higher court will try
us justly when the sun
explodes and life is done
or comets from the sky
condemn our lot to die
wherever we may run.

We've had a decent run
while learning how to try
though best intentions die
deprived of precious sun
when gloomy grayish sky
has ultimately done

its job, though hope's not done,
uncertain, never run
as boundless as the sky
above we long to try
to fly through but the sun,
if neared, will make us die;

but must we conform to the die?
a creed that hasn't done
one thing to stop the sun
yet promises to run
the circus better - they'll try
to patch the ailing sky,

when porcine pilots sky
above our heads (I'd die
to see the porkers try!)
but it just can't be done
and soon we all will run
from the fury of the sun.

Ever try to reach for the sky
to brave the sun you cast a die
deciding what's done - roast or run.

Just Me

Juxtaposed
Unmercifully
Somewhere
Twixt

Misguided
Expectations.

Written Out

All contact eschewed
and now she can’t feel
they call it a mood
like they know what’s real
the only thing that keeps her sane
are endless thoughts she can’t contain

and pouring them out
an inky curative
a spiritual spout
that compels her to live
until that unimaginable day
when there’s nothing left to say.

Digest

I keep one tasteful book
of Browning in my house
which must have been mistook
for brownies by a mouse!

Keep it Moving

A leaf has a season to be
one temperate instance that’s free
from eventual entropy

the universe cycles (with luck)
and we’re just primordial muck,
eternal stagnation would suck.

Big

The genesis is like a kiss
from sweet soft lips enticing bliss,
gestation starts and heart of hearts
begins to form its fleshy parts,
delivery is easily
the hardest step (it’s killing me)
before you know it has to go
and hopefully you watch it grow.

Involved

A person perpetually perplexed
may find that it's a challenge to exist
when stumbling from one crisis to the next
through follies of frustration that persist.

We really shouldn't snicker at the sight
of people perpetually perplexed
for any one of us could face the plight
supposing that our luck is somehow hexed

that someone's evil mojo has been flexed
to cast a spell of never ending strife,
a person perpetually perplexed
mistakenly blames others for their life

and all the pain they bring upon themselves
like me, a vessel evidently vexed
defeated in whatever den it delves
a person perpetually perplexed.

Cable

The garbled waves of make pretend
that carry pitches shysters send
used to travel through the air
to anyone, anywhere--
a spiny piece of metal set
upon the roof and angled let
a snowy face at last be seen
emitted by that glowing screen
which called the family to convene
but now the robbers truly get
the most invasive signal yet
that straps you to your easy chair
(of course with beer and munchies there)
programming you with the latest trend
they keep the tether taut my friend.

Brrrr

The trees aren't bare though leaves have gone
their latest duds revealed at dawn
the crows that come from everywhere
though leaves have gone the trees aren't bare.

Long limbs are bowed beneath the weight
as ebon bodies congregate
a murder found a new abode
beneath the weight long limbs are bowed.

The coldness comes before we know
and with it frozen mounds of snow
the chilling call of ravens numbs
before we know, the coldness comes.

Theme

Will the ride end tomorrow
or was it over yesterday
we’re bombarded with such sorrow
at times it’s hard to say,

no prophecy could quite foretell
the depth of hate we feel
or testimony ever quell
the sway of evil’s zeal.

The glowing demon vomits forth
regurgitated death
while junk with no intrinsic worth
pilfers trusting breath—

an orgy of destruction waits
for one unknown event
that unexpectedly escalates
our dizzying descent,

I just hope by then that I’ll be
tagged upon my toe
another weary tourist free
from this wonderland of woe.

Punchline

I’m not a no-nonsense kind of guy
I love a good joke or two
but if you think it’s a riot to spit in my eye
you won’t be laughing when it’s through.

Quandary

Is foresight intelligence
if no one bothers to heed,
is knowledge arrogance
on which the boorish feed,
is conceit just indifference
that brews within our breed—
can apathetic happenstance
fulfill our constant need?

Stale

The day that junk food disappears
we’ll probably age twenty years
but not from how anybody lives
just a simple lack of preservatives.

Generation

Each time I see that pic I always start
to smile (we three are laughing on the stairs)
I love that little imp with all my heart

he elevates sheer cuteness to an art
with candid spurts of wonder he declares.
Each time I see that pic I always start

to feel the warmth his closeness can impart
and joy his playful grin innately shares.
I love that little imp with all my heart,

so much, without him near it tends to smart
and then the need for pointless crying flares,
each time I see that pic I always start

the salty, sentimental tears are tart
a burden that my doting gladly bears,
I really love that imp with all my heart.

I hope that I have somehow done my part
assuring him that someone out there cares
each time I see our pic I always start
to feel a grandpa's love within my heart.

All Souls

I hugged the faux coffin, gently kissed it
knowing full well that you weren't in it
while praying that its golden hue
would match the halo saved for you;

you were never expected to be pristine
but we didn't know how hard it could be
and you slowly started to slip between
the rifts that we refused to see

as black as this case
of chalky white ash
my own private stash
of shameful disgrace

its been such a blur
from fallible eyes
or innermost lies
who knows for sure...

and who knows why those we love feel so much pain
they take their haunting secrets to the grave
attempts to ask the ashen are in vain
just be thankful for the precious love they gave.

Code of Conduct

A lavish lord
can ill afford
to not reward if profits soared

but so it goes
the fortune grows
while workers wallow in their woes

but now they stand
together and
they’re questioning who’ll run this land

they mustn’t shirk
what dangers lurk
for all good things require work

if we don’t earn
what makes us yearn
we’ll never get to grow and learn.

Virago

Gertrude Germanky
was laughably lanky
and always came off
as a little bit cranky

she’d scathingly scoff
and men (with a cough)
were rapidly donning
what they’d chanced to doff.

Despite all the yawning
her banter was spawning
she seemed to be blind
no inkling was dawning

to try and be kind
or not speak her mind
and once she passed thirty
the odds that she’d find

a beau who was flirty
or daringly dirty
grew steadily worse
for garrulous Gerty.

Overture

I search for signs of meaning in my life
but only find uncertainty and strife,
why can’t I just be like others are
oblivious to callings from afar—

the sultry siren song of distant dreams
which helps drown out the incoherent screams
of sordid souls that cultivate distress
to disregard their own ungodly mess

is sometimes all that keeps me somewhat sane
and stomaching the melodramatic strain
which emanates from this chaotic globe
an inauspicious specimen to probe,

replete with those too bellicose to hear
the symphonies that beckon every ear
with promises of furnishing a clue
on how to make our best potential true.

Heated

The boundless hope of youth is gone
deducted by the corporation
which leaves me sorely overdrawn
surviving on sheer desperation
while every day seems less and less
that any dream will coalesce,

but a fire in my heart still burns
despite the constant suffocation
of those whose selfish coldness yearns
to thoroughly block all ventilation
and though they try without much shame
they’ll never snuff this fearsome flame.

Tricky

Existence is the sweetest treat
on which creation splurges
but there won’t be much left to eat
if we can’t control our urges

with seven billion souls in need
of food to stuff their flappers
just make sure before you feed
to not discard the wrappers!


