Mood

I haven't felt the urge to dance
in much too long it seems
the tune's been dulled by circumstance
along with distant dreams
though now and then I see a chance
when mystic moonlight gleams
and weary feet once more alight
upon the ballroom of the night
each star an endless sparkle from
a mirror ball ad infinitum.

Temporal

No one owns the earth
claim it though they may
a parcel’s price is worth
what mortal means can’t pay
despite the constant birth
of monuments of clay
that bring the mountains mirth
the world just spins away.

Showing

Every morning when I rise
I gaze at grace with different eyes
for pupils awed by love’s array
will gain new insights every day,
their wonder makes them wise

exploring with the curtains drawn
a canvas blanker than the dawn,
so supple one can barely tell
the middle has begun to swell
with adoration’s spawn

and as the drapes begin to part
illuming rays will coyly start
to highlight, as they slowly warm
and elevate a cherished form
from functional to art

while all the critics keen to knock
romanticism best take stock
when purest passion predicates
how any medium relates
as earnest lovers lock.

Corrosive

More than mediocre
or simply less mundane?
when iron blushes ocher
desire breeds disdain.

Don't Get Pithy with Me

I merely tried to keep it brief
and maybe make you smile
but all it did was cause you grief
and that’s just not my style
forgive the foolish things I say
for laughter keeps my pain at bay.

Upkeep

Each mote of dust is dear to me
iota of infinity
along with all the sediment
that lingers like an old lament—

the residue
that must ensue
because we fail to follow through
when swept away
or dredged someday
can help reveal what fears belay.

Precipitate

I seem so unevolved
like I've regressed as time revolved
it's such a static feeling this
a constant tick away from bliss

and every passing hails
another stab that bluntly fails
despite devout determined dreams
my passion never quite prevails--

redemption's like the rain
another chance to find relief
from droughts that dwindle ones belief
and realize no hope's in vain.

Pushing It

We're all just button pushers
we love to click away
enjoying tactile pleasures
delivering dismay

with itchy little fingers
we poke until it's pink
or watch as free will falters
when people fail to think.

Tradeoff

I realized (to my dismay)
how fast the world can turn today
now there’s nothing left to do
salvation slips away.

Before I really even knew
I witnessed, as the light withdrew,
the shadowy descent that means
a darkness will ensue,

for as our spinning ark careens
apparently it also leans
enough that its perspective jars
the season’s shifting scenes

and while the lack of sunshine bars
a tan, at least we’re graced by Mars—
the benefit when night holds sway
admission to the stars.

Wading

I’m humbled today
for one got away
it seems that my bait wasn’t tasty enough,
but there are more lines
and the sun, it still shines
plus I’ve got a creel that is ready to stuff.

Full

Oh my word, there's a cloud in the sky
so raise your prices, jack 'em high
a lion just farted in it's den
you know what to do, gouge 'em again,

you're puzzled why everyone complains
confronted by your record gains
capitalizing on supply and demand
with greed that makes a glutton bland

while fabricating higher peaks
from bits of dung - the whole thing reeks
much worse than when a cow has gas
and you oil barons , you can kiss my ass!

Bygones

Alas, the Bard’s become outdated
and Homer? now he’s animated
Playdoh is just colored goo,
say Nietzsche and you hear – Bless You,

there’s no one left that tries to plumb
the depths of where we might come from
with eloquence that lifts their prose
beyond the realm of mortal woes.

Sweet

We reach higher altitudes
by braving steeper cliffs
and scratch at what a rose concludes
when taking deeper whiffs,

we fathom what the sea conceals
if harboring a need
to feel the waves caress our keels
while striving to be freed,

and we comprehend humility
by owning our mistake
or tasting how good life can be
surprised by flaming cake.

Graven

The obelisk upon the hill
is a hundred years old
and it'll be standing still
long after I'm cold
but I bear it no ill
that's why it was sold
so time couldn't kill
what flesh fails to hold
regardless how bold.

The stone wall someone started
perhaps some centuries ago
(although they're long departed)
still stands there in a row

and whether young or grizzled
when the winged ones descend
we're just a by-line chiseled
with detachment in the end.

Overshadowed

Oh Venus, you outshine them all
your glowing face keeps men in thrall
along with fellow gods above
that circle you with rings of love

but Jupiter became so close
my outlook quickly turned morose
until you dodged his bold advance
by spinning faster in your dance

attracted to a star instead
so knowingly I shook my head
and chuckled as the night turned cool
around this wistful mortal tool.