Designs

The thing about topography
is who decides where what will be
or is it just a tapestry
of chaos to the nth degree?

Knocked

The structure’s disrepair
deters potential dwelling,
you knock but no one’s there.

With premises so spare
the site’s just not compelling,
the structure’s disrepair

shows a lack of any care
or future chance for selling.
You knock but no one’s there,

suspended on the stair
your knuckles slowly swelling.
The structure’s disrepair

is a danger to beware
and sadly, quite repelling.
You knock but no one’s there

no one smart would ever dare
ignore the signs so telling
of structural disrepair.
You knock but no one’s there.

Runon

I’d meant to browse my favorite book
but weariness prevailed
so nestled in my nighttime nook
I drifted off then sailed

beyond the crassly crying crush
to mazes deep within
where fear is heightened by the hush
before my foes begin

pursuing me relentlessly
through sinister abodes
as I scramble senselessly
while confidence corrodes

and urgently my sneakers churn
through slowly shrinking halls
exhausted muscles start to burn
momentum brusquely stalls,

reluctantly I turn to fold
then waken, most distraught,
will I ever be paroled
from cares that keep me caught?

Separating

Jupiter and Venus are becoming quite estranged
apparently an aspect of their situation changed
but every body carries on, without a word to say
despite the glaring distance that increases by the day.

Left

Sifting through the aftermath
swallowing indignant wrath
surprised by a box of childhood crafts;
four siblings clearing out the berth
of she who brought them to the earth
together spurned those cold December drafts.

Frost on My Guitar

The frost on my guitar is beckoning
with such an enigmatic, wistful grin
it prompts me to release the strain within
before that final frigid reckoning
prevents all chances for a healthy crop
whose bounty is a blessing to enjoy.
Why else extend the effort we employ
if not to taste the sweetest nectar, drop
by precious drop, and savor the bouquet?
Of course, there would be certain strings attached,
some pesky thorns have left me sorely scratched
but then again, they must be there to play.
I’ve gained another furrow, now my field
seems ready to produce a yearned for yield.

Wishes

May all who read this humble hymn
Have peace today within, without
Avoiding any type of grim
Calamity or doubt.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do
Is show someone we truly care
But heartily I hope for you
That love and joy are yours to share.

Shortchanged

Corporation dedication?
More like flagrant flagellation—
estimated restoration
never covers degradation!

Sentences

She wanted me to realize
some type of great achievement,
to prominently exercise
my voice and be vehement
but all I did was compromise
and now in my bereavement
I see that all she sought from me
was love, unconditionally—

but distances are seldom gauged
until it seems we’re too far;
despite what battles have been waged
we must drop the wounds that scar
for every one of us is caged
by doubting who we are
within a pen it’s hard to flee
although we share a common key.

Fortune

Chewy chop suey?
That just sounds screwy!
Plantain lo mein?
You’re talking insane!
Light blue moo shu—
is there something wrong with you?
Fast or slow? Don’t know,
but I’m sure it’s to go.

Once A Swabby...

I don’t play nice
with those whose price
is well beyond my cache of spice
nor will I vow
to ever bow
to those that prowl a petty prow
but shan’t complain
it’s all in vain
for only those ordained pertain.

Sound

If truth was gold, if every honest word was worth a cent
and if unselfish thoughts could be cashed in at the bank
would there be anyone with money to be spent
or only paupers wishing they were frank
if truth was gold and every honest word was worth a cent?

If love was sure, and if we never questioned its extent
and if we never dared to dangle on that pliant plank
would we ever see that distant continent
before we hit the briny sea and sank—
if love was sure perhaps we’d fathom its extent.

Turn

Our current posture leaves us prone
to longer colder nights alone
and sullen skies of swirling slate
that amplify the constant moan

of wistful winds that won’t abate
while frozen mounds accumulate
until a metamorphic stone
revolves enough to alternate.

Ambition

The moon was my companion
as I traveled to the show
lending me the comfort
of its silky silver glow,

everything was glistening
like crystal as I passed
the limbs adorned with trinkets
that the bitter storm amassed,

assurances of argent
helped reveal new fields to reap
which sparkled with such splendor
I don’t ever want to sleep.

Ambiguity

The onyx night is guarded by
a spectral sphere that haunts the sky
till wispy veils of vapor swarm
to once more hide it’s ghostly form,
obsidian horizons fall
beneath a silent inky pall
whose unrelenting appetite
obscures all settlement from sight.