Mr. Sociable

He is graceful and charming
completely disarming
essential to any social affair

obligingly devout
mingling about
dispensing kind words here and there.

Hands reach to touch him
elbows to nudge him
eyes seek a glimpse of his smile

he’s a man with flair,
obvious savoir-faire
a portrait of tactful style.

But sometimes I wonder
if deep down under
he tires of this endless game?

I think his façade
is becoming slipshod
I don’t think he’s living up to his name

for I detected a hint
of a reticent glint
in his otherwise jovial eyes

perhaps his desire
is to simply retire
and watch all the fuss pass him by.

Getting There

The giant was angry (as their kind grow cross)
when facing a forecast of ongoing loss
he sacked the old captain (without much ado)
for making the swamp a morass to go through
and then took a gamble (ignoring the odds)
to maybe replenish his dwindling wads
by asking the mirror (that once manned the helm)
to help him bring sanity back to the realm.

Harbinger

It looked so like a comet
I truly thought it was
but it was just a big jet
doing what it does

contaminating precious air
to haul an anxious horde
around the world, despite the fare
how much can we afford?

Smack

A passionate plea won’t suffice
her body is brittle as ice
but distance can sometimes entice—

performing a permanent shrug
can lure someone just like a drug
to lust for hot lips on their mug.

What a Beach

The harbor is deserted,
horizon’s graphite gray
a lonely coast is skirted
by an angry, foaming spray

intent on inundating
the stubborn structure who
will ever be awaiting
that vessel overdue.

Parenthetical

I thought about my life
(or lack thereof)
remembering the strife
I’ve faced for love
and when I gave the knife
a pointed shove
to vindicate that life
(or lack thereof).

But can I say I’ve tried?
(To some degree)
we all must grapple pride
or cease to be
for what we are inside
makes others see
if we have truly tried
(to some degree).

Burning Bright

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

GET OVER IT SPAMMER!!!!

per-se

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

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

Thaw

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

Salvation

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

Facture

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

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

What's Hot

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

Somnolence

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roused

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


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

Damage Control

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

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

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