***Today on Halloween the 7 billionth person will be brought into this world, better get more candy.***

Firmament

Our distant neighbor sparkled in the sky
so brilliantly I couldn't help but spy
She must have felt the prying of my eye
and ducked behind a veil of nimbus nigh

when suddenly a flash distracted me
a shooting star with no humility
went streaking by as happy as can be
enjoying one last meteoric spree

I gazed with awe at heaven's endless reach
impatient to absorb what it could teach
before the glaring sun came out to bleach
away the humble hunger to beseech.

Deciduous

The brutal autumn wind
batters bloody leaves
whose once green ranks have thinned

a bony mother grieves
(her histrionic limbs
attack what she believes

is sky) but barely skims
the vastness of the space
through which this season swims

intractably keeping pace
to frigidly rescind
our fleeting chance for grace.

Alluvion

I pledge
this wedge
will never hedge
my need
to bleed
that’s guaranteed
for I
comply
with no one’s lie
no stone
or moan
will ever postpone
what seems
like streams
of dormant dreams.

Oh Squat

His heart was scared
a bit impaired
and really not prepared to be shared,

“But once I heal”
he said “For real,
I’ll gladly kneel to seal the deal.”

She said, “We’ll see
but mess with me
and you won’t be erect to pee.”

Kenning

If less is more
then I’m not poor
I’m one of the richest alive
so near destitute
an atom of loot
will dwarf what my efforts contrive.

Prime Time

Her choppers are perfect
the smile quite fake,
the lack of a defect
their glaring mistake
for how can we trust those so free
with their artificiality?

Yet millions keep viewing
and rubbing their hands
reflexively ruing
the current demands
on people of conscience to think
before we go over the brink.

Enduring

She stands with her back to the shore
a patron colossus of yore
whose skin overlaid
is the soothing green shade
that welcomes the hungry and poor.

From her torch of mythic renown
to the hem of her matronly gown
she’s destined to be
the Queen of the Free
for all seven points on her crown.

The epic of Man isn’t done
there are chapters not even begun
and eons from now
will she still endow
us with courage to free everyone?


***Happy 125th!!***

Visibility

I talk to God but the sky is empty - Sylvia Plath

A deity gesticulated
and all we know was thus created
or so they said on sunday morn
where doubt was doused with scathing scorn;

incessant bouts of genuflection,
imploring for some new direction
has yet to yield a solid sign
of mercy, mortal or divine.

Right

Wherever there's gold
there's bound to be greed
and lies to be sold
disguised as a cause
that has selfish need
within its bylaws.

Zap

The crackle of a burning arc
can help ignite a common spark
that powers up a brand new way
to counteract the dark

of night whose doubts delay
advancement, while we grope and pray
for guidance to detect the mark
where we can find that ray.

A Young Fellow with Hair Colored Yellow

The sun was a fiery hot ball in the sky
when I looked, it hurt my eyes
but it still felt good deep down inside.

As I looked I heard a song on the radio
by a young fellow with hair colored yellow
a Simple Man who knew how to put on a show!

Gazing up, sunshine on my face
I saw a plane leaving for some distant place
it reminded me how he had run his last race.

That day, it was sad indeed
our world left just a bit more in need
The day the Freebird was finally freed.


***dedicated to Ronnie VanZant 10/20/77***

Here is a link to a song called Grey Ghost by The Henry Paul Band, best tribute song ever.

Detached

You mustn’t misconstrue
the stony gaze of the moon
when its countenance impales you
like an icy cold harpoon
for disregard can help undo
conceit’s aloof cocoon
romance is rich with rue
you swelter or you swoon.

:D

I've always got a smile
for those that merit such
but boilers of bile
mmmmmaybe not so much.

Fervent

The half-dressed trees look haggard
like they just went through a fight,
were beaten up then staggered
to huddle here in fright
reluctant to release the leaves
a wooden spirit sorely grieves—

their lanky limbs defiant
they shudder from each blow
refuse to be compliant
despite the coming snow
and wobble, but will not be tamed
as ruddy features grow enflamed.

Nobility

He rose through wisdom, peace and truth
to lead the less than free
a man whose character was proof
of what a King should be.


Written in honor of the MLK Jr. Memorial dedication

Exhibit

I guess it's my lot
to be a have not
and service the sort
that don't deserve what they've got

to scurry and sweat
exuding regret
while they snidely snort
"Is it done yet?"

But I can't be obsessed
with if I'll be blesssed
for time is too short
to not do my best

whatever my fate
I won't be irate
and never resort
to the tactics of hate

when judgment is made
we all will be weighed
in the mightiest court
by the love we displayed.

Overrun

I screamed at the words, “JUST GO AWAY,
I’m in NO MOOD to think today,
it’s RAINING and the sky is GRAY!”
They merely snickered “Yeah, okay.

Your mind is ours, so just keep still
we have a lot of holes to fill
and a thought or two we may instill
compelling you to sit and spill.”

I felt repressed, but what could I do
they were so many, and I so few
and once I let them filter through
this is what was left for you.

Practice

My guitars are a little rough
because I play more than polish
but no discord or scuff
will ever quite abolish
this need that thrums inside of me
for a balanced scale and harmony.

Woody

“What a stiff!” the bullies jeer
and though I have a tough veneer
it hurts my pride deep inside
so much I want to disappear

but you’re unique and didn’t see
a problem with rigidity
in fact you said that in our bed
it’s something you expect of me.

Calling

On the cusp of foreseeable fall
will we hear the cherubim call
or do atoms disperse
across the diverse
dimensions that constitute all?

Are we simply carbon and such
coherent as long as we clutch
to fragments of thought
or is substance wrought
through tentative trials of touch

where friction is bound to ensue
enabling passion to brew,
a force with which we
can forge a degree
of purpose we long to construe.

Starting Over

The voice of a generation
has found a new reason to sing
the object of his veneration
is partial to its ring

but was his old counterpoint
on his mind as vows were sworn
the day they chose to make it joint
his former mate was born.


***Congrats Sir Paul/RIP Mr. Lennon***

Losing It

The giant grew older (as everyone will)
and started to barter his beanstalk for ill
the vultures got eager (as scavengers do)
and circled him, anxious for something to chew
but he was too stubborn (as most giants are)
to shoo off the vermin despite his last scar
and he's withered some more (as thin as can be)
a victim of arrogance mixed with ennui.

Summit

My departure wasn't soon
enough to catch the sun's demise
clouds conspired to hide the moon
from eager, earthbound eyes
but once I belted out my tune
the powerful reprise
would help reveal the breadth of heaven's scope
a panorama deep inside of hope.

Don't Knock It

Beyond this door lies the daunting unknown,
a world of mystery one knock away,
just grab my brass ring and you will be shown.

Don’t fear the darkness because you’re alone
with a satin caress it begs you to stay,
beyond this door lies the daunting unknown.

Forget all those sins for which you atone
embrace your desires, come in and play,
just grab my brass ring and you will be shown;

an icy chill that cuts right to the bone
reminds you suddenly, you are the prey.
Beyond this door lies the daunting unknown,

leery feet falter on cold drafty stone
curiosity calls, leading the way,
just grab my brass ring and you will be shown

when these rusty old hinges creak and groan
another morsel getting carried away—
Beyond this door lies the daunting unknown
just grab my brass ring and you will be shown.

