Category: Poetry

 I heard a phrase meaning drunk tonight & click!..ideas unfurled.
New, yet classic, wit described a man as, “…in the ‘spirit world’.”

I thought, “What a revelation to explain it all away”.
Serving it up with an entendre pun..brilliant closer play.

Imaginary family fights, where anthill shadows tower.
I’m listening, nodding & nudging, I should charge them by the hour.

I’ve had this much fun considering the spirit of a word.
I’m wondering where my next adventure is in what I’ve heard.

This is brought to you, ad-free, by apropos propaganda.
Just a bespoke pitch gleaned thru your “I