Category: Poetry

We’re coping with government issued sorrow.
Without our consent, it comes every morrow.

Not every person who dies was an angel.
Many people who croak are cruel & baneful.

But, hurting helpers is a giant red flag.
The morally bankrupt employed to be jags.

Sharp edges meant to scrape the meek & the mild.
Attacking the humblest is patently wild.

We must invest our strength into resisting.
Or; the “land of the free” just stops existing.

Anger is a shield for when soft bits hurt.
Irritated & chafed, we all grow curt.

If we care, we do the work & process.
If not, we ignore; then, all is sausage.

Oh lucky me! I can feel for others.
I so feel them; that they ache & smother.

I’d made my effort to break thru & heal…
Shattered against a bloodless heart’s cold steel.

Hard freeze ruined weeks & holidays too.
I tried my best…so this mess is on who?

Poems can be much like a bag of holding.
Pocket dimensions; infinite folding.

Sure, you could take all…& the kitchen sink.
Still, give these unique chances a proper think.

In infinite space, you could collect worlds.
One could keep galaxies under arm furled.

Also, there’s the chance to curate concepts.
Think of how tidy; into this bag swept.

Goodbye to poverty, illness & death.
Welcome possibilities, take first breath.

Each side of a die’s a whole new timeline.
Each day, new adventure born in the mind.

It’s like a zipper; each piece that I write.
Tessellated queries, joys, oaths & nights.

Pull the tab of their steel smiles; what’s beneath?
Universes contained by tiny teeth.

Each morning’s existential; living with pain.
It is like moving thru wood…against the grain.

Pushing to wake thru dreams where pain had no hold.
Eyes open upon foggy morn bleak & cold.

There in the midfield of vision without specs…
Galaxies of stardust one light shaft collects.

Half awake in a cosmological thrall.
Then consciousness big bangs pangs of rust thru all.

I turn on the news of the world; pain, soothe pain.
I shake off its grip & live this day again.

Some seem to think they’re hundy P…not a single doubt.
Never knowing challenges, they don’t look for new routes.

If one has seen two score winters with zero critique…
They’re way overdue to account for what others seek.

These people think they’re the center of their entire world.
They pay no attention to those they’ve left fetal curled.

I know a secret about bullies who barge through life.
They’re blinded & smothered by insecurities rife.

Unable to see or make change for personal growth…
They blame the helpers, not self, & thus break solemn troth.

There is no soothing balm, or song, to calm cornered beasts.
So…now we protect ourselves by expecting the least.

Some revel in their own mediocrity.
Loving their “big fish, little pond” sovereignty.

Fully satisfied in the tiniest lanes.
The grey of the middle where ugly can reign.

Hoping to blend in & that no souls will notice…
Your broad daylight blame; on the wrong things focused.

Unworthy & unowed a family crown.
You’re slow & you’re heavy & starting to drown.

All has been laid bare & the clock’s running out.
False blame & false claim can no more lend you clout.

For myself, I’d say, “It’s about fucking time.”
“Now I know I am owed for this place’s crime.”

Pieces ahead may contain the word “you”.
I write down words & they do what they do.

You’s a pronoun that could be anyone.
It could be none or all under the sun.

When one’s seeing the word in public view;
It is a leap assuming the “you” means you.

It is paranoid & narcissistic.
It is self-centered & egotistic.

I blend books, people, art, life & the news.
Pronouns are not names…& that includes yous.

Hey, marathon point makers, read the room.
Look in rapt eyes & see their answer bloom.

Maybe take a slow breath or count to five.
Leave some runway where responses do thrive.

Some empty dead air is nothing to fear.
Your listener’s considering your words here.

Neither whisper, nor mumble in your turn.
Who you feel hears you well, watch & learn.

For, conversation’s a two person sport…
It’s call & response where ideas consort.

To be aloof is to be confidently shy.
I know this to be the answer to many “whys”.

I need not to be perpetually engaged.
In silent observation opinions are gauged.

The whys aloof answers are rarely put to me.
I see whys in eyes; but their outlook seems gloomy.

While curious enough to formate their theories…
I sigh & my vibe nips the buds of all queries.

So, assumption & pride often carry the day.
We see each other; & still…we’ve nothing to say.

Sometimes outlaws punish the innocent.
We loose temper that for ourselves is meant.

It is a human thing of base instinct.
We lash out to hide that our fine mess stinks.

Yes, it’s easier to punch out than in.
Rage sighs at unsolved original sin.

Ire is ugly…so can we afford it?
Resolutions to change are rewarded.

If bitchy curmudgeons are status quo…
Then there’s nowhere left but Upwards to grow.