Extremity

I recall feeling like a gymnast going for the gold
while hoping that still growing hands would have the strength to hold,
the branch I wished to reach was a good six feet from my perch
and I knew that when I grabbed it skinny arms would surely lurch;

I gritted teeth and leapt with all the strength I had inside
then snatched the limb whose prickly bark abraded my soft hide
and when the fullness of my weight felt the pull of the earth
I closed my eyes and held on tight for all that I was worth.

That gap was spanned so often, soon the bark was worn away
the naked wood much easier on youthful hands at play
and there were times I slipped to hit the ground with one big slam
but the fact that I still jumped is just a part of who I am.

Processor

An apple is only a fruit
until someone makes it compute,
mankind and machine slowly mesh
through the fervor of fallible flesh
before the command to reboot.


RIP Steve Jobs

Top 20

Hi everybody! I got an email from one of my friends over at Accredited Online Colleges, her name is Emma and she requested that I check out their post of the top 20 American Poems and spread the word if so inclined. I think it's a respectable collection and am leaving the link HERE so you can check it out.

Do stop back and let me know what you think or leave them a comment on their blog. Thanks!

Standard

Conceit, I would cleanse myself of thee
To find out if untainted truth is easier to see;

Deceit, I shall shun thy tempting lure
In order for my senses to detect a fact that’s pure;

Anger, I must rein that harsh retort
Which manifests in battle, whether mortal or for sport;

Languor, I can crush thy lack of force
By riding forth with passion, regardless of the course;

Neglect, I need never fear the knave
Forsaking everything they love for power that they crave;

Respect, I will vow to always strive
To practice thee on every soul I meet while I’m alive.

Clemency

On the eve of your destruction will you beg for a reprieve,
will you stand and shout defiantly “It’s not my time to leave!”
or will you shuffle sheepishly, your weary head hung low
because you know there’s really nowhere worse than here to go.

Pickup

I strolled for a stroke
on bricks that were broke
with moss sticking out
like fuzzy green grout
as autumn awoke

with grumpy gray eyes
to purchase my prize
and shook off the chill
that gets colder still
despite pointless sighs.

Have a Heart

Do not give in too much to feelings. An overly sensetive heart is an unhappy possession on this shaky earth - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

This vessel of dismay
is useful, some would say
but I'm giving it away

it's much too soft you see
and filled so easily
with mushy misery

that seems to ever cloy
and dismally destroy
a chance for lasting joy.

Twilight Charge

The keening squeal
of steel on steel
as loyal track
meets wayward wheel
echoes through the frozen night
a dying creature’s cry of fright;

our trusted steed
has served its need
and now we send it
out to seed
but I shall never lose the sight
of that defiant midnight flight.

Out

The old man woke up early
becoming dark and surly
then crashed at the crumbling bank
belligerent and burly

depositing a bevy
of trinkets for his levy
and leaving things extremely dank
the humid air so heavy

that stanchions grew unsteady
and nobody was ready
when interrupted current sank
beneath a swirling eddy.

Breaking

Hysteria is bearing fruit
get listeria, file suit
they’ve kindled up a brighter blaze
to dwindle apple’s glowing glaze,

the politicians peddle lies
mortician’s work is on the rise
insanity is all the rage
for humanity and the wars we wage.


***Hi! This was inspired by an email I received today from Jingle Monster offering to trade links. One section of their blog makes use of news to craft delightful poems, inspired thusly, here is a similar attempt on my part - enjoy! I will be adding a permanent link to their site as soon as I know where to point it.***

Payday

The dollar is dying
it’s drowning in debt
they just print more money
the ink is still wet
the rich that were lying
have not one regret
but they won’t think it’s funny
when their blood is let.

Happiness is Free

Feel like a song today (yes there is music written for this)


The morning sun burns off the mist
that gently sits
upon the softly rolling hills
the dew is shining on the grass
and deep inside my conscience asks
why I feel so unfulfilled
the clouds are high and white and clean
it’s like I’m living in a dream
but I know this is my world
because when I take a look around
there’s little joy to be found
and I can’t make it better with my words.

How come nothing’s ever simple
The way that it was meant to be
Why get caught up in your sorrow
Don’t you know my friend that happiness is free?

Now the sun is higher in the sky
its golden rays caress my eyes
and warm the morning air
the sky is blue, the earth is green
life was never so serene
it makes me wonder why we need to feel despair
because life is just an empty slate
filled with things that we create
why not make some happiness
life is good and love is free
that is good enough for me
but people fight nevertheless.

CHORUS

The day is done, the sun’s gone down
the planets and the stars abound
in a clear evening sky
I don’t know where the world went wrong
if only we could get along
I think we’d be pleasantly surprised.

CHORUS

Serious

When we're forced to exist in the vacuum of space
can we learn to live without down
will depression become an obsolete word
a quaintly archaic noun

or will we finally discover that we
just simply cannot escape
our compulsive attraction to gravity
the pull that gives us shape.

Scarf

A waning summer sun
sails across an autumn sky
and all the things I haven’t done
are things that I must try

an earthy whiff of musk
precedes the harvest spread
we must gather ere the dusk
is hanging overhead

and time for sowing ends
as does the chance to grow
the churning cycle ever wends
towards the looming snow.

Refrain

We listened to the baleful bards
whose brittle words fell like shards
upon the grass
then walked across the green expanse
that tinkled with the dissonance
of broken glass

together we all sang as one
beneath a mellow autumn sun
that felt so fine
our common voice began to rise
to radiate throughout the skies
and grand design

the stuff of our collective dream
was amplified into a scream
that echoed out
and all the pointless petty pain
from which it seems we can’t abstain
we did without.

Heretic

Once you’ve cropped me from the picture
don’t expect me to be swayed
by the subject of your scripture
or the demons that you’ve made

the sacrament will be eschewed
your prayers remain unsung
and the only host routinely chewed
is when I bite my tongue.

Rationale

A lone crow caws
my heart gives pause
then suddenly gets skewered by
iconoclastic claws

a ruptured vein
begins to drain
and though I'm feeling less than spry
I stoically contain

my pain and pretend
that pride didn't rend
my faith so I can somehow try
to lick my wounds and mend.

Good?

Oh, how I long to sip
from the fullness of your lip
then I’d joyously ingest
the ample bounty of your breast—

I’ve never known such gnawing need
to treat myself and freely feed
upon the spread that you proffer
so joint contentment can occur.

Outgunned

Never wage a wordy war
with one poetically inclined
unless, of course, you have a sharper quill,
engage without a metaphor
and you’ll more than likely find
how rapidly a well honed verse can kill.

Epitaph II

Remember, when I’m laid to rest
I always tried to do my best
and let me say as I depart
my words were ever from the heart.

Blindsided

Mohinder McFadden
the ‘Irish Alladin’
was a whiz at pugilistic affairs
he was brutish and burly
his mustache was curly
and he mustered the meanest of stares

he was born with no money
no milk or no honey
by a gym on the lower east side
as he slowly got bigger
he learned how to trigger
a jab and to gracefully glide.

By his teenage years
he was collecting arrears
for a mobster named Mikey The Knife
then fought with his zipper
and knocked up a stripper
who glumly became his first wife,

but he was so cocky
their union turned rocky
before they could utter ‘I Do’
and it didn’t take much
for them to lose touch
admitting the marriage was through.

