Zero

Nothing divided by nothing is free
and easily outshined;
the quotient of no consequence is, just me
forever undefined.

Suckitude

There is no up
there is no down
there’s only in betweens
fill your cup
or wear a frown
you can’t avoid the means,
performing hard
to win a clap
will only get you tired
there’s not a bard
whose wistful crap
could be more uninspired.

Work Zone

Lethargic, for nothing is left to be proved
a coma might make me a bit less removed
I’m not sure what’s blanker, the page or my gaze
a negative factor of cubic malaise.

Fantasy Land

For John — You should have listened to the Magic Mirror.

The giant was hungry (as their kind will be)
to manage its growth with a larger degree
it soon found the answer (as their kind presume)
by cleaning the floor with a newfangled broom
but once the motes settled (as they tend to do)
this glutton found out it was too much to chew
and now it has withered (as most deadwood will)
a victim of those who thought smug would fulfill.

Going Nowhere

We drumble through the day conducting various affairs
and scumble as we may to help eliminate repairs
but humble doesn’t pay the never ending corporate fares
that rumble like a dray whose heavy burden oft impairs.

This Little Light

To capture this transcendence in a line
is something I have often tried to do:
the tingle of a breeze along my spine
respiring beneath a sky of blue
enveloped in the prepossessing shine
which helps ignite the night we hurtle through
and knowing deep inside there’s still a spark
that won’t be overshadowed by the dark.

Ahhhhh

Along the ancient streets I roll
my wheels slowly spinning
I try but I just can’t control
this almost foolish grinning
the lights are out, the work is done
I finally have a minute
to grab my bike and catch some sun
and truly revel in it.

Yummy

Our patrons insist as they sip their caffeine
that we have the best home fries in town;
for most people the color of money is green
for me it’s golden brown.

Protocol

Impatient to receive what’s gotten through
I’d scramble to my desk each day with glee
if only every Email sent was true.

Imagine all the clicking I would do
exploring lines in the digital sea
impatient to receive what’s gotten through

so I could see how much my fortune grew
or all the horny babes that long for me—
if only every Email sent was true

I’d garner the endowment I am due
while activating anything that’s free.
Impatient to receive what’s gotten through

the filters that protect my CPU
would end up disabled permanently.
If only every Email sent was true

no longer could I sit and idly stew
my finger moving much too fast to see,
impatient to receive what’s gotten through—
if only every Email sent was true.

Arrgh!

Nocturnal hunger begs the belt to cinch,
but lust will always conquer pride’s thin stand.
Impatient taste buds waive an extra inch
so, guilt to bed, my sly foray is planned.
A quick descent - avoiding creaks, I slink
as juices start to coat my anxious throat.
I’m almost there then – CRUNCH – oh no! I think
this escapade has waylaid one remote.
My toes alight on ice and curl a bit,
so near the treasure chest with humming cord.
I swing the door with glee, prepare to fit
these twitching lips around a filling hoard.

I stand aghast in barren, chilling glow—
a swifter cutthroat pillaged my to-go!

Myth Cue

A massive orange moon meanders
upward through the mist
of thunderheads that flash with vengeance
hurled by Odin’s fist,
unsettled by the spectacle
unfolding in the sky
I comb through entrails for a sign
that Ragnarök draws nigh
but soon decide my fulsome fears
will fade come light of morn
though in my ear I swear I hear
a distant wailing horn.

Children of Chaos

Greetings. I wrote this one a couple of weeks ago but was reluctant to post it as things haven’t been that bad lately, right? Yeah right. I hope these latest innocent victims can somehow find true peace now…


How can people do the things they do to one another?
Why would someone sentient decide to calmly smother
any shred of empathy existing in their being
to perpetrate atrocities some lunacy is freeing?
How can people do the things they do to one another?

Ring

Hey go check out the latest ringing hosted at Knocking From Inside. Great job Tiel, thanks for all your efforts!

Commenting

No one cares about the word
just give them validation.
Artistry? Why that’s absurd,
promote the congregation;
repartee is more preferred
than wry accentuation
whose subtle nuance may have stirred
a new appreciation.

What'll You Have?

It may seem strange, a would-be chef
filleting evanescence
but on the line I’ve learned to cook
for thyme is of the essence.

Leftovers

Thirteen blackbirds congregated
in a crooked tree
their caustic caws reverberated
oh so creepily
the shadowed street insinuated
things no one could see
until the moon illuminated
killers on a spree
whose gory antics devastated
one community
as thirteen blackbirds calmly waited
in a crooked tree.

Fugue

How quickly it can all become
a single beat upon one drum,
the subtleties of harmonies
forgotten in the martial hum

which rattles sensibilities
and motivates reluctant knees
to instigate their weary gait
before defiant symphonies

can find a way to orchestrate
melodies which help abate
that overblown monotone
intent on jamming freer fate.

Touché

Duplicity drips off her tongue
like honey from a dagger
but once the hidden barb has stung
most braggarts lose their swagger.

Icelandic eyes can quickly turn
the strongest steel quite brittle
with just one glaring glacial spurn
those chilling lasers whittle.

A velvet touch will soon inspire
you to beg her — “Linger!”
Incite her fearsome fickle ire
she’ll smite you with that finger.

An odyssey of doubt awaits
those brave enough to tarry
and face the compromising straits
while learning how to parry.

Afloat

I’ve lived a lot the last four years,
encountered many changes
but still must question if I’ve really grown;
maneuvering throughout the tiers
that consequence arranges
will oft supplant the seeds we should’ve sown.

Another revolution sparks
a searing revelation:
assembled wicks are nothing but a blink.
Accumulated static arcs
with one determination—
those that fail to tread will slowly sink.

Red Red Robin

No more will it get to sing
that joyful chirping code
which heralds the rebirth of spring
it’s insides cross the road
unnoticed by each car
careening as they are.

Dangling

It’s been a while since the eviction
but eves are still dark and stormy
unnerving our conviction with guile
upending the world with a smile
that slithers into a form we
so seldom consider as fiction.

We bite the taut yet tender skin
our hunger burning deep within
as tangy juices wet the chin
we wait for wisdom to begin.