Category: Poetry

Just one thing left from teenage years.
Awkward energied sense of fear.

Still try to fly under radars.
I do not want to join the stars.

Prefer to be home; cozy thrall.
Want one on one; not one & all.

For, conversing’s what I do best.
Just one connection; hang the rest.

Teenage patina won’t rub off.
All other traits have grown to slough…

Their outgrown training wheels to fly.
But, my weakest link: teenage shy.

Naked nerves ride out on cracked voice…
Still serves in making humbler choice. 

Here’s to the jokes only to yourselves told.
To laughs that only your humors behold.

A funny phrase with no exposition.
From tongue to head, it worms on a mission.

Say it aloud & it’s never the same.
Just your cognition is fit for its game.

Recalled at most inappropriate times…
In grieving churches or courts’ juried crimes.

Maybe, if lucky, there’s one other wit.
Ones who, like you, the hilarious get.

Most, though, we hoard for the rainiest days.
In midst of the worst…a punchline will play.

Clever, to see & say, “that’s just for me.”
Private, medicinal laughs guaranteed.

Our nerves are shot & still, we try.
Living under fire to get by.

Persevere thru prosecution.
Out is thru this revolution.

One eye skyward & one ahead.
This constant state of war & dread.

Conflicted, we keep trucking on.
When backs touch walls we find our brawn.

The state of man has always been…
Violence, conflict & basest sin.

Angry boys resenting mother.
Ugly shown to every other.

Some rise above with grit & will.
Some coast right thru by being still.

Wealth parties as their ivory leans.
Soon, it will rain down all their means.

I feel blood leap from my balls to my brain.
It plumps to nourish an inspired refrain.

I repeat it til I know it by heart.
Then, I write it down & I make it smart.

I invite the flow; or it takes over.
Herding words into form; a word drover.

Slotting in place like mahjong on acid.
All the way to an end; muse gone flaccid.

I sign my name & I set up the scene.
Random bolts in bottles; keen on a screen.

We trudge thru our drudge; head kept down.
We judge & we budge life around.

We break from comfort punching clocks.
We fake our import, crowing cocks.

We’re loosing trouble in new finds.
We’re choosing bubbles in our minds.

We fight the powers dark & foul.
We frightened flowers facing plows.

We creatures all habituate.
We feature boredom intimate.

When day’s done with souls embarking.
We fall with sun to sleep’s darkling. 

Women throughout history would jump ahead.
They’d loosen their binds to birthings & bed.

They’d happily push forward the clock’s hands.
To see civil progress spread over lands.

They’d be first in line with hammers for glass.
Not just ceilings shattered, also male ass.

In time, matriarchy will come back strong.
Righting what mediocre men got wrong.

Maybe time travel is a bit far out.
But, the moral is, “have women wield clout.”

This is my church…blank experienced walls.
Where black & white bleed out on naked halls.

Where all thoughts are welcome, even the bad.
Where one can work out; eternal or fad?

Where blood is turned black & the paper cuts.
Where anyone’s allowed to spill their guts.

Where solace waits for overburdened hearts.
Where pain’s defeated…stretched out into art.

Thus, I paint churches; my graffiti deft.
I create with pain until there’s none left.

Here I am writing for you again, Clark.
Trying to picture your face in the dark.

A glimpse of you’s all that I ever get.
Try to hold on but it’s gone in a flit.

Card readings, mediums, meditation.
Trying to spare you disintegration.

No luck, no joy, not even a whisper.
Trying to let you go Mr. Mister.

Yet, right as I give up on finding you;
I get a fleet flash & searching’s renewed.

If you’d materialize from the smoke;
I’d try my best not to completely choke.

Holding, still holding, out for my hero.
Trying not to hold my breath til he shows.

Life grows better as it goes on.
Then, life takes a dump on your lawn.

It’s ups & downs & in betweens.
It’s takeaways from given scenes.

Living blithe as second shoes drop.
Like chicken necks before the chop.

As folly goes; please, sign me up.
I’ll snarf some living from life’s cup.

When last bulbs burst in darkened rooms…
Then needs will birth invention’s blooms.

We look for good, expecting bad.
It’s spontaneity gone mad.

This is the stuff of life, my dears.
Normal ain’t natural, less the queers.

Men cannot stand women possessed.
Hearths to the flames of self-interest.

Hera protecting mortal wives.
Her sceptre split bad men from lives.

Aphrodite, mother of love.
Rains wanton desire from above.

Circe, the witch, can marry all.
Death & Sex, Love & Life appalled.

Luna’s lonely & fleeting nights.
She runs from Apollo’s ardor bright.

Light & inspired by Muses shown.
Mortal femmes come into their own.

Owning, nurturing & leading.
Erudite by brazen reading.

Goddess prowess independent.
Striking outwards unrepentant.