While romance was waning
old Mo began training
in order to have his first bout
he wasn’t indulging
his muscles were bulging
a victory seemed without doubt.

His opponent was wiry
with eyes that were fiery
and a hook that could level a house
by the end of the fight
he was curled up in fright
like an ailurophobic mouse.

His foes were all eaten
and Mo stayed unbeaten
the longest unstoppable champ
till a knockout at ringside
looked at him doe-eyed
and somebody snuffed out his lamp.

Mohinder McFadden
the ‘Irish Alladin’
was a whiz at pugilistic affairs
a mythic contender
who battled for splendor
until he was caught unawares.

Foundations

The names are etched around the pools
where promise once stood tall
the characters, like precious jewels
we longingly recall

against an open sky of blue
the harmless faced attack
by merciless marauders who
would prove some souls are black;

there’s still a chance that hope will rise
and justice can rejoice
just look into their children’s eyes
or listen to ones voice

they’ll not forget that painful day
and tragic lessons learned
we mustn’t indiscreetly slay
our freedom should be earned.

First Response

The towers fell
we'll never quell
that frantic frontrow glimpse of hell

we beg our Lords
to smite 'their' hordes
with vigorously vengeful swords

but here's the crease
the pain won't cease
until we learn to pray for peace.

Remix

I was jamming Ten Years After
Damn you Alvin Lee!
I can almost hear your laughter
patronizing me
how can we change the world, you never really said
just wrote yourself a catchy tune that echos in my head.

Perhaps I'll put my guitar down
and see what I can do
to help someone erase their frown
or aid somebody who
is struggling to overcome the mayhem and the mud
our unity the only thing worth keeping from the flood.

Ugh!

To scrape with a blade after the woman I love
is something I’ve never enjoyed
it’s a custom of torture that’s barely above
the stone my ancestors employed.

Engorged

The crick is high
and so am I
from your last kiss
when we said goodbye

I saw you blush
and felt a rush
of bubbly bliss
about to gush

so let it pour
rapids roar
I’ll tell you this
I’m set for more.

Incessant

The deluge doesn’t stop
and slowly, drop by drop
you’ll find you have to really tread
to keep yourself on top
away from all the slop
unless you find an isle instead
but soon the seas will sop
your field and kill your crop
and pull you down as though you’re lead
to watch your last breath pop—
the deluge doesn’t stop.

Calculating

Science killed romance
please, put down your lance
there are no dragons keen
for a death defying dance

so pack your sword away
your armor won’t delay
the merciless machine
that mangles myth and clay.

Diversion

We went (despite Irene's disruptive tears)
to walk around the local county fair
in hopes of disregarding the despair
that overflows when bedrock disappears;
a mediocre gathering was there
the grandstand seats awash with empty tiers
the most that we had seen in many years
perhaps because of dust that clogged the air--
those remnants of the raging water's wrath
were clinging to whatever they could find
especially the solidness of ground,
a river has the right to change its path
and so does every other thing in kind,
the greatest comfort we have ever found.

Stay

It'll end soon enough
why hasten it along
and if you merely bluff
don't sing that morbid song
although life is tough
you've always been so strong
this may be off the cuff
but remember - you belong!

Creeps

I watched a tiny spider
bite a moth that dwarfed its size
compelled by it’s ferocious hunger pangs
but she didn’t know beside her
lurked another whose surprise
was quicker feet and slightly sharper fangs.

I witness fellow beings
that prey on those they dwarf
for nothing more than monetary gain
ashamed by what I’m seeing
I feel my conscience morph
demanding I defend the ones in pain.

Drive

Once you commit
don’t ever hesitate
you’ll wind up getting hit
by those that fail to wait.

Tosser

You make us scrounge for pennies
then indiscreetly toss
millions out the window
as though we caused the loss,

there’s nothing more annoying
than a moron with the means
to finance his amusement
abusing worn machines.

Time Out

Irene was storming up and down the street
erratic footprints from her gusty feet
one current stopped, another raged
torrential waters kept us caged
she used to be so small and sweet
before her private war was waged.

Reflection

Don't tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass - Anton Chekhov

It caught my eye
a flash of ghostly silver on the pane
whose jagged pieces lie
across the oaken floor's distinctive grain
and silky strands that frame a spider's lair
are laced throughout the rafters, everywhere.

There's no one here
they packed and left this place so long ago
that no one's really clear
on why they felt an urgent need to go
and rob this dusty hearth of warmth or love,
a haunt for me and the moon above.

Huffy

A hurricane is on the way
and I began to pray
then laughed at my own audacity
for what have I done to sway
the heart of any deity?

Consumed with an unlikely dream
I never share my time
just jot compulsive rhyme,
ream upon decaying ream,
it feels as sad as it must seem

and I decide (with utter gall)
to impolitely call,
beseech upon The Lord
to somehow maybe stall
Irene and save the lowly horde,
but then I hear the squall.

Temper

She hates her life
and therefore hate
is whetted in her mind
much like a knife
whose balanced weight
makes cutting so refined—

abrasive, brash
she loves to watch
her chosen target bleed,
she’ll stab and slash
for each new splotch
helps obviate her need.

Yikes!

I bought a 2012 almanac
and now I want to go put it back
by the second to last page I was filled with fear
that the end is near.

Masterpiece

He was ardent about art
she was harnessing her heart
which made the two decide they should never be apart

and now their love has grown
beyond what they had sown
by taking chances on themselves and the great unknown.

Heritage

A moment can last for a lifetime
a life can go by in a blink
whatever we hope to accomplish
will never turn out like we think,

one battle can vanquish an army
surrender may garner a throne
but conflict is bound to come calling
especially when we’re alone,

damnation is sometimes delightful
until the deposit is due
a humble approach to existence
could equal redemption for you.

Babble On

A pair of bedraggled bicycling bagmen blew breezily by
as I briefly broke bread on my break
in a bout of belated bemusement I began this brash banality
but I believe it was one big mistake.

Consideration

He knew she was willing
desire was spilling
from her eyes like a cask
of wine over filling

she wasn’t that sleazy
but he grew uneasy
then put on his mask
and kept it quite breezy

which leads him to wonder
did he make a blunder
or duck the dread task
of dumping her under.

Running

I fancy the ephemeral
covet the conceivable
eulogize the epilogue
dither like a demagogue.

Done Shopping

Last time I found you right away
but not today
I stalked the aisles full of prey
with much dismay

ignoring all the empty stares
and processed wares
to find the answer to my prayers
the one who cares

until I felt my heartbeat skip
for just a blip
then I grabbed you in my grip
and kissed your lip.

Inconclusive

Investigators diligently search
for clues among the grisly scene
where three old ladies in their church
were hit by a mishandled machine
destroying life with every lurch;
they seek the chip that recorded the routine
with more detail than any mortal eye
but can it answer – why?

Retroaction

If I knew then what I know now
I have a sneaky suspicion, somehow
that things would be the same—

if I could feel now like I felt then
unmindful of that looming when,
perhaps I’d be less tame.

