Archeology

A chilling hush will soon usurp
the cheery chime of morning chirp
that chides me to kick back the quilt
and savor every hearty slurp

of steamy sustenance that’s spilt
as prideful premises are built
upon the kind of sand that sinks
when undermined by guile and guilt;

meanwhile the true objective shrinks
from view the more one doubtfully blinks,
though what else can we possibly do
but excavate for fabled links?

Unfit

Perpetual pursuit
of precepts that're moot
will only dangle sour fruit

resist the status quo
and suddenly you'll know
where unexpected pleasures grow.

Defrosting

He really had it good
but didn't realize
what others understood
so kept on telling lies
and now his sleepless nights are spent
beside a pillow without a dent
there's no way he can circumvent
the fact that he will soon repent.

The sheets turn icy cold
for lovers left alone
and silence tends to scold
the fool whose heart has flown
although by then the damage is dealt
delivering a livid welt
and maybe once that pain is felt
the icicles will finally melt.

Sick

Oh, pity me, my luck may have ended
a banner ad told me that I was unfriended
and when I clicked on it to seek resolution
a virus made sure that my pain was extended.

Mything the Sun

When Mercury is low he's such a bully
jabbing me with bony knuckles
and causing pain in places
that I've never hurt before,
then taunting with the frosty barbs
the haughty will employ
if loosed upon the world
of mortal woe.

It's only when Apollo deigns
to lift his comrade up
that things can be much easier to bear
inspiring more temperate climes
by managing the reins
with emphasis towards splendor
not despair.

Black Currents

Completely round a gothic spire
the ravens swirl and swoop
an ebon-feathered frenzied gyre
that widens with each loop
and though we never can recoup
the virtues that expire
we may be shocked how low we'll stoop
when future days grow dire.

Wage

Distracted by some muted sounds
that trickle neath the door
my mind begins to focus once again
I guess I’ll go and make my rounds
like a million times before
alert to any plots that prod my pen

I weave my way between each loom
to ferret out the flaws
that mar the meshing of the warp and woof
the defects that could cause our doom
and silence all the jaws
we’ve fed to fund the fun of the aloof

there’s nothing they could ever say
to justify the lines
that we are often forced to shuttle through
or strangle in to earn the pay
that never quite defines
our character as much as what we do.

Dissolution

Like the spine of an ancient sky-beast
picked thoroughly clean by a scavenger's feast
a many pronged cloud girds the sky
it eerily hovers then calmly flies by
to linger in the east
where it will die.

Possession

Were I to pen the perfect verse
it would be for naught
I'd post it up for better or worse
where it would simply rot
but I demoniacally disperse
these thimblefuls of thought
until my husk must hail a hearse
it's all I've really got.

Worker's Psalm

My boss is a shit bird, I shall not want (to know)
demanding I make him green dollars:
he places me beside still workers.
He's destroying my soul; he forces me down
the chute of emptiness for his brand's sake.

Yea, though I work in the building
of the very inept, I will make no effort
for they won't pay me. Their greed
and the staff belittle me.

He begrudgingly tosses crumbs at me
like a frenemy: he burdens my back with toil,
my time's running out.

Surely glumness and privation shall
shorten the days of my life
and I will rot in the ground forever.

Gamey

I was startled by ravenous zombies
what a way to awake
they were viciously ganging up on me
I must've smelled like steak

the battle to live made me tired
and I eyed the pause button
but struggled on more inspired
because I'm such a glutton.

Duplicity

A plan can take so long to realize
that sometimes we forget the wheres and whys
at which point we must take the time to ask:
was the outcome truly worth the task?

We deviously dabble and devise
yet plans can take so long to realize
that often we are left without a clue
concerning what our schemes were meant to do;

a grudge will only carry us so far
despite the size of wounds that need to scar
and plans can take so long to realize
we'll likely heal before we jeopardize

our future for a moments wicked bliss
of relishing the life we made amiss
a puppet of the Devil's compromise
whose plan has taken long to realize.

Know It All

You push everybody away
with the barbs you invectively say
then whine that you've never been loved
well nobody likes to get shoved
I suggest that you learn to delay

your tri-tip tongue from spewing out
the spiteful spit you love to spout
if the consensus is you don't belong
who do you think's in the wrong?
display the astuteness you tout.

Digitization

I felt dirty
without a qwerty
forsaking my typewriter roots
but I like Swyping
instead of typing
for future writing pursuits.


***As anyone familiar with this blog knows I prefer to let the poems stand on their own and seldom get into my inspiration, but the genesis of this poem is truly the evolution of how I record my thoughts. I started as any person exploring language would, with a writing implement and paper, whatever kind I could find. I obtained notebooks and filled them with my less than flowing scribbles.
Then my first adaptation - someone gave me an old portable typewriter. I began playing with it's keys (plus 5 quarts of white-out) and soon decided I should keep my notebooks by year and called them OT (original typed) then the year, like OT95. I even had them color coded: Yellow-typed poetry, Red-hand written poetry, Green-songs and Blue-stories.
Then my second adaptation - I experienced my first computer at work, hey now. This was something I immediately saw the potential of and quickly switched my notebooks to OD (original digital). My output began to increase because it's so much easier on a computer than a typewriter, and soon I didn't even print them out anymore, just made new folders on my computer. But once I got one at home it turned confusing because now my folders were on up to 3 different CPUs and it was messy.
Then my third and final adaptation on the way to where I am now - I got my first smart phone a couple of years ago. Once I found a word processing program and learned how to use it, my phone became my main tool for recording and storing my work. My first such phone had a keyboard as told here, but now I'm keyless and loving it. Being able to record my ideas anytime, anywhere has enabled me to not miss a day's posting in almost a year and a half - woohoo! And I also plugged into all hard drives saving my files and consolidated them on my phone, it's unbelievable. If you told me twenty years ago this is how I'd be doing it I would have laughed, but the bigger question is: what does the future hold? Thoughts streaming directly onto a grid of universal conciousness? could be tricky to keep your private thoughts private. Or will it all crash and burn starting the cycle anew? It's tough to say at this point, but until then I hope I can occasionally post something that people find worthy to peruse - are you reading me?***

Bullseye

Eros can be quite a scamp
inciting passion doomed to fail
and make a lover's journey damp
with tears that leave a salty trail

but sometimes when that arrow flies
it deftly penetrates the mark
in two whose uncommitted eyes
when locked produce a magic spark

and so it was for one young pair
it seemed their love was meant to be
despite the man's intense despair
from kidneys failing rapidly.

He waited on a donor's list
as one year very quickly fled
his only joy was when he kissed
the girl he wondered if he'd wed

and when their hope began to sink
she sought to help her perfect catch
so got checked out and in a blink
success - an unexpected match!

She gave her mate the apex gift
then married when it all was done
a blessing from across the rift
the two becoming ever one.