Author: lbstowe

Anyone here jealous of their dog?
Their privileged life high on the hog.

They’ve sixteen hours of sleep each day;
Punctuated by their meals & play.

We walk them, we pet them & scoop their poo.
Many, for family, would not this do.

Touch continues well after sleep falls.
Still, we let some of them keep their balls.

The best spend a life as studs for hire.
Being a good boy must never tire.

Wind & its elements transport us in life.
All of us, really, on the edge of a knife.

Some are without rudder & some without wheel.
Some slave to their sails & the wind’s death or zeal.

Some manage to harness their swells…& some don’t.
Some quickly accept they must surf & some won’t.

Some people fight too hard, tire & drown.
Others make no effort; the firsts to go down.

Yet in blustery air, where those who know smell hope…
We use what we have, we survive & we cope.

Dawn…on a beach in Greece.
Dawn…on a life in peace.

Blue sweet salt of heaven.
Perfect, numbered seven.

Islands mimic repose.
The wind our only woes.

People lizard the days.
Blooming at night, our ways.

Whitest sea foam & walls.
For Ocean’s love…each falls.

Tell me what you love & not just what you hate.
Boundaries are good; but don’t forget a gate.

If your loved ones only know, of your dislikes;
All we can do, is respect your wall of spikes.

See, if you built a sluice, to let some love in;
We would have a way to show it…now & then.

Even putting flags upon defending walls…
The coat of arms they bear, would inform good calls.

We’ve so much love for you, just across your moat.
We’re always listening for you to emote.

She had a dog named Girl.
Her mutt a breeding whirl.

Something just from her dad.
A gift to each was had.

The gas pump dog, a name.
The child, a love to tame.

He knew the dog would stay;
Where he soon went away.

Girl was one of a kind…
Single, in heart & mind.

Committed to not be committed; I turn myself inside out.
Decreasing all my creasings; so there’s no dirty laundry to doubt.

In mustering all of my mustard; for clearing I’m clearly keen.
I’m the only maid for the mess I’ve made…all the carnage I’ve seen.

I work while I wait for a decrease in weight, slow & steady now.
Shocks of pain whilst cleaning a pane, to be outside my mess I vow.

Pelted by rain & under false reign; I clear a path thru the waste.
Now, this orphaned son can soak in the sun;  no more sorrow encased.

Headed for the gate with the jauntiest gait, freedom earned tastes best.
Being great will undoubtedly grate; but I’m here…so, where’s the rest?

An embarrassment of riches is everything we want.
Although, no one can have all the things they want; can they, Kant?

There’s denial & discipline; all our parts on trial.
Yet one life can’t do it all; from the greatest to the vile.


Philosophers that posit “if you want it make it so”…
They’re skating past mortality; whose deadline makes life go.

Fear’s not our only motivator; but it pulls its weight.
It fosters forward motion, helps us build & helps us mate.

Still, harken to great orators’ enrichment, not their law.
Urge yourself to see all things; both the insight & the flaw.

Now closer to death than birth…
I’m still questioning worth.

Wisdom’s patina, I wear.
However, the core’s still there.

My kingdom for new O.S.
Something in line with my best.

Time is about accepting.
Rare, it’s about correcting.

Nourishing layered lichens.
Poison, my biome siphons.

Every ring’s inside me still.
Each new one: survival skill.

I’ve a weary wistful crown.
It reminds me to look down.

I’m metal, water & wood.
I’m them, I’m me & I should.  

Holy war makes zealots of non-pious & faithful alike.
From the atheist azure collar to the suicide tyke.

Reductive flags of right & wrong billow in sermons’ hot air.
Progressive winds o’er compensate change; trending elitist fare.

Yin just isn’t yin without encompassing a little yang.
Even its prism has its faults, absent rainbow’s color gang.

A dichromatic living must be a truly awful bore.
Those hunkered down in day or night must be desperate for more.

This is the blindness of black & white sight; polar, distant cries.
All of us living in the gray know that opposites are lies.

We’re crumbling by abbreviations.
Our lettered works now deviation.

A new nickname for every word.
Phrases acronymed to the absurd.

Verbose & witty forgone to blurt.
Inflectionless texting  all sounds curt.

Convenience, now our sole avowance.
Ever shorter grows word allowance.

Tone & context make dialogue rich.
Let’s resist being brevity’s bitch.