Demo

The silver birds were turned to yellow, orange, black and red by lunatics that yearned to fill our jaded hearts with dread, an effigy morosely burned for the spirits of the dead, a searing torch that won’t abstain lamenting those unjustly slain. We’ve all been tired, we’ve all felt poor we all have things we’ll struggle for but no person should ever need to make another human bleed by nurturing a pointless war; a decade isn’t nearly long enough to heal from pain so strong yet as each name is spoken loud, their noble sacrifice avowed, catharsis calms the throng. That sad September day, a prelude to the coming fall when innocence fell prey to evil’s noxious choking pall will never fade away, with love we honor one and all— the spectrum of forgiveness flows through the prism of our woes.

Want

A swollen moon hangs low tonight
the pallid, pockmarked face we see
is more than just a stone
it’s the avatar of gluttony

for soon the earth will take a bite
and leave a single bone
a lone, illumed parenthesis
with no opposing clone.

Vasty

They used to say there was greatness in me
and to a certain degree it’s still true
there’s a tremendous amount of uncertainty
and even more left to do.

Trait

I often look back to discern why I write
and I remember my Mom telling me
“You can be whatever you want to be,
have you written anything new today?”
which prompted me (with the utmost delight)
to share with her what I had to say.

And now whenever I jot down a line
I can feel her palpable presence there
and despite the undeniable despair
her gentle spirit’s loving touch
imbues my somewhat rigid design
with the caring soul we loved so much.

Steamy

I gave myself a nasty burn
on the inside of my arm
you'd think I've cooked enough to learn
that heat can do you harm
but oh what pleasure when you tame
the passion of a fiesty flame.

Imperative

The nameless one cried “FASTER!”
to his dark and foaming steed
he had never known a master
or knelt before such need.

He found, with moonlight glistening
upon his windswept face,
that he could not stop listening
for whispers of her grace

that wafted on the twilight
within his inner mind
and only helped to highlight
the love he’d left behind.

While miles away Verona
who likewise thought of him
took on a new persona
pursuing passion’s whim

she gathered up her clansmen
and made sure they were armed
then raced with great abandon
her heart must not be harmed

she knew that he was honor bound
to keep the deal he’d made
and that he’d kneel upon the ground
to meet the falling blade.

At times a love is so intense
it counteracts the pain
and odds that seem to be immense,
with hope that won’t abstain.


***Part 6 of my desert saga, here's a link to part 5 which has links to 1-4 at the bottom, enjoy!***

Menace

Careening in her own conceited world
with every mirror angled towards her face
she giggled at the expletive I hurled
then cut me off as though I stood in place

because there are no other moving cars
careening in her own conceited world
she only glimpses unicorns and stars
and pennants to her prettiness unfurled.

Within me an indignant anger swirled—
what made this twit believe she had the right
careening in her own conceited world,
I wanted to give chase and start a fight

but knew it wouldn’t matter much to her
ensuring that her hair was cutely curled
oblivious to crashes she’ll incur
careening in her own conceited world.

Sellout

The problem with unfaithfulness
is just how quickly we regress
to being people more concerned
with what’s been bought than truly earned.

Sentence

I’m trapped within this prison
confined behind these walls
another sun has risen
and still, my freedom calls,

I watch the shadows wander
and feel a twinge of hate
for all I did was squander
my kingdom for this fate;

another night of dreaming
I can somehow change the past
to waken wet and screaming,
the dawn returns too fast

condemning me to witness
the shadows shy advance
while forfeiting my fitness
for any second chance.

Beat

I’ve had some lucid lapses
when my outlook’s not so glum
perhaps my fried synapses
were too cynical to bum
but then my mood relapses
and I’m hollow as a drum
when everything collapses
will I know the end has come?

Little Orange Feather

Oh little orange feather
on the ground at my feet,
little orange feather
so vibrant and petite

did you come from someone’s
clothing, some jewelry or a purse
and when the loss was realized
did they soundly curse?

Oh little orange feather
do not fear to be alone
for little orange feather
I claim you as my own

I’ll put you where your brightness
shines to ultimately soothe
my mind on those certain
days when things are less than smooth.

Oh little orange feather
on the ground at my feet,
little orange feather
was it fate we chanced to meet?

Exalted

It’s so alive this time of year
the energy that’s present here
compels my somber heart to sigh
just like the wind that’s whipping by.

Below, the silent river rolls
as transient as the searching souls
impatient to detect a sign
confirming proof of the divine

when all they have to do is gaze
upon the flora as it sways
and whispers of the debt implied
to sacrifices deified.

Tainted

While looking at the endless brands
of sanitizer in her cart
I wondered if her sterile hands
felt better than a spotless heart.

Layover

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time - The Beatles


Our ride has been retired
the final rocket fired
to strand the crews in Mother’s arms
among the meek and mired,

these pioneers of space
advancers of our race
can’t wait to once more chase the charms
of unencumbered grace.


***Dedicated to all the brave people that keep reaching for the stars***

Satellite

A billion points of solar light
invade my awakening mind,
escape velocity has been achieved,
we’re leaving all gravity behind.
Looking back at my blue world,
a sapphire in the midnight sea,
I’ve never felt so far from home—
it’s lonely, here at apogee.

Drifting through the vacuum/womb
of silent weightlessness,
developed well beyond the egg
yet still quite helpless;
shaped by elemental forces
that beggar the imagination,
striving to reach the critical point
of orbital habitation.


***Wrote this way back when the first crew was placed on board.***

Checked

Did I take the poison willingly
or was it shoved down my throat,
we both know it’s killing me
but really, must you gloat?

The source of the toxicity?
Your patronizing smirk
so sure that your duplicity
will make us beg for work,

you never think to compensate
the ones that don’t say yes
but struggle hard to separate
the money from the mess.

This vitriolic venom
fills my mouth with bitter bile,
forever doomed to denim
a pawn beneath the pile.

Ouch

Life is like a paper cut
a little self-inflicted rut
reminding one with irksome pain
attempts to stay pristine are vain.

Plot

Prevailing winds provide a steady clip
and motion tends to mollify the mind
but somebody has got to steer the ship!

At times we all drift afar from the slip
preoccupied with trinkets that we find,
prevailing winds provide a steady clip

and soon we grow discouraged by the trip
lamenting the contentment left behind
but somebody has got to steer the ship,

has got to navigate each swell and dip
with focused intent, not flounder, resigned.
Prevailing winds provide a steady clip,

occasionally they wickedly whip
until our bearings become misaligned,
but somebody has got to steer the ship

so firmly grasp the helm within your grip,
maintaining faith that fate can be designed—
prevailing winds provide a steady clip
but somebody has got to steer the ship!

Recalcitrant

I can’t believe how quickly
my eyes are getting sickly
commingling the images light sends,
to see with definition
I must yield without condition
to the regimented usage of a lens.

Fathom

There are few that could ever begin to accept
the depth at which my thoughts swim free
and fewer still that have bravely leapt
to join me in this stormy sea—

when scavenging for precious loot
make sure your tank has extra air
for those that drift above pollute
with murky toxins of despair.

Simpatico

I'm not a big fan
of my fellow man
but forgive when I can

it's not hard to do
remember when rue
made life hell for you.

