Flower Power

The crystal blooms borne
this merciless morn
encumber the limb
much more than adorn

the sun is so dim
that chances are slim
we won't be forlorn
as winter turns grim

and though I feel worn
I will not be torn
from visions that brim
with lilacs reborn.

On the Go

The creek is slowing to a crawl
and clinging to the rocky wall
the frigid air can crystallize
aquatic skin before your eyes

but underneath it still moves forth
despite this salvo from the north
as we must also move each day
although we seldom know the way.

Turncoat

There is no cure
for the self-saboteur
so save your precious breath
they'll undermine
their own design
and naysay it to death

Unplug

The room of broken devices
is littered with debris
obtained at cut throat prices
to satisfy a spree

perversity in plastic
the world can ill afford
it's time for something drastic--
rebirth by cutting cord.

Elbow Room

Those we trust
are those who bust
our bubbles with the greatest lust
so live each day
with less dismay
by keeping them a nudge away.

Transitory

I try my best to reconcile
my need to commune
and aversion to guile

determining quite soon
in order to smile
my path must be strewn

for at least a good mile
with those like the moon
that fade after a while.

Extenuation

A massive swirling gyre of birds ascends
the ominously darkened winter sky
as though perhaps today's the day it ends
but we must suffer more before we die
and so I trudge away forgetting why
I even care about the startled birds
unless I move there won't be time to try
today's attempt to find the proper words
that help define my legacy (as such)
instead of just a way to pass the time
while waiting for that final judgment day
and yes I do admit I'm out of touch
denying my detachment as a crime
but sadly I don't get the final say.

Curiouser

There have been troubled times in life when I thought I'd like to leave
until I realized how well self pity can deceive
so now when things look bleak I do my best to make amends
besides I'm truly dying to find out the way it ends

On a Wing and a Prayer

It seems a crow
with a broken wing
traversed the snow
the poor hurt thing
I track the string
of prints and lo
it let me bring
relief from woe.

It cocked it's head
and onyx eye
I offered bread
(nice tasty rye)
it had a try
and ate, then fled
while hapless I
prayed in its stead.

Reject

The fabric of truth's made of fiber
distorted by those prone to stretch
but I've never been a subscriber
to wrinkled remains of a wretch
as the ginger would-be-king gets reamed
by those who pilfered as they beamed.

Orbital

Can lesser beings be content?
Perhaps someday I'll see
for no one's less significant
than microscopic me

but how can one so miniscule
have any type of need
that doesn't merit ridicule
by bruisers of our breed

it all depends upon the sphere
in which we operate
if we'll have a ball while here
or share a noble fate.

Revision

If the subject's filled with rage
will the sentence still be served
when the structure is a cage
for a period observed
as one modifies the page?

Roadblock

I always go the old way
despite the shorter route
that progress may establish
and then I curse about

the younger ones that pass me
because they're quick enough
to grasp when something's better
unlike this aging duff.

Dip

I'm a miserable drunk
that's why I don't drink
I can be a skunk
but don't like to stink
I've recently sunk
then swam to the brink
just jettisoned junk
that was making me sink
and now I must dunk
my pen in more ink.

As If (Anybody Cares)

I loathe the type that won't
desist their boastful blare
but know one thing they don't:
how little I could care

to those who get upset:
forego your fearsome glare
and never do forget
how little I could care.