Category: Poetry

There have always been good folk doing right.
The past is always dark…though, some shined light.

A moral center is a human thing.
Grey Areas must from our North Stars swing.

We each have margins on our rights & wrongs.
Across unseen lines we’ve never stayed long.

We feel magnetic pull towards the light.
We’ve gone too far when it’s a distant sight.

We’ve skies, compasses, maps & memory.
Best tool we’ve got…our silent reverie.

Each day closer, as I exorcise ghosts.
Turning my hurt into art & then posts.

Lancing & draining each ugly abscess…
Finding, with each one, my laughter’s access.

Airing out wounds & giving them sunlight…
My own lovely way of setting things right.

Art is a mirror; I face it each day.
You’re on your own with what you take away.

Purging ugly before it sinks to heart.
I’m the only real subject of my art.

If you see yourself in something I write;
Art is a mirror…so heal your own sight.

I filter it all thru my looking glass.
Blaming art for what it shows you is crass.

Death passed over us; a comet on return.
Inevitable as fire met wood does burn.

A little flame & ice lives in each of us.
Dancing in their battle throughout all life’s fuss.

Who sees his traveling star that’s granted reprieve…
Knows to make merry whilst it turns to retrieve.

For, lucky is the cuss that death’s scythe does miss.
Baffled at survival by a hair’s thin hiss.

Don’t dilly dally in survival’s account.
You’ve precious little time & blessings to count.

Something otherworldly has gifted some time.
Bounced off death’s dimension…life turns on a dime.

There are more good poor than are good rich: fact.
It must keep aristocrats up nights; wracked.

We seem poised for one last revolution.
Who will survive to see its conclusion?

That it is coming, feels a foregone thing.
Revolution, now, is bearing truth’s ring.

Yet, surely, revelation is better?
From this division, might we unfetter?

Can’t we realize we made gods & money?
Dying for falsehoods?…So sick it’s funny.

Life’s stranger than fiction & twice as scary.
So, Halloween revelers, please be wary.

All Hallow’s Eve & next, The Day of the Dead…
Celebrate the spooks & death we mainly dread.

I’ve heard it said, “Halloween’s drag for cowards.”
Yet, for some, it must make them feel empowered.

Bolstered by one night to be weird every day.
Emboldened to take up space in brand new ways.

These days, each day, we’re presented new terror.
Saving up frights for one day seems an error.

We’ve got plenty chills & thrills twenty-five/eight.
Halloween’s ghosts & ghouls, now, seem rather quaint.

I give freely; until I don’t.
I’m pushed past can & into won’t.

I’m softest touch; until I’m not.
To think me weak is sullied thought.

Also, pushover; ‘til I stand.
Pushed too far & I scorch the land.

I’ve an open heart; ‘til it’s closed.
I can’t unsee what’s been posed.

It’s new to me this happenstance…
Granting a liar’s millionth chance.

I feel like sometimes my poems are curses.
Wow…I’ve never said that in my verses.

I’ve described them as prayers & as spells.
Though, it’s new to think of them as dark knells.

I never allow myself to wish harm or death.
Though, lately I’ve hoped ends under my breath.

Shocked, I noticed it immediately.
With lives, I’ve never been willy-nilly.

I’m maybe not fair & it comes with age.
This wide remove from perspectives of rage.

I can’t believe I’d let my heart sour.
So, cometh the witch; cometh the hour.

I’ve always known not to give in to hate.
Never let it burn or leave it too late.

I admit it here to restore balance.
Truth is my way to rein errant talents.

 When pushed beyond conceptual comfort.
I am reminded intention comes first.

Not so simple as, “I didn’t mean it.”
More accurately put, “I didn’t do it.”

The world of man can push us to new lows.
Yet, a good witch knows man comes & man goes.

Whether good or bad; thoughts require action.
Without that, there is no real infraction. 

Confession, they say, is good for the soul.
Rough waters will find balance…on the whole.

In this life you better have one of these…
Personal strength or a lot of monies.

Some have both things…They float or they smother.
You ain’t got one? Better have the other.

Poverty requires strength to survive.
Money without strength may keep you alive.

Those without either lean on kindnesses.
Still, don’t rely on noble highnesses.

Common denominators hoard their own.
Sadly, these rules, are commonly unknown.

We shouldn’t prescribe their fates; win or lose.
It’s our job to support the paths they choose.

Kids routinely underestimated.
Assuming age dictates wit is dated.

I was self-aware at an early age.
Unwelcome & resented, I was sage.

Learn the lessons from my wordy accounts.
When they stray, observe…don’t react & pounce.

Pan out. Look at it from their apertures.
For, they may lead you to greener pastures.

 Yet again, these thieves & liars.
Not many offenders higher.

Stole from the highest to lowest.
Lately, all lies have been noticed.

Woe to those who’d see us as fools.
For, we are blessed with many tools.

Tools to adjust & votes for change.
Trim or widen their able range.

Hope hard lessons are taken on.
If not, see final curtains drawn.