Growth

When tigers nap
and dragons snap
and buttercups are brimming
I’ll fix my gaze
upon these days
although my sight is dimming,
the sun is bright
but quick in flight
and dusk will surely settle
so I must strive
to always thrive
despite the weeds that nettle.

Gimme a Break

The vending machine was empty
except for sugary junk,
I chose a fruit-filled candy
and heard it go ker-plunk,

convinced I was so stealthy
as my sweet tooth sorely begged
I quickly grew unhealthy—
my snack was multi-legged!

Retrograde

The moon is perched on Saturn
like an egg upon a pearl
an ivory bellied slattern
in the throes of one more whirl

don’t envy the particulate
that seems to lewdly drape
around the inarticulate
yet so expressive shape

when gravid godlings argue
no mortal interferes
lamenting latent sinew
that slowly disappears.

Localized

We’re nearing the end of a cycle so grand
it dwarfs the time our race has spanned
though truly, in the greater scheme
it’s but a blink within God’s dream.

Patience

To her I’m just some guy that comes into her store that’s it, nothing more, so can you tell me why I wonder what she thinks and what she does all day, or if she’ll ever say, “Hey, let’s go have some drinks!” To me she looks so fine that it makes me hesitate and I’m resigned to wait until my turn in line.

Noxious

Your dogma of dismissal
is the poison in my veins,
that jaunty tune you whistle
the requiem for gains—

it’s a lethal combination
when you’re forced to swallow shit
while feigning your elation
as though you savor it.

Asswipe

Impertinent pampered babies write
improper little rants
but when you call them out to fight
they poop their big-boy pants.


***Dedicated to Flash :P***

Routed

Deception isn’t always deceit
nor self awareness conceit;
a moment of motion
can be less than moving,
hold fast to the notion
that shuns their disproving
for no high’s quite as sweet
as when the rich retreat.

Getting Old

I hear the din
I taste the sweat
that soaks my chin
because of debt
why breed a class to owe?

I see the grime
I smell the stink
at any time
it could end in a blink
but I would miss it so

I chase the truth
I feel the lie
forsaking youth
to find out why
we never seem to grow.

Sobriety

“Getting off?” she coyly purred
he smiled and said “Quite soon.”
they drank until their speech was slurred
then left the dark saloon,
to nestle where they wouldn’t be heard
and gaze upon the moon
while deep inside them something stirred
like a turbulent typhoon.

“If you insist I won’t say no.”
he nonchalantly quipped
she laughed and touched his arm just so
with fingers that were ruby-tipped
and sparkled in the moony glow
as they discreetly sipped
champagne and got to really know
that urge by which we’ve all been gripped.

Swallowable?

“Come and see the toad that glowed!”
an enterprising raven crowed
with such excitement when he spoke
that all the woodland creatures showed,

but disappointment quickly loomed
because they knew the act was doomed
when the gloomy toad was heard to croak
“The firefly has been consumed.”

Spangled

They flash like Zeus’s ire
these fashioners of fire
and deck the dusky field
with wonderment they wield.

Limitations

I had my bite of apple
and found it rather tart
for why should someone grapple
between their life and art?

The difference is the boundaries
as one has none at all
within our fragile foundries
we crawl or freely fall.

Con

'Are you there? Say a prayer for the pretender
who started out so young and strong only to surrender.'
- The Pretender, Jackson Browne


My brain is like mush
and the harder I push
there’s more of it spattering out
so I sit on my tush
and with a great whoosh
expel this malingering doubt—
it’s bound to come back
for life has a knack
of mocking us thoroughly when
we’re on the right track
but then double back
to the comforting call of our pen.

Mortimer's Morsel - X

His fame was like a concrete cell
diminishing in size
with every new distraction that arose,
if he had known the hectic hell
that infamy supplies
he would have left the crowing for the crows,
he wondered how much longer he could pose

and knew it wouldn’t be that long
before he finally flipped
and started screaming “Get away from here!”
imagine how the docile throng
would stand there lacquer-lipped
and maybe some would even shed a tear.
He wished that he could simply disappear

just like his buddy Augustine
(that no one seemed to miss)
without whom there would not have been a quest
when they returned he’d ring the queen
in hopes of finding bliss
by putting her good humor to the test
with a slightly unconventional request.

And now outside the throne room stands
a regal looking bust
of Augustine, The Founder of The Chip,
remembered fondly through the lands
as someone ants could trust
he taught them how to give the cook the slip
and now they bring back goodies every trip,

while Mortimer goes out each day
in search of something new
content to be a loner with a scheme,
he smiles as he makes his way
beyond the masses who
may think his life’s as bland as it must seem
but a dreamer’s bound to have another dream.

Mortimer's Morsel - IX

“NO!” cried Mortimer in shock
his tiny mind upset,
unable to accept what he had seen
he had to hunker down to block
the still impending threat
but only one thought bounced within his bean—
‘Where in the world was Augustine?’

When the danger seemed at last to pass
and Mortimer could walk
he quickly scrambled down to claim his prize
he gazed upon the chocolate mass
and felt his muscles balk
at thoughts of moving anything that size
but luckily he knew a bunch of guys.

He hurried home to tell his tale
which no one would accept
until he showed the sample he had saved
and then they formed a work detail
excluding the inept
for there were other horrors to be braved
obtaining this confection that they craved.

And all the while that they marched
the strangest thing occurred
it seemed he suddenly had countless friends
he looked at some with eyebrows arched
they never ere proffered
the caring pleasantries an ally sends
he found himself confused by these new trends,

and truth be told a bit annoyed
he had no time to think
for someone new was always standing there
pretending they were overjoyed
or swaying on the brink
of ecstasy if only he would share
a moment of his day to meet their stare.

Mortimer's Morsel - VIII

“I guess it’s time to head on back
and offer up our plea.”
said Mortimer in quite a lower pitch
he paused to contemplate the crack
and wondered silently
why every dream must overcome a glitch
and that was when they felt the morsel twitch.

While just above their heads the cook
who had some rare spare time
inspected all the floors before he mopped
and he was glad he’d had a look
for ants were starting to climb
up through a tiny crack and must be stopped
so he quickly grabbed the vacuum that was propped

in the corner with other cleaning tools
to promptly whisk away
those pests that came to infiltrate his place
for sanitation topped the rules
a kitchen must obey
and he would not be labeled a disgrace
those ants would all be gone without a trace!

But Mortimer and Augustine
were keeping so intent
on moving their colossal candy treat
they didn’t hear that cruel machine
or sense the change in scent
until it was too late for a retreat
so close to their campaign being complete

for through their fierce tenacity
with every little shove
they’d found a way to tackle their despair,
then suddenly the chip flew free
while somewhere from above
they felt a force that tugged at every hair,
then Augustine was sucked into the air.

Mortimer's Morsel - VII

“Well, all we can do is try our best.”
responded Augustine
who picked a side and hastily began,
then Mortimer jumped in there lest
his idleness was seen
as a way to be complacent for a span
while taking all the credit for the plan.

They pushed and pulled and scratched and dug
for all that they were worth
and still they couldn’t seem to make it budge
and if they did they’d yet to lug
its monumental girth
then Augustine, remembering his grudge,
deduced that he had been too quick to judge

his fellow ant that liked to dream
he wasn’t just a bum
determination bristled in his soul
and now that they had formed a team
perhaps the time had come
for him to realize a greater role
and force that stubborn windfall through the hole.

