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.

Unseen

I gaze at my mask in the mirror
employing the eyeholes to see
and realize I am no nearer
the person beneath that is me
the being I’m anxious to be

a vessel immune to resentment
with courage enough to forgive
the demons that hinder contentment
and all the frustration they give,
so I can finally live.

Gobblers

We breed our beasts
with ample flesh
so all our feasts
expand our waste
as meat that fresh
insists we taste;

each unctuous bite
we choose to take
dispels delight
when shrinkage cuts
away the ache
of missing guts.

Oblivious

He really doesn’t care
what other folk think
he just doesn’t care
and won’t even blink
at the thought
that someone cross with him
may want to make a stink
or nudge him towards the brink—
he’s swayed there long enough
to understand the drink
and know that if he takes the plunge
how quickly he’ll sink
beneath the roiling ink,
at least that’s what he thinks.

Nothing Matters

Zero made it all compute
so we could pillage and pollute
the streams with toxic junk we spurt
yet never bother to dilute.

Nothing is (at best) inert
but necessary to convert
our concepts into glossy forms
that skirt the void with which we flirt.

To calculate the coming storms
or predicate accepted norms
you’ve got to start with emptiness
to see how truth performs.

Saccharine

Everything I’ve written is a sham
a shadow of the failure that I am—
if only I could buy into the scam
that someone out there truly gives a damn

for any reason other than to spur
the image of themselves that they prefer
but frank critiques infrequently occur
when sugar-coated scribbles start to blur.

And Now for Something Completely Different

***These song lyrics popped in my head while driving to band practice. I don't have a chorus or a title yet but just thought I'd post them to break up all this iambic BS I tend to reiterate. Enjoy!***

I was stuck behind a General Lee wannabe
Going slower than a tortoise with a banged-up knee
With all six cylinders fired up and ready to go
I found myself wishin’ he would pull aside
So I could rev it up and enjoy my ride
And let the lonesome highway take away my woe

When at last I spotted that dotted line
I punched the RPMs up to nine
And smoked that sucker like he was standin’ still
I was so busy haulin’ ass
I didn’t see the trooper watch me pass
With a radar gun and a gleam upon his grille

Well I was burning up the road
So bad I made his toy explode
Which prompted him to rapidly give chase
I shoulda pulled over and just been done
But all the excitement was kinda fun
So I figured I’d give that cop one helluva race