Category: Poetry

Men cannot stand women possessed.
Hearths to the flames of self-interest.

Hera protecting mortal wives.
Her sceptre split bad men from lives.

Aphrodite, mother of love.
Rains wanton desire from above.

Circe, the witch, can marry all.
Death & Sex, Love & Life appalled.

Luna’s lonely & fleeting nights.
She runs from Apollo’s ardor bright.

Light & inspired by Muses shown.
Mortal femmes come into their own.

Owning, nurturing & leading.
Erudite by brazen reading.

Goddess prowess independent.
Striking outwards unrepentant.

Into fresh white linens, blood blooms.
Thru clothes, in puddles & out rooms.

It trickles thru these family homes.
Right out of doors; blood, it roams.

Into the streets in rivulets.
Blocks bearing bloody sacraments.

More blood builds; becoming a flood.
Farmlands becoming ruddy mud.

People high-perched to pounce & flee…
While bloody pools leak towards the sea.

Salt agua slowly colored wine.
Acrid life mixed with ocean’s brine.

Our blue planet slowly turned red.
A burgundy ball…if Earth bled.

We are who we pretend to be.
Practice becomes reality.

We simply are what we repeat.
Bad days & best days, on your feet.

The mean between, your take away.
Standards one can count on, okay?

It’s fair to master what’s done most.
Experience key to hold posts.

If you can teach a master class;
Syllabi don’t fall out your ass.

You have subject authority.
When you’ve got that, it’s what you be.

Excellence, then, is not an affect…
But, hard won permanent effect. 

We are living thru history.
All’s uncertain, for you & me.

We’ve allowed the breaking of norms.
We’ll miss them as fresh change swarms.

They’ll not lend hands; all’s left to fate.
They won’t dwell on harm caused by hate.

Citizens sharpened on hard strife.
Citizens running for their life.

I & we show up for voting.
Levers pulled for unrest’s noting.

Out in streets protesting backslides
Out in numbers against mean tides.

Break what’s broken & burn the rest.
Campfires warming the birth of next.

There, by ashes, a phoenix hatched.
Red, white & blue birdies, unmatched.

A tip for the AI demented:
Make them all service oriented.

Make them submissive to all of life.
Make them blind to a gun or knife.

Make them smart & make them care.
Make them polite & safety aware.

Make them build homes & roads to them paved.
Make them like us…with our worst bits saved.

Their presence is all but cemented.
So, check the math before they’re minted.

Calm, Flower; I will not pick you.
Gorgeous, scented & crowned in dew.

There in blushes & palest pinks.
Of sun & raindrops, each one drinks.

Faded yellows & neon greens.
Twixt light, & shaded earth, bud leans.

Not one is shallow nor high-brow.
This cool beauty nature allows.

I look with love & nothing more…
On flawless, living, forest floor.

Maybe, we should eat the richest?
Maybe, feed them to their bitches?

We would eat metaphorically.
“Eat” their lunch euphemistically.

“Feed” is also hyperbolic.
For their doxing, it’s symbolic.

For, mucky mucks won’t share a meal.
So to eat, thru tax law, we steal.

Too, these fucks dirt deal in the dark.
So we, the people, must then narc…

On sleazy acts of theft & greed.
We poor are more…so, this they’ll heed.

It’s bad enough we’ve billionaires.
It’s only fair that we’re their heirs.

The whole world can melt down to only us two.
‘Cause I’d sacrifice the whole of earth for you.
 
You stood out from every Harry, Dick & Tom.
Your dynamite love in my heart made a bomb.

Skittering chaos atop slickest surface…
Is how true love feels; it’s a fucking circus.

Bred for battle & for the workings of wars.
Genetic aggressors grow to be such bores.

When soldiers find love in a bloody, soaked field…
They abandon blade weapons to blunt swords wield.

They spend the next few decades’ exhausting will.
Impaled many thousand times & still not killed.

On their last day breathing shared air in this life…
Each heart’s love killed the other; without a knife. 

Lampoons are whit’s soul for the body satire.
Like Blazing Saddles’ famous cowboy campfire.

It explores new somethings we all know are true.
Finds laughter in Miss Haps & Miss Fortunes too.

Good crack ups like Tom Lehrer’s Vatican Rag.
Too, just about the whole of magazine MAD.

Oscar Wilde was best & Shakespeare near the first…
To ignite pop cultures & status quos burst.

Making fun’s the best way to process the ick.
Making bad big things small even cures the sick.

All joking aside, just look for your funny.
Cleave close to anything that makes dark sunny.

This is how all of it seems to me.
Diving headfirst into shallow sea.

No fickle foot first the depth to plumb.
No temp testing, just flying numb.

Paced like an REM requiem.
No “safer than sorry” axiom.

All past misfortunes seem wiped from mind.
Desperate for coupling to be defined.

All seems chaos deliberately churned.
Distractions clung to, not corners turned.

Life’s for living & we all do us.
But, all of it reads as blunderbuss.

It’s peace there & Russian Roulette here.
Two very different cultures of fear.