Category: Poetry

Here is the issue…I think this is a low.
This is as far down as life’s able to go.

So, if I meet him, today or tomorrow…
I will suspect he’s in love with my sorrow.

A trauma tourist & PTS braggart;
Unworthy of access to see me haggard.

If they love me now, where were they on they on my rise?
For right now only, I can see thru my lies.

Stuck topsy-turvy & know highs are my lows.
Hope I remember, & forget, at hellos.

An afternoon spent with your person venting.
Just the draught to prevent anger fomenting.

Cordial & nice is ok for the most part.
Yet, everyone needs to drop ballasts of snark.

We are human, we’re base, we’re fearful & cruel.
Repressing that guzzles up far too much fuel.

Things one could have laughed at, bloom redder than blood.
Though, lunch with this person would save thee that flood.

So, save a few slots on thy dance card to rest.
If you’ve nowt nice to say, come sit by the best. 

I’ve shaped up to keep myself satisfied.
Now, I know it’s true; no husband, no cry.

I keep it tight for my own gratitude…
Not to win men or sacrifice in feud.

I’m gratefully able to myself hoist…
Over & over til my clothes are moist.

It’s no fine metric; but I can manage.
Pain equals gain?…some stoic old adage.

I don’t like the phrasing; but, truth is blunt.
Pain comes after; it’s only burns up front. 

Suitcases, snacks, book, bathroom & seatbelt.
Money & passports to make borders melt.

Maps pulled for reference & news on my phone.
Checking the state of upcoming unknown.

Ready to bolt; but so hoping to stay.
Hoping for positive change on the way.

There really is no real way out but thru.
You can’t throw out patients to kill the flu.

So, hope for the best; prepare for the worst.
It’s not a new threat; not the last…or first.

Our kids only roam when it has soured at home.
They avoid the suffocating, tension-frothed, foam.

The plights of adults blind them from their own value.
Questions can’t be answered while grown-ups ignore you.

Curiosity, maybe, never killed a cat.
Then, questions want answers & they lead where they’re at.

Do you know the product of lives of obstruction?
Pressure needs venting; build-up causes eruption.

Therefore, voices raised in question should make us yield.
Would you rather your kids seek responses afield?

Jumping, tinkling, whirling jester.
Let not dark moods set & fester.

Distract the throngs with shiny treats.
Coliseum patrons’ reddest meats.

Kings prepare your entertainment.
You’d no idea they’d stiff payment.

While you vomit in those gutters…
Royal Head divinely utters.

“That was fun, let’s do it again!”
“Distract the mob & rob poor men.”

“Hey there, handsome. Do you come here often?”
A pickup line that makes hard things soften.

“Hey, you look familiar. What is your name?”
Superfluous opens reveal the game.

“What are you doing in a place like this?”
Apparently hunting for frogs to kiss.

“It’s from that man at the end of the bar.”
Could’ve asked himself; it’s not like it’s far.

“Is this seat taken? Thanks. Hi, I’m blank.”
Now that’s an approach that could save me a wank.

Panning these cloudy skies for lightening.
They’re Impossible, bright & frightening.

Rain & sand flow from rocker-box under.
The shine left on my screen; loud as thunder.

I pick out the nuggets & lock them up.
I separate glitter from cup to cup.

What’s leftover is sand iridescent…
For tiny hands in the poorest crescent.

It’s never a gold rush I chase to mine.
Just impregnated clouds with lights divine.

It’s right there on screen; so, it must be true.
Unless…the pixels are lying to you.

How does one know when they have been deceived?
Are there signs & stages like when one’s grieved?

Skeptics we need; but a matter routine?
No more, just data; lies too on my screen.

It says we’re safe & have nothing to fear.
Though, a look outside says that’s not true here.

Vision won’t lie; but information does.
Clap eyes on truth before claiming what was.

I agree, “Life is a Highway”; it has some fits & starts.
Most spent on autopilot, cruise control & mending parts.

Occasionally, you’ll find yourself sat by a spent heap.
Your eager thumb will kiss the wind & at first chance you’ll leap.

Taught to shrink from strangers, you overcome your natural urge.
Just hoping past hope, the carriage slowing plays not a dirge.

You plaster on an eager smile; though, a mite too fragile.
Then, don mildest manners; keeping conversation agile.

After squealing brakes, a sigh blows against your waving hand.
The last few dodgy miles brought you back to asphalted land.