Author: lbstowe

Calm, Flower; I will not pick you.
Gorgeous, scented & crowned in dew.

There in blushes & palest pinks.
Of sun & raindrops, each one drinks.

Faded yellows & neon greens.
Twixt light, & shaded earth, bud leans.

Not one is shallow nor high-brow.
This cool beauty nature allows.

I look with love & nothing more…
On flawless, living, forest floor.

Maybe, we should eat the richest?
Maybe, feed them to their bitches?

We would eat metaphorically.
“Eat” their lunch euphemistically.

“Feed” is also hyperbolic.
For their doxing, it’s symbolic.

For, mucky mucks won’t share a meal.
So to eat, thru tax law, we steal.

Too, these fucks dirt deal in the dark.
So we, the people, must then narc…

On sleazy acts of theft & greed.
We poor are more…so, this they’ll heed.

It’s bad enough we’ve billionaires.
It’s only fair that we’re their heirs.

The whole world can melt down to only us two.
‘Cause I’d sacrifice the whole of earth for you.
 
You stood out from every Harry, Dick & Tom.
Your dynamite love in my heart made a bomb.

Skittering chaos atop slickest surface…
Is how true love feels; it’s a fucking circus.

Bred for battle & for the workings of wars.
Genetic aggressors grow to be such bores.

When soldiers find love in a bloody, soaked field…
They abandon blade weapons to blunt swords wield.

They spend the next few decades’ exhausting will.
Impaled many thousand times & still not killed.

On their last day breathing shared air in this life…
Each heart’s love killed the other; without a knife. 

Lampoons are whit’s soul for the body satire.
Like Blazing Saddles’ famous cowboy campfire.

It explores new somethings we all know are true.
Finds laughter in Miss Haps & Miss Fortunes too.

Good crack ups like Tom Lehrer’s Vatican Rag.
Too, just about the whole of magazine MAD.

Oscar Wilde was best & Shakespeare near the first…
To ignite pop cultures & status quos burst.

Making fun’s the best way to process the ick.
Making bad big things small even cures the sick.

All joking aside, just look for your funny.
Cleave close to anything that makes dark sunny.

This is how all of it seems to me.
Diving headfirst into shallow sea.

No fickle foot first the depth to plumb.
No temp testing, just flying numb.

Paced like an REM requiem.
No “safer than sorry” axiom.

All past misfortunes seem wiped from mind.
Desperate for coupling to be defined.

All seems chaos deliberately churned.
Distractions clung to, not corners turned.

Life’s for living & we all do us.
But, all of it reads as blunderbuss.

It’s peace there & Russian Roulette here.
Two very different cultures of fear.

I know why pregnant tums aren’t see thru.
We’d not come out of wombs with a view.

Any recent nine months they’d’ve seen;
We’d come off scary & very mean.

I could see a way to get them out.
Massage their egos & give them clout.

A person who would head right for fire;
Has the self-esteem to fix what’s dire.

From another view, you’d give head starts:
Leads in the sociopathic arts?

Right out of ovens self-inflated.
Par for course births: etiolated.

Best keep them numb to hell’s freshest new.
Or, draw the blinds on wombs with a view.

If you would deign to do it right;
I’m sure I’d soften to your plight.  

If you would try a different tack;
I know closed doors can’t help but crack.

If you’d come for conversation;
I’d engage: communication.

Forgo pride to join round tables.
Still, I doubt that you are able…

To drop the huff for healthy work.
Too many kindnesses were shirked.

Effort your way’s all but halted.
Only you, for that, are faulted.

If you cared, you would bridge these gaps.
But…none will volunteer for slaps.

It’s six weeks since therapy & that shit shows.
Me, Myself & I are constantly at blows.

Self-contradiction makes characters richer.
One half meticulous & one half bewitcher.

Still, good to run them by professional health.
Exploring duality & traumas stealth.

My sides serve me well; with managed maintaining.
Though, I must admit my conflict’s exclaiming…

The emotions & themes that nurture my muse.
Free from inner turmoil? I’d have to refuse.

Too many dark nights this soul has known.
Too much of Life’s ugly it’s been shown.

The dark in the seams seems to bleed out.
So, the whole grows dim by shrouded doubt.

Uncertainty’s an unwelcome norm.
It’s recently calcified in form.

List some metastasizing cancers…
Greed, religion & hate are answers.

Darker & darker esteemed concern.
When are we, the people, gonna learn?

We bear no redemption but labor.
We’re commodities for rich neighbors.

We feel degraded, unwanted, marked.
These days compared to progress are stark.

As Liberty’s Torch, we look sun-wise.
Our pilot light of hope never dies.

I can no longer be your righteous anger.
I cannot be your vociferous clangor.

I cannot take on all the quips you’d want said.
I cannot attack enemies in your stead.

I cannot be the white hot tip of your spear.
I can’t face our music when you disappear.

I can’t fight for alliances that dissolve.
I cannot be your retroactive resolve.

What I can always do is love & support.
But, I can no more be your moot court cohort.