Category: Poetry

Too much, too much, too much to do.
More than a day needs; with more due.

Too little, too little, too late.
No chance in hell; it’s up to fate.

Many, too many, things to learn.
Comprehension not easy earned.

Few, too few, hero’s on the job.
Progress & goodwill, both were robbed.
 
Debits & Credits tug at sums.
This constant frisson almost hums.

Fielding constant interruptions.
Managing other’s disruptions.

Stroking egos & nodding wise.
Warm hearths with truth & kindly lies.

Gaming out solutions for them.
Quenching every dramatic whim.

Rare, I help & am helped in turn.
Begin to share & blithely spurned.

Ears are favored with zero voice.
Equal take & give’s not a choice.

Patience thin; still calls are answered.
Biting tongues just may cause cancers.

New chance encounters are so few.
So, what is patience meant to do?

Shush perseveres; til limit’s met.
If someone listens…ready, set.

Beautiful men wrest my attention.
Necessity burns toward intention.

The making safe wherever I go.
Remembering I can still say no.

Suppressing fear with anxiety.
Nerves survived by inebriety.

One way or other, I move forward.
Somehow & someway, I’m untoward.

I don’t yet know what type soul’s within.
Do we match in original sin?

Risks untaken leave gloried tables.
Without chance, falling’s a forced fable.

Deep breaths, alcohol; & ignore chest.
Beautiful men my attentions wrest.

An old enemy chips away.
Chisels at my chutzpah each day.

It’s undermining my morale.
It lies in wait at all locales.

It scans for holes it can exploit.
At infiltration it’s adroit.

It waves at me from finish lines.
To poking bruises, it’s inclined.

It would like to end my mission.
Whines that it can’t mar my vision.

See, art can launder good & bad.
Reducing it to passing fad.

Bound by canvas, at last I see…
My enemy was only me.

Cold hearts are dead hearts…so warm those pumps.
Or, careen through life as frigid frumps.

Cozy your cockles by crackling fire.
Build with logs let go & chopped from ire.

Welcome others with a happy glow…
Even the friends you do not yet know.

Feed them with spoils of sun ripened fruits.
Give them old clothes that no longer suit.

Forgive faults by new casts in your plays.
Warmth can be shown in so many ways.

Welcoming hearths are at your behest.
So, choose which kindly acts you do best.

Brain made in hurt & driven crazy.
Cursed to always think myself lazy.

Reasons why I have overachieved.
Why I just recall bad days received.

Explains why I must better my best.
Causes my constant struggle with rest.

Shows how I ended up being me. Contextualizes how I see.

Expositions given & withheld…
Are how my creative mind excelled.

Defines parameters of risk took.
Proves inevitable I’d write books.

Comprehension earned isn’t hazy.
Brain made in hurt & driven crazy.

What I create has no agenda.
If it did, it’s a gay magenta.

A puce confusion none could ignore.
Answerless understanding’s Art’s core.

The reds run clear as purple takes form.
Then blue bleeds from violet’s spent red warm.

Azure & cobalt wiped across sight.
Aqua nipping heels to catch green light.

Kelly & pine crack the world in two.
They fade & yellow as living do.

Dusk drops dark over hazel sunset.
All color sinks in black oubliette.

Something was processed in heres & nows.
Whilst, unconscious calm takes tranquil bows.

I’ve spent so much life in service of beauty.
It’s what I could do for my gay duty.

My way of leaving better life to be found.
My way of tying ambition aground.

Once, I mainlined all the product I could.
Now, I invest in what’s been proven good.

I don’t buy the whole; just what’s expedient.
I focus on active ingredients.

The price tag’s low…minus water & chalk.
So much for the show; I’m walking the walk.

Beauty’s countenance, vestments & its hair…
Out of reach for those who long to be fair. 

For, beauty’s ever for the beholder.
So, behold yourself as you grow older.

I may subvert the industrial wise…
Preservation Beauty’s where madness lies.

“We’re gonna be fine”, he says in small hours…
In protest to worry that all can sour.

His buttress against life’s scary corners;
The murder of love by greedy scorners.

He cares enough to suffer in silence.
Following events; eyes peeled for violence.

Curated images of life aren’t real.
It’s a false smile cover, whilst both hands steal.

Worry grows heavy & hits its red line.
All he’s can say is, “We’re gonna be fine.”

Imperfect is fine; I mean, aren’t we all?
What counts is if you lean into your fall.

You’re either digging out or digging in.
Do you stop & orient towards a win?

We try to do our best with what we have.
We even try when what we’ve got is halved.

We shoot for the moon to guarantee stars.
Imperfection’s why we’ve so many scars.

All that remains is supply & demand.
Aim your work…or it will get out of hand.