Category: Poetry

I have found a box with an extra box.
In which, from this chrysalis, I’ll detox.

I’ll shed my years here; where I walked with death.
These rallying years; where I’ve caught my breath.

Just a few hundred more square feet for growth.
Room for a guest; if I should choose to host.

Space to practice, to work, create & breath.
Specific stations for ideas to seethe.

Nothing lux, lavish, brand new or unused.
Just want & need…which so rarely are fused.

Soon will come unwelcome radiation.
Deep depressions for all our globe’s nations.

Just as disinformation’s endemic…
So, will follow another pandemic.

Societal decline spreads over Earth.
Alarming plummets in all rates of birth.

Eco & zoological collapse.
This is accelerationist time-lapse.

These oligarchs thumbing their data drives…
Don’t get the value of brief precious lives.

With luck, they’ll have a fair fear of masses.
We serve them food & top off their glasses.

Hopeless, & the Soul of Hope, all at once.
My life’s dual states; to each other affronts.

They simmer & bicker…neither lay dead.
For, I hold more than one thought in my head.

I see horizons & none etched in stone.
So, when asked to define, I watch my tone.

A smudge over yon can be anything.
Until I’m upon it, its truth won’t sing.

Instead, I think of what maybe could be.
Thus, rarely surprised by reality. 

Rummaging thru the clean & contagious…
For what society found outrageous.

These misfit treasures they have laid aside.
Toys for the edgy kids; where gray’s implied.

Not fit for the sociopathic top.
No use to the bottom; even as slop.

Yet, as I’ve said, there’s more to find between.
Most of “we the people” do gray-ward lean.

So, here in the middle, I can grant fate.
New uses strung out for unwanted freight. 

We are responsible for our words.
We can’t speak & fly away as birds.

We must stay grounded & watch them fall.
We must own how they’re received by all.

If silence is filled with consequence…
Apply just a bit of commonsense.

Look around when you speak.
Make sure that gossip don’t have a leak.

We quiet children hear everything.
Do not let bad blood be our wellspring.

Communication level up.
We topped off cynicism’s cup.

I knew we’d find rhythm one day…
Locked eyes & intent paving way.

Understand care’s sincerity.
See for ourselves stake’s verity.

Stay hands on helms; when seas are rough.
Lift each other; when times are tough.

Been mostly patient; waiting here.
Now, we can share joy, fret & fear.

I’m needing a place to wait out the clock.
Occupied silences between tick’s tock.

Music, words & art do busy these hands.
A tiny garden; the whole of my lands.

Dedicated areas for each task.
Write & create twixt menial asks.

A bit more room, if life chooses to grow.
How & When?…I am not yet in the know.

Turbulent times make for wanton messes.
I’ve not known a home…only addresses

Alone, aloof & oft misread as rude.
My happy life is busy solitude.

We, the aloof, keep hid much of our sum.
For strengths or weaknesses, we don’t forth come.

Though, aloofness eludes me on the page.
I lay bare ridicule, contempts & rage.

Yet, day to day, I exist far away.
Not one or the other; but…mostly gray.

Empath’s, so often, do keep to themselves.
No shined surface & no access to delve.

Without this distance, we would overheat.
Those who love seers, know our hearts are not neat.

The yoke of my shoulders begins to sag…
Where Angels & Demons compete to nag.

“You should push back on an obvious lie.”
“Not every hill is a good place to die.” 

Arguments made against one another.
I weigh both under silence’s cover.

Not Angel nor Demon can use my voice.
I hold the mike & response is my choice.

Most are fibbing to themselves about truth.
Outing all deceits seems somehow uncouth.

There are ribbons of scent caught on the breeze.
The bracing musk of white ginger lilies.

Shot up, full bloom, in a random cool night.
This too early scent gave me wintry fright.

For, these are trumpets of Fall’s arrival.
So, this Summer month doubts their survival.

Almanac says we’ve a few hot ones left.
They’ve a chance, in shade; if Night’s cool is deft.

Fall is coming around the corner…yes.
Beacon blooms tricked early to show their best.