Author: lbstowe

Sometimes, I start a verse in bed, as my synapses fire down.
Jotting down a couplet of non-sequiturs leaking from my crown.

I’ve lived my whole life with my head in heaven & my feet in hell.
So, who knows? I may go either way; at the hour of death’s knell.

But putting aside mythology, I’ve resigned to just exist.
My high art mind & problem feet provide my poet’s heart much grist.

So, when I wake, I tally the words that zoomed past just before dreams.
Among the random mess I’ll find a piece that just needs stronger seams.

So, I sow words upon the blank & sew until the pieces fit.
I guess my point is…”random seeds can grow into full-bodied wit”.

I’m done missing people that did not stick around.
Those who volunteered to be lost & never found.

The proverbial handful proved dependable.
The rest & I…mutually expendable.

Though, sometimes, I do wonder where & how they are.
I will not go investigating; near or far. 

I’m near & not at all the same as I once was.
I myself am ever changing, just as one does.

Growth serves us well & I truly hope they’ve changed too.
Of course, their core the same; but mostly someone new.

It’s a sad & stagnant choice, when nobody grows.
Bitter hearts still stiffly fighting against life’s throes.

Better, not to miss someone…Best, to just move on.
Don’t feign kinship when you see recognition’s dawn.

Everyone now has their own cult.
This is social media’s result.

Life for approval & freezing time.
Sharing your life; but only in prime.

What’s the payoff for moments frozen?
Does strangers’ love make you feel chosen?

Yes, I was there for the race’s start…
Putting my horse just behind my cart.

But, I edited down to joy’s spark.
No followers, no cults…just a lark.

Googling alone does not information make; data arranged just so.
Algorithmic overlords steer us to camps; where to stay & when to go.

We have made them the way they are; but maybe now the control is reversed.
Art is said to imitate life; but idioms cause binary to burst.

What rises up, indeed, comes down & algebra, for a use, can be trained.
So what do we say to guide the arithmetic not to take what was gained.

If it presents me with something that makes me smile, I zealously engage.
Yet, if it offers divisionist fare, I ignore its presented page.

So, what can you do to tame the beast’s language; comprised of ones & zeros.
Be wary what you encourage…groom your digital heuristic heroes.

What is the point in snapping the arrow, when sense warrants detaining the archer?
In tending the target, we will always miss the culprit’s unheeded departure.
 
Where do we go to hoe the row laid down by public & popular sentiment?
In avoiding conflict, we silence our truth, making voicelessness more imminent.

Why do we bother with hate & regret, oppression & colonialism?
In warring with others, we blind ourselves to the absence of any true schism.

When will we drop our arms & our boundaries…arbitrarily drawn on the map?
In proving your prowess & militancy, you fall in your own, destructive, trap.

Who will fall first in the coming avalanche & what kind of cascade will it be?
In civilization’s crescendo, will we be destroyed; or will peace set us free?

I’m all full up on how awful people can be.
I now attend the notion of who’s good to me.

I am no saint, I can come across so aloof.
My absent bevy of friendships is enough proof.

I have always leaned toward being selective.
But, as years drag on, I’ve found most bonds elective.

That doesn’t sadden me; but instead, makes me proud.
The people still in my orbit…their love’s so loud.

It’s why I don’t mind that my past seemed off-putting.
We the people I love are sure of our footing.

Some of the wounds in life just cannot be healed.
The best we can do is forge ourselves a shield. 

Crucibles that burn away imperfections…
Leave us a shining aegis of conceptions.

Choose, over weapons, to wield strong defenses.
Inflicting your own pain deafens your senses. 

Only for your melee will your hurt go numb.
When smoke clears, it’s back; a throbbing double sum.

So we heal & we scar & we shield the rest.
Reject the norm of hurting others the best.

“Nature abhors a vacuum”…I’ve always heard.
But I disagree; in the form of one word.

Space, un-included from that dime store logic.
Universe, mostly, vacuum cosmologic.

It’s false wisdom to make a blanket statement.
More so, when they call for reason’s abatement.

Just because a saying has always been said…
That is not enough cred to not use your head.

So, before you pass down your faulty premises…
Add the facts to your pithy alchemises.

I dream every day, through a page put away.
So, my night is understood.

I share them with you, when they’re processed & new.
As you might expect I would.

-

I distill my brain, in order to keep sane.
It’s what I do with what’s dealt.

The things that I dream, come by bright vivid stream…
Oxidized to feelings felt.

-

My heart beats loudly, while speaking so proudly.
I heed it within reason.

Yet it once held sway, over all I would say.
But then, it was youth’s season.

-

Now, my wisdom speaks; for what my soul still seeks.
It’s my heart & brain’s vision.

One wanted passion; one wanted to be safe…
Between, my soul’s decision.

-

Yes, Wisdom, listen! To voices in frisson…
My heart, my brain & my soul.

Then take to my stage; day after night on page.
Please! Be the voice of their whole.

 Turn to every new chapter with a fertile mind…
& leaving the last one I digested behind.

Looking for plot points which have not yet been resolved…
& for new terrain that the story has evolved.

The best bits of a tale are chaos & suspense…
& wherein I am robbed of any knowing sense.

When what you expect to be a zig, turns zag…
& then my fertile mind, this yarn’s got in the bag.

Towards the end, mind racing, doing all the math…
& what awaits but surprise; a twist in the path.

If the telling is deft, I am kept on my toes…
& unsure, but hopeful; trying to presage prose.