Author: lbstowe

Reading is a mood enhancer.
Escape is the common answer.

We’ll run from here with all our might.
We’ll search the dawns for signs of night.

Our childish eyes just want to play.
If open, display they survey.

Their only function is to see.
They record both horror & glee.

We choose the things that our eyes know.
Words lend balance to ebb & flow.

For P

I am awash in what’s pop.
New shit goes right to the top.
The state of my inbox is slop.

I’m always falling behind.
FOMO is ruling my mind.
My attention span’s in a bind.

I can’t focus on the old;
Whenever new things are sold.
My bottom layer’s always mold.

My attention starts to drift;
In the face of a fresh gift.
For all mint conditions, I sift.

I have tried staying up late.
I’ve even sped up my rate.
But nought compares to brand new bait.

Every night, as we put the day to rest…
Some kill the day’s worst & savor it’s best.

Some kill both & are, in the morning, the same.
Some catalog both; thus, winning the game.

Some do no accounting, afore or aft…
Just knowing they live when they’ve cried or laughed.

Some haven’t the means to look at theirselves…
No feeling shaped tools & less for mind-delves.

Nights, we dig graves, bury faults & treasure.
Or, live blind…just consumption & pleasure.  

A pot of chocolate custard…
For this, I am keen as mustard.

Once it’s chilled & ready to go…
Crackable caramel chapeau.

Its crust beset with diamond ice.
Sea salt crystals, the humblest spice.

Then chilled & served with dainty spoon.
We crack & whack…scoop, taste & swoon.

Good not to know when next it’s served.
Foreknown, would have us all unnerved.

For H

We are the bootstraps of the rich.
The very thing they preach & pitch.

We take the bait & waste a life.
Often spent as our betters’ knife.

When times get tough they yank the poor.
They shake us down so they’ll endure.

When lowest cast no longer fruits;
They’ll come for the middle man’s suits.

In truth, wealth’s never leaked from crown.
Yet, hollowed houses will fall down.

Saddle up that inbound comet!
Don’t you want to ride upon it?

Harness, bridle & saddle too.
Plus, reins of silk for both of you.

Shoot out to see the Milky Way.
Among star nurseries; we play.

Revolution thru the spiral.
Systems without name or title.

Sure, you could come back home to earth.
Yet, stories are not near trip’s worth.

I am the crying clown.
I’m up when I am down.
My rusted bells & other tells…
Like my cardboard crown.

Whatever my employ…
I’d dreamed of bringing joy.
I broke away & made my play…
As a living toy. 

My big shoes are muddy.
Grateful they aren’t bloody.
Both blood & gore’s on killing floors…
Neither one’s funny.

My costume’s soaking wet.
My greasepaint’s smeared with sweat.
With peanut pay & beds of hay…
Fortune does forget.

My smile’s aged to a frown.
Life spread from town to town.
I started out no skill; just doubt…
Now, a crying clown.

I think Laughter an indelible ink.
It’s the chain of our recall’s strongest link.

For, we are quick to forget our worst pain.
Yet, hearts & bellies remember when slain.

Even the gallows change humor’s settings.
Shoulders shake at funerals & weddings.

A shush in a pew guarantees guffaws.
Don’t forget jokes about bears with long paws.

The happy good times flood back at a wink.
I think Laughter an indelible ink.

It’s hard for me to meet my like…so many of us didn’t make it.
Life takes all it can too soon…an end’s the only thing to shake it.

I’ve seen us fall away from life…drowning in its deepest of pools.
The water of living soaks us thru…we’re experience’s fools.

None of us knew how to dress the part…couldn’t check the weather first.
The rain that we found ourselves dancing in, neither nurtured nor nursed.

It wailed against the levees & slicked its sunside with rainbow’s oils.
I started flailing towards a light…surface engulfed in flaming roils.

Punched thru the slick, gasped & burned alive; but was nowhere near burnt dead.
I grabbed ahold of trusted, floating hope & straight for life’s shore fled.

Words are never small…even when they are short.
What we choose to say, has weight from hearth to port.

Lies are rarely harmless…they’ll hurt now, or later.
What we choose to hide, grows fat as a freighter.

Fights are not the way…to solve your wordless plight.
What, & who, we choose to hurt’s never our right.

Hate is seldom real; the scary mask of hurt.
Truths chose in mirrors; to see or blindly skirt.

These are not all finite, if it please the court.
Words are never small…even when they are short.