Their efforts drained the both of them
until they had to stop
and take a look at what their work had wrought,
if only they could get that gem
to wiggle free and drop
but it stayed stuck no matter how they fought,
of course they couldn’t help but feel distraught.

“Well Mortimer what’ll we do?”
said Augustine at last,
“Do we stay and fight or go round up the corps?”
And in his heart Mortimer knew
that things would go so fast
if he sought help to come and fetch his score
besides, that’s what worker ants were for.

Mortimer's Morsel - VI

and that was when old Augustine
decided to appear
to spring the trap he’d deviously laid
his carefully rehearsed routine
was credibly sincere
enough that Mort was easily made
to think that he was there to lend his aid.

“Hey Mortimer my man
what’s going on
and what’re you doing wandering out this far?
You know the unofficial ban
our kind has put upon
this place, but still, here you are
did you find a way to make yourself a star?”

“Oh Augustine, I’m glad you’re here!”
Mortimer exclaimed,
“I need your help to get some food I’ve found.”
The trust he showed his petty peer
made Augustine ashamed,
convincing him to drop the axe he’d ground,
the anthill’s need for food was more profound.

‘What food could there be?’ thought Augustine
‘My tale was just a ploy
to get him out where no one else will go.’
His curiosity was keen
his character quite coy
until they stood beside that ghostly glow
then he saw the chip and whispered “Whoa!”

“Exactly.” Uttered Mortimer
a quiver in his voice
as both of them were wondering what to do,
“We’ve got to trim, if you concur,
the edging of your choice
and then perhaps, with luck, we’ll pull it through.
Does anything I’ve said sound good to you?”

Mortimer's Morsel - V

except for Mort who quickly sped
directly towards The Gap
scenarios of triumph constantly
exploding in his wishful head
until he had to slap
himself with fierce authority
so he could fully function properly.

Approaching the forbidden place
he chose to take it slow
and really have a careful look around,
he inched along until his face
was tickled by the glow
then jumped from being startled by a sound
and that was when his destiny was found,

for wedged within the crack he saw
a mountain of delight
dark brown and smelling mmm so very sweet
but how could his small digits claw
it free? Oh what a plight!
He struggled to obtain the monstrous treat,
defiantly denying his defeat.

At last he had to take a rest
and reassess his plan
there was just no way he’d get that thing to move
he’d have to head back to the nest
and mobilize his clan
he’d need their help to clear that dreaded groove
besides, he had nothing left to prove.

He scraped a sample from his prize
so others would believe
and rapidly began the trek back home
he was slightly rattled by its size
and hoped they could retrieve
the goods, while somewhere in his tiny dome
an anxious insect mind began to roam,

Mortimer's Morsel - IV

as there was trouble on the hill
and everyone was tense
their source of food grew scarcer every day,
despite their uncontested skill
at combing the immense
they found their hunting parties had to stray
much farther and farther and farther away.

An agitated Queen decreed
that everybody’s share
was being cut to stretch their short supply,
they had to have enough to feed
the young within their lair
or else the colony would simply die,
so everyone was searching low and high.

Amidst the madness Mortimer
continued his crusade
convinced that he had found his time to shine,
there was no force that could deter
this dogged renegade,
he felt his spirit spurring on his spine
and kept repeating “Destiny is mine!”

but Augustine was also sure
his fate was realized
discovering the perfect place indeed
to tempt that dimwit Mortimer
(oh how he’d be surprised)
when Augustine jumped out with blazing speed
to craftily commit his craven deed.

One day as Mortimer prepped to leave
he heard a din outside
and saw a mob surrounding Augustine,
who begged someone to please believe
the bounty he had spied
way out beyond The Gap, that vile ravine
but no one had the guts to check the scene,

Mortimer's Morsel - III

Seems ants are tougher than you might think
and Augustine more than most
that’s why so many feared to face his ire
he’d best the strongest in a blink
(at least that was his boast)
but no one had the courage to inquire
if he was just a big unchallenged liar.

He’d listen to Mortimer babble on
(while doing half his work)
each word inciting anger in his heart
obsessively he’d dwell upon
each duty Mort would shirk
until he feared his mind would blow apart
and that’s what made his vengeful plotting start.

‘I’ll get that guy, just wait and see’
He’d think so no one heard,
‘By taking time to titillate my prey
and play upon his fantasy,
then Morty is assured
to take the path that carries him my way
so I can finally make that slacker pay!’

He pictured every type of pain
he’d joyously inflict
on Mortimer once snared within his trap
and how his screams would be in vain
despite the way he kicked
for Augustine would take him past The Gap
where no one should be rescuing that sap.

For ants would shun that scary place
where blinding light shone down
and awful noises issued piercingly,
but what could make his heartbeat race
enough that fear would drown,
what bait would lure him on enticingly?
The fiend would have to simmer patiently

Mortimer's Morsel - II

His name was Mortimer the ant
a laborer by trade
but all he cared to do was fantasize
about his chance, albeit scant
to tout a find he’d made
becoming someone ants could idolize
perhaps with statues honoring his prize.

But all the other workers jeered
when Mortimer began
to ramble on about his crazy scheme
they knew that he was really weird
so patronized his plan
which only made his anxious noggin team
with hope that he would realize his dream.

“You’ll see” he’d say with eyes alight
“I’ll find a thing we need
and everyone will say my name with love.”
“Oh sure you will.” they’d all recite
“You’re destined to succeed
and lead us to a paradise above!”
while snorting with each adolescent shove.

But Mortimer was so consumed
with his unlikely fate
he never even noticed their contempt
or when his fellow workers fumed
because he made them wait
and left his working area unkempt,
what made that joker think he was exempt?

Well one such worker so inclined
was quite the brutish sort
and couldn’t fight the urge to intervene,
the other workers that had whined
felt sorry for old Mort
for now he had to deal with Augustine,
the meanest ant their kind had ever seen.

Mortimer's Morsel - I

One day a cook was working hard
preparing someone’s meal
and had to get an item from the rack,
he reached beyond a can of lard
and bumped a bag whose seal
released a single morsel from the pack
to bounce across the floor into a crack.

“I don’t have time for this right now
there’s much too much to do!”
the busy chef emphatically exclaimed,
while wiping moisture from his brow
he stirred a pot of stew
that bubbled on the stove top as it flamed
to calm the stomachs growling to be tamed.

But once he finally locked the door
and every dish was clean
the tired man went home to take a rest.
He’d swept and mopped the dirty floor,
the usual routine,
yet in his haste had failed to do his best
and thus began a worker’s fateful quest.

For down below the floor there churned
a colony of ants
each smaller than a tiny grain of sand
and one such ant, though slightly spurned
by some amazing chance
would soon discover something very grand
becoming quite renowned throughout the land.

An anthill is a busy place
that needs a lot of food
in fact they go to search for it each day,
whenever they detect a trace
the bounty is pursued
by workers who live only to obey
except this one whose dreams got in the way.

Intro

Hello,

How is everyone today? Hope all is well. I read a quote recently by one of my favorite poets - Robert Frost - which simply said "Freedom is being bold." Unfortunately my mind is strange and sometimes it gets stuck in repeat mode when something strikes a chord, which this quote did.

So I've been pondering what it is that I can do to be bold (as I could use some freedom) and decided it would be to share a long story/poem I completed this year after almost 3 years of pecking away. Normally I would sit on this until I had a chance to find an interested publisher, but a recent string of rejection letters has convinced me that this is the way to go. If any publishers read it and like it, my email is in my profile.

Typically when writing a longer work, I prefer to break the story into sections with different rhythms and rhyme schemes to avoid monotony, but with this one I kept it the same structure for 50 verses, is it too much? I don't know, you tell me. if nothing else I at least proved to myself that I could do it. I will post it in ten posts of five verses each so people can take their time reading it - Enjoy!

Laden

At what extreme does righteousness
become a big self-serving mess?
We all have dreams we wish to ply
including those where people die
though few will openly confess
the rush they feel when bullets fly,

propelled by an ungodly lust
to persecute the less-than-just
or anyone whose claim to fame
exhibits an intent to maim,
but won’t remanding them to dust
encumber us the same?

Without a Leg

I saw a spider creeping as I rushed
my way upstairs, and chose to let it be,
anticipating karmic clemency,
but coming down it was (as hope was) crushed.

Myopic

The devil’s in the details
that’s why our vision fails
we can only face the truth so long
before our conscience rails

but who decides what’s wrong
consensus of the throng?—
deluded by what might have been
if we had just stayed strong,

denying purchase when
the darkling ducked its den
but then we’d have to own our guilt
for eyes to work again.

Status

God, I detest the rich
they’ve done naught but bring me grief
while picking away at every stitch
of my fuzzy faux belief,

but I also pity that class
for their power comes from their greed
and when they finally pass
they’re just other souls in need.

Overage

It’s not always wise to know math
imbalance can multiply wrath
when those at the top
relentlessly shop
while claiming they’re taking a bath.

Ben Abused

With an armload of assumption
I. M. Eager started work
and he said with utmost gumption
“You’ll never catch me shirk!”

His foreman, Richard Lackey
just smiled and said “Calm down,
it seems a little tacky
with you jumping all around.”

“I’m taking you to Gabby Blab
so you can get your start
she’s gaudy and she loves to gab
but competent and smart.

Just never tell her any dirt
you don’t want widely known
she has a tendency to blurt
it out (except her own).”

Her outfit was a shocking pink
affair with purple scarf
like something splattered in the sink
if Barney had to barf,

and I.M. found out right away
what foreman Lackey meant
before he even said good day
she indiscreetly leant

and whispered “Don’t believe that sot
he loves to toss ‘em back
his bloated liver’s full of rot
and his son is hooked on smack.”

She gave him countless forms to sign
while prodding pleasantly
if he had problems to opine
“You can always talk to me.”

she said, but he was scared to speak
so she rose and said “Let’s go,
you’ll be instructed for a week
on all you need to know.

Your trainer’s been here forty years
so listen to him well,
but if he grumbles plug your ears
his mind has gone to hell.”

They entered the production floor
and I.M. got enthused
until they went through one more door
and he met Ben Abused.

Now Ben was old, his back was stooped
his face was like a mask
but he was always first one scooped
to finish any task,

he sized up his new protégé
and said “I guess you’ll do,
we’ll make sure that you earn your pay
before the shift is through.”

And so it went for that first week
between I. M. and Ben
who told him (when he chose to speak)
his tales of other men.

“See that guy with the haggard face
his name is Kenny Last
with five kids in a two room space
and six approaching fast.”

They spied a girl with a bristly head
“That’s good old Sam Iam,
she never has much fun in bed
a ramrod with no ram.”

One day Mr. Lackey screamed
“These numbers make me sick!”
in Ben’s old eyes a twinkle gleamed
“that’s why we call him Dick.”

By Friday Ben hadn’t changed
he bustled to and fro
but when the afternoon bell clanged
he said “Come on, let’s go!

They got me a card with scratch-offs in it
along with a tiny cake
and Dickie gave me an extra minute
on this, my final break.”

He grudgingly beheld I. M.
and said, “You’ll do okay,
just keep your hopes to a minimum
our place is where we stay,

my father told me long ago
that rich folk were our betters
improving things with what they know,
domesticating debtors,

and all we have to try to do
is make what they can sell
for more than what they pay the crew
that labors in their hell.”

Then Ben paused to look around
his face morosely sad
this frantic place of constant sound
was all he ever had,

“The owner has a giant pad,
a mansion by the sea,
I don’t have much, my credit’s bad
one room’s enough for me,

he has his pets that tell him what
he really wants to hear,
the rest of us are nothing but
a soon discarded gear,

but all of that’s behind me now
this week has been my last,
I’ll wipe the moisture from my brow,
pick up my pole and cast.”

Within a month they all were told
that Ben was in the soil,
his tired heart at last went cold
from years of fruitless toil,

now I. M. goes to work each day
his life a structured blur,
he never has too much to say
the robot they prefer,

it doesn’t matter what he was
way back when he began,
amidst the grinding corporate buzz
you’ll never be a man.

Violators

Big Brother isn’t just a camera
watching from afar
it’s a suppository crawling up
inside of who you are
counting every butt hair in your crack
recording everything on which you snack
designing ads to keep your mind at ease
deciding if you’ve earned your liberties—
smile please!

Hemmed

The covert introvert
wore a skirt, learned to flirt
now can’t decide with whom to ride
or what inside had made her hide.

Intangible

Nothing’s the way I want it to be
and I’m starting to see the problem is me
for why should I think anyone
will care about the things I’ve done,
if I compose one decent line
or nine hundred and ninety-nine,
perform a near impeccable job,
I’m still a poor untutored slob—
I’ve got to learn to change my view
accepting I am someone who
it seems is ever doomed to be
obstructed by obscurity.

(De)Serving?

‘Hard work is its own reward’
and ‘Keep a positive attitude’
might help to stir the horde
but they’ll never purchase food

why do those that do the least
seem to get the most
while those that help prepare the feast
are lucky to get toast.

Honored

The hundredth day of the year
has no inherent meaning
to those inhabiting this sphere
incessantly careening
except for one small group that meets
to throw a celebration
with frosted and some frozen treats
to honor the creation
of someone they have taken in
among their growing family
while he proffers a sheepish grin
awash in the cacophony
of the close-knit clan they’ve formed
and his ripening heart is warmed.

Repercussions

I don’t have to see the numbers
it’s lurking in your eyes
a craven creep that lumbers
in the labyrinth of lies,

but be aware of something
as you cover up the tracks
a cornered wretch with nothing
gives no warning, just attacks.

Showstopper

This quest to gild your name
with innovative fame
isn’t only lame
it just may end the game.

Movement

I watch the wires waver in the wind
impinging on the poles from which they hang
like pious tethers shaking those who’ve sinned
by asking if their god was just a bang,
considering the benchmarks we’ve achieved
when daring to condemn the masses call
you’d think we know there’s more to be believed
than ancient fears that hold us in their thrall.
Philosophy and dogma put aside
we’ve got to live with senses unimpaired,
impervious to prior farces hatched
when people were confounded by their pride
ignoring the one purpose that we’ve shared—
to forward truth without the strings attached.