Penetration

How deep do you want me to go?
That’s all I need to know
but just beware
there’s things down there
that feed upon your woe,

and dealing with them may be worse
than the curdling kiss of a curse
for lips of ice
at least entice
but terror will never disperse.

Barstool Origins

The Dreamer of youth
and the Cynic of age
were discussing the Truth
like a scholar and sage,

“Perception is all!”
The youngster exclaimed,
“You’re bound to recall
when your vision flamed

with a grandiose plan
based upon your belief
that the purpose of Man
was to banish all grief.”

“Indeed.” Said his friend
with the long silver mane
who would never defend
a statement so plain,

“But I was confused
those long years ago
and far too enthused
to know what I know

today.” then he paused
his gaze turned opaque
a condition that caused
the younger to shake

him with alarm
though he simply smiled
and said with wry charm
“The truth I’ve compiled?

There isn’t a wrong
or acceptable stance,
the rules must belong
to circumstance.”

The youth was amused
but quickly grew cross
“You’ve got me confused,
my wits at a loss!”

he huffily buckled
so fragile and small,
the Cynic just chuckled
he was having a ball,

but seeing himself
he pitied his friend
and said “Let’s shelf
this theme and attend

to matters befitting
great minds such as ours
like comfortable sitting
and drinking for hours!”

Evocator

No one knows how to take me
I guess that’s why I’m still here,
the geniuses flatly forsake me
the fakes are filled with fear,

but I’m not here to bicker
or damn the muddled herds,
I’m just looking for a flicker
of enlightenment through words.

Roses in the Park

Dedicated to John Lennon on the 25th anniversary of his untimely death.

We gathered speechless in the growing dark
remembering the brilliance of his light
and left our rosy sorrow in the park.

As one of four he made a lasting mark
which cruelly found his heart that fateful night;
we listened speechless in the growing dark

and prayed the news report was just a lark,
for who would ever… but no, it was right;
we lost our rosy visions. In that park

so named for berried plains, the truth is stark
that being human should bring great delight,
not speechless mourning in the growing dark;

commemorate the magic of his spark
and offer love to all within your sight.
The scent of rosy tributes in the park

imbue the air with their resigned remark,
imagine his disdain for this sad rite.
We gather speechless in the growing dark,
and leave our rosy visions in the park.

Iconically Ironic

When he saw the release
of his very first song
did he know that the throng
would deify him
as a martyr for peace
on a madman’s whim
no matter how wrong?

Vomitorium

Despite the tales of frantic sweat
there were no orders being met
until they got you out of here
and now the products disappear,
while you declare we’re in your debt?

The argent alms that grace your palms
should be (you’d think) the sweetest balms
for you who truly earned the least
selected first to taste the feast,
just proof of one of my big qualms.

Indulgence

Got no hope?
Smoke some dope
it’s better than a scratchy rope.

Afraid of fear?
Try Everclear
and soon you’re smiling ear to ear.

Too many bills?
They make these pills
that take away those nagging ills,

but just be sure
the stuff is pure
to minimize what we endure.

Fixed

I used to be afraid of pain
and quickly shied away
from cases where I stood to gain
if only I could say

“That really didn’t hurt so much.”
But I refused to drop my crutch.

These days, I’m not averse to ache
despite an ailing form—
the sacrifices left to make
won’t scar beyond the norm,

in fact they tend to keep me strong
enough to fiercely limp along.

Lore

Any local knows
the growing darkness brings
the coming of the crows,

they swirl like ebon snows
while raucous cawing rings;
any local knows

when creeping coldness slows
the blood, they’ll hear those wings.
The coming of the crows

and their gloomy innuendoes
is just one of those things
any local knows,

as certain as the wind that blows
with biting force that stings,
the coming of the crows

means months of frozen woes
till brilliant flora springs.
Any local knows
the coming of the crows.

Hopeless?

That tattered cape
you try to drape
about your slumping frame
just doesn’t fit
so you should quit
and save yourself some shame
this world in need
will never cede
the role of hero born—
they can’t applaud
for someone flawed
by weakness to their scorn.

Subjugated

The sun was burning hot and bright
the moon was lurking, ghostly white
but as the daylight slowly waned
the silver luster that it gained
made it bold with borrowed might,
a phase that couldn’t be sustained.

When regal robes of star-flecked night
are draped around the gods in flight
whose bodies have forever reigned
we try to seek the clues contained
but seldom get the angle right,
our confidence completely feigned.

Across a quickly clouding sky
the ebony marauders fly
and if one finds a juicy scrap
there’s bound to be a raucous flap
despite how hard we all may try
to flee this convoluted trap.

Callous

Apparently your thickened skin
prevents your heart from feeling
the waves of unabashed chagrin
your hurtful words are dealing.

Secret Woods

Will there always be forests to roam
for little ones far from their home,
a place where the whispering trees
invite them to rest on the loam

or just do whatever they please
away from parental decrees
that choke the inquisitive sort
with ‘Do As I Say’ disease,

that rotten, self-righteous retort
concluded by ‘OK Sport?’
To heck with that stuff man,
they’ll build an impregnable fort

who needs a stupid plan?
They’ll just do the best they can,
content to keep their secrets deep
in every wooded span.

Unstrung

I cut the strings so long ago
they never had a chance
to script my role within their show
or make me crudely dance

and now I’m sulking in the wings
extraneous at best
who knew you had to have those strings
to be among the blest

I know their truth is just illusion
manufacturing confusion
so no one sees the glaring lack of joy

a product of the pedagogy
that makes true volition foggy
when will I become a real boy?

We Are Stardust

Venus was so scintillating
her radiance beyond debating
I cursed my craven hesitating
and cried aloud, “My Love!”

At once She started coruscating
with brilliance that was captivating
my pulse acutely palpitating
just like a startled dove,

abruptly I was levitating
my earthly cares evaporating
and soon I was cohabitating
with my brethren up above.