Acknowledgment

If I had known how long I'd live
I would have shown more care
in finding reasons to forgive
the donors of despair

for empathy extended earns
(if nothing else) respect
a need for which innately burns
within despite what sect.

Out with the Old

Let's have some new clichés. – Samuel Goldwyn

The clan of cliché
doesn’t mind the decay
destroying our chances for new things to say

these wasters of ink
apparently shrink
away from the pleasure of getting to think—

your prose can be prime
if you take the time
to try and jot lines that are somewhat sublime

the best thing to do
is read what comes through
and make sure the paper is soaked with just you.

Unhook

Relating thoughts poetically
to people raised phonetically
is harder than it sounds at first
they seem to be genetically
disposed to hear the worst,

for matter biologically
condemned to chronologically
decay will seldom think of time
or any other concept logically
(especially in rhyme).

Idio(ma)tic

I play the role I have to play
to keep at bay the fakes that pay
a grudging cent while wads are spent
on leeches meant to implement
their clever brains to triple gains
but effort wanes and then these pains
employ their clout to lounge about
while we without are forced to doubt
our value and the work we do
in bondage to the foolish few.

Not Quite Right

I wish Bob Church was still here
his witty wisdom we held so dear
and it seems that at least once a year
his ghost brings a smiling tear.

Sundown

Receding rays refraction reveals
the churning of uncaring wheels
desertion of arcane ideals

dispersing demolition dust
turns the twilight sky to rust
as red as an illicit lust

filled heart before it's drained
for dreams are seldom (if ever) attained
or infrastructure sustained.

Gifts

At first he's a Power Ranger dressed in red
of course I'm the Bad Guy filled with dread
and just when I tell him "You've beaten me, stop!"
he says "I'm a froggie that goes hop hop hop."
so I playfully tell him that frogs like flies
then with a mischievious look in his eyes
he jumps around flicking his little pink tongue--
there's no cure for aging like time with the young.
At two he can grasp what took me years to learn
and I'm wondering how far this kid will go
when suddenly he's shooting me with a gun,
within him I see imagination burn
so brilliantly he can change the world we know
but for now, let's just have some old fashioned fun.

Nits

There's always something broken
over-utilized or bent
there's always some infraction
we're reluctant to repent

but why should less-than-perfect
ever give us cause to pause
perhaps our darkest defect--
we focus on the flaws.

Whatever

For three years in a row it's reigned
as something utterly disdained
yet everyone employs this word
when too lethargic to be stirred.

Solstice

Winter's first day
aside from the gray
is our longest lapse without sun to belay

the imminent pall
that's stalking us all
awaiting the passage of seasons to fall.

Exchange

On Christmas, as kids, we risked the peril
of parental wrath to sneak a peek
at brightly wrapped presents that made us feral
enough to wildly shred and shriek
but now, it’s just like a worn-out carol
that drones for its allotted week
and trudging through the stores I’ve prayed
for somewhere to return this jade.

Anon

There’s talk of the world ending again
this time it’s the big one (or so they say)
as preachers spout apocalyptic verse
the masses scan the heavens for a sign
but none is seen and life grinds on the same
epiphanies (it seems) are hard to find.

When looking back through history you’ll find
a duplicate scene again and again
the future and the past are both the same
concerned with what the stars might have to say
but soothsayers are reluctant to sign
the prophecies they’ve hidden in their verse

Haul

There is a great deal, in the writing of poetry, which must be conscious and deliberate. In fact, the bad poet is usually unconscious when he ought to be conscious and conscious when he ought to be unconscious. Both errors tend to make him “personal”. Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

—T. S. Eliot from Tradition and the Individual Talent (1917)—


Another trove of treasure found
with sturdy covers firmly bound
I’ll dive into these shining dreams
to scavenge anything that gleams;
this trek has been a constant quest
to find an overflowing chest
of precious gems that sparkle bright
with glaring facets of delight
from kingdoms I have never known
that beckon me (as timbers groan)
beyond the continental shelf
to finally see outside myself.

Focus

Illumination all depends
on what we wish to see
for even through the sharpest lens
incensed incredulity

can make the most perceptive blind
or the wisest one a fool
our greatest asset is the mind
don't ever dull your tool.

Resuscitation

Dichotomous
describes the us
I always thought we had
indignity
invades the me
that's suddenly quite sad
enormous rue
exudes from you
I know my faults are trying
but if we care
we may breathe air
into a love that's dying.