Author: lbstowe

Why, as a species, do we still fight over mythology?
We can’t seem to progress past this suicide pathology.

Why do invisible fairytales cost more than human life?
They don’t & that’s the problem; this ouroboros of our strife.

War needs news & news needs war; extreme belief is fed by both.
Millennia here in civil form & still no signs of growth.

If you need belief in myth, then have it just for you & yours.
Arbitrary lines on maps are rarely felt… except at shores.

Step over them & see the global people we’ve always been.
Do we want our world to fight itself all over…once again?

The grey matter of puzzle pieces; each contorted square.
A jigsaw on a cocaine binge hath made my mind go spare.

Starting at the edges, building a frame to then fill in.
Still miffed at what the whole should be; no picture on the tin.

Warped evil genius will answer for efforts to conceal.
Not a single clue’s been proffered; this game gives no reveal.

Slow, my pride dug in, I seek pairs to show the end occult.
This may take my lifetime; I have no guaranteed result.

Each new match bewilders me; still no notion of the art.
This thousands worded image, only done if I play part?

I only know connections that I’ve made along the way.
Maybe the last piece is me…slotted on my dying day.

I posit that I’m not bad off; sat here in repose.
My life could be a fuck of a lot worse, I suppose.

Perspective is a tool that pulls you out of a huff.
Could be better, could be worse; so power through the tough.

Kids don’t have it yet; but adults absolutely should.
Whining life’s not fair past thirty’s not a look that’s good.

You’re tired? Suck it up, force a grin & do your day.
Making others dance round your mood, really, ain’t the way.

Roll with punches; bend don’t break…some axioms are true.
Do good unto others, if you won’t do unto to you.

So much worth equated with what’s valuable.
Any thing you can make liquid, soluble.

All are born with nothing; some with even less.
Then we die alone; most welcoming the rest.

Twixt birth & death, we forget the start & end.
Scrabbling for possessions; no care what we rend.

Some grow inside & make their interims count.
Some share themselves; riding wisdom as a mount.

Some grow the land, so something of them remains.
Most just destroy; leaving nothing but their stains.

We won’t be dickmatized again!
No more taking it on the chin!

We check facts before we begin.
Red flags have a separate bin.

Kick the tires behind the grin. 
Take him out for a little spin.

Never sign with an offered pen.
Rate every test drive, one to ten.

No more free lunch of tasty sin.
Stay alert for an evil twin.

Know the whole what, where, why & when.
Take him home for a trial by kin.

How does he fare with patience thin?
Is he our prince among all men?

After this course, if we’re still zen…
Upon his heart our hopes we’ll pin.

Blooming pansies after frost in each landscapers bed.
Strength’s misnomer for the weak; though we’ve survived the dead.

Purple…& Lavender of McCarthy Era’s Scare.
We’ve always been & always were; nothing scary there.

Ghost Orchids & Lilies thrive inside of harsh extremes.
Each diminutive name is so rarely what it seems.

Accuracy just isn’t equal to conceptions.
Ignorant realities yield up cold receptions.

When seeing plants, or persons, as weak or delicate.
Deign to learn their story, labeled names aren’t predicate.

Avail yourselves to surveil yourselves; a camera at each door.
Privilege of the privileged; a guard against the massing poor.

Let suspicions fester as  upper classes dine on oil & flesh.
Percolate brews of archaic views; foment revolution fresh. 

The self-recording multitude thumb their screens to find some freedom.
Whilst wealthy brats with baseball bats roam the edge to carpe diem.

Both red & blue pull levers in yearly democratic courses.
Pissing away their capital on Russian-backed racing horses.

When put like this, it all seems futile; but there’s hope I’m yet to mention.
Clear-eyed kids choosing words over vids; may parent new invention.

Get on board or don’t; because I am not going to quit.
You can support me or not; but no more sideline shit.

I’m gonna live this life; until it finally kills me.
I am gonna plot my course with zero feeling guilty.

Buy a ticket for the show & put away your phone screens.
I won’t be pausing later to fill you in on missed scenes.

I’m done asking your permission; awaiting your green light.
You blocking my blue sky is surely asking for a fight.

Yes, this is big talk; I’ve steeped in humility too long.
Is asking for love & agency really all that wrong?

Have you been exceptional today? Have you done a special thing?
Did you go the extra mile? Did you help a loved one’s heart to sing?

Did you radiate well-being? Did you practice any self-care?
Were you better today than yesterday? Was your self-judgement fair?

Did you try to help where needed? Did you give some of what you hold?
Did you waste your time with blame? Did you encourage or did you scold?

How will you improve yourself? How will you face the days that follow?
How will you nourish your soul? How do you fill that bitter hollow?

I find myself humbled each day when I ask the same of myself.
But…I read my kinder heart & leave dusty critics on the shelf.

My love language is language…with honest earnest intent.
Feedback, for me, is crucial to knowing where I am meant.

I know myself pretty well; where I am I can decide.
But, solid ground is not much fun with no one by your side.

I plant my flags beside my tracks to follow, if you can.
Do you have flags, can you keep up & slow down as my man?

Language is a faceted thing like diamonds in the rough.
Yes, the gem is there to take; but digging for it is tough.

Echoed clues in cavernous verse mislead you where to go.
So, close your eyes & hear true words from stories we both know.

For poems are subactual & superfluous things.
Calling hearts, souls & minds to act…but only ones that sing.