Category: Poetry

Stuck in deep thought most of time; I’m miles away.
Unaware of my own body, much less the date.

Couldn’t say what was had for dinner yesterday.
What do these trivialities mean anyway?

This is my true work, what matters above all else.
In its face, all of life’s importance simply melts.

I write every day because I have zero choice.
I would combust, if I had no vent for my voice.

Most times, the best we can do is just bear witness…
Bear it for the world at large & human fitness.

Our cozy instinct is to be Goldilocks.
When, instead, we maybe need a few hard knocks.

Grit in the gears to etch personality.
Ballast between effect & causality.

Erase vacant eyes that know nothing of strife.
Depth & substance draw from experienced life.

Once it’s not just accepted; but understood…
Each life that’s known bad, learns to relish its good.

I believe that all are capable of choice.
Speaking gives permission to each suppressed voice.

Most make peace with what they’ve got.
Happy sleepwalking robots.

Shake the branches; collect loose.
Appraise lots for their best use.

Some swing up, out & away.
Brand new treehouse everyday.

Some shed need of trees at all.
Lost to chasing waterfalls.

Some roost at canopy’s crest.
High up, where, vantage is best.

I have lived an unprecedented life.
True, I also had all the standard strife.

But in each life the novel must occur.
Sensation & thought in original blur.

Shaped by a phrase as much as broken bone.
Flushed with blood screaming, “don’t leave me alone.”

Cold sweats fall again & it’s, “Take me home.”
Then, are the days of my walkabout roam.

Each path walked, stage danced & age lived made me.
Most that I wanted, somehow, came to be.

Just swung by a farm to see some bullshit.
They were all out…true, not one little bit.

There were none from cows & none from the bulls.
Every pat that fell was without fail pulled.

Swiftly, packaged shiny & shipped away.
Free overnight everywhere, every day.

Opened & digitized onto our screens.
Rated for all grownups & surly teens.

They think that we’re fools & we’ll eat it all.
Still…Voting Booths shouldn’t smell like bathroom stalls.

Here are my terms of resentment.
Nope. Wrong movie…not endearment.

More than asked for…I was a gift.
No child should think they caused a rift.

Yet, rend I did…a fucking crater.
Satire memoir published later.

Few zombie tortures play in these…
Incessant rhyming diaries.

Voice survived & thrived; I got out.
Though, rarely safe & plagued with doubt.

Anger will trigger me til death.
Fits…now, they’re mentioned under breath.

Only closure I could know would be handcuffs.
On my weak willed mother & father so tough.

What charges would I lay upon them direct?
Isolation, abuse, criminal neglect.

Why still call it out after all of these years?
To mark where blame lies for a mind found in fears.

Childhood spent in angst for the next sucker-slap.
The only safe place was my grandmother’s lap.

Still, I know a little something of resolve.
The Way Out is Thru; that’s just how we evolve.

History grown upon a vine.
Yesteryear drinkable as wine.

Pruned by living & swift events.
Trestled stone, wood, then wire fence.

Grapes drunk on sun, seasons & age.
Fresh fruit plucked from gnarled wizened stage.

Bottled for winters, weddings, wars.
Finely aged behind monied doors.

Time’s ineffable taste is bled.
The past distilled in drops of red.

Sometimes we all need a day alone.
Silenced notifications & phone.

A few days after all hell breaks loose…
As that last demon hangs by its noose;

That’s a chance to let it all unspool.
That is the day for skiving off school.

Busy the eyes with no tax for brain.
Acoustics quiet as gentle rain.

Shaded in a day that feels like dusk.
Early to sleep & no more a husk.

Fear can never move in…only visit.
That’s not too hard to comprehend, is it?

Boot fear as soon as it wears out welcome.
But that kind of control, I hold seldom.

Mostly, I’m chasing fireworks sideways.
Routine’s the only calm I know, most days.

“Chicken Littling” at interruptions…
“End of Days” type dramatic assumptions.

Yet, from inside its own churn, fear wears out.
It crashes…til we find new hopes to doubt.