Category: Poetry

I have seen him several times…
In vision quests for trips of minds.

Dropped into meditative state…
Where universes divulgate.

His look thru mists has changed a bit…
He’s ever hale, hearty & fit.

Bright glinting eyes; luminescence…
His energy strong quiescence.

The same dreamed soul who’d silence strife…
I hope, will find me in real life. 

They say, “Build from the bottom & out from the middle”.
Yet, “bigger, faster, better” played Rome & that fiddle.

That was intended for projects that humans complete.
Now, “bottom up, middle out’s” an impossible feat.

For, there is no middle around these parts anymore.
Not least, but last, the bottom’s just gradients of poor.

Then, there are miles of altitude to get to the top.
There’s not really many there… & it’s such a long drop.

Precariously high fortunes are hard to defend.
They’d rather burn it all down & start over again.

I’ve lost allegiance to the flag of the Divided States of America…
& to the republic for which it stood.
Several Nations & their gods.
So divisible, with liberty & justice for wealth.

Make me the Matron Saint of All Rotten Fruits.
Squeeze the softer berries for the sweeter juice.

Make of me medallions & put me on chains.
Give my like to new queers…blessing hearts & brains.

Write for me your hopes, kiss my coin & burn them.
Maybe ash lands in my lap…who can say for certain?

Keep on scribbling your wants & your needs for…me?
At the very least, you’ve made records to see.

As your lives wear on & dreams start to run real.
You can credit me…or to yourself thus deal.

Santa Claus gives me pause; a lie well & living.
Robs our kids & underbids the worth of giving.

Why the red herring to hide generosity?
They’d be best served passing out gifts from ‘neath the tree.

Wasting formative years on receipt from a lie.
Once they know the truth, they rightfully lie & buy.

Santa’s their very first lie, he’s Trust’s first crack.
Once that starts to slip, quite a fight to get it back.

Santa don’t have to die; pivot him to mascot.
A folksy tale tells kids to give & give a lot.

Why now so much fear for the coming thunder?
Were not you just awestruck at lightning’s wonder?

Idiots angry at idiots choices.
No one is lending to betterment’s voices.

Both offense & defense is playing both sides.
Campaigns aren’t for us…but for lifelong free rides.

Bitching & moaning about so much unfair.
Zoom on in & you’ll see there is no there, there.

They’ve limited terms…but enrichment for life.
They’ll plunder you too…like a non-pre-nupped wife.

These “Pimps of Freedom” do not bother with grace. 
You’ve named them “popular”, now they run this place.

Naught is warm & all is so cold.
Waiting to see what clouds unfold.

Just now the smallest slightest chance.
That frozen drops thru air would dance.

With every one that settles down.
We hope it sticks & hangs around.

Not forever a frigid place.
A couple days clad in sky grace.

Alas, it may not come at all.
But hope is renewed every Fall.

It’s the end of our home & they know it,
It’s the end of our home & we know it,
It’s the end of our home as we know it…
& nothing’s fine. 

Inauguration hour, paid in full by foreign power. 
Rape & burn, don’t learn, caught up in the human churn. 
Teens clad in uniform, book burning, blood checking. 
All insults innervated, infrastructure incinerated. 
Make your wishes, pray your prayers, get low, get out. 
Watch your heels crush, crushed, oh-hope, this means…
Fuck hate, cavalier potentate steer clear.
Put him in, put him in, put him in a tournament of lies. 
Offer me alternatives, offer us solutions & we’ll go wild. 

It’s the End of our Earth & they know it,
It’s the end of our Earth & we know it.
It’s the end of the world as we know it…& nothing’s fine.

Meter by REM-It’s the End of the World As We Know It

At 47 it dawns on me, “I have found my voice”.
Couldn’t, & wouldn’t, change it; even if I’d had a choice.

It didn’t happen overnight; it took its grainy time.
Yet, somewhere just past apogee, my craft fell into stride.

I’ll never be a millionaire & I will not meet fame.
What I’ve earned that’s meant for me will, in time, find me by name.

I’m a bit like Johnny Appleseed; casting wide my wares.
While 1’s & 0’s form my seeds; my fecund soil’s your stares.

Even though I offer nourishment; still…get big & strong.
For…if deep refrains blow your brains, you’ll have to right some wrongs.

Without logo B.S., could we again sell?
Can we create without producing as well?

It’s a drag & I mind it; that is allowed.
I wish I were heard, but, poetry’s not loud.

A patron might; yet, I know no names.
I’ve never excelled at fanning passion’s flames.

Blind to chances; like sand, slipped thru my fingers.
I can feel them fall & what we miss…lingers.

So…searing the flesh of works in my hand?
Yeah…I think, just right now, I’ll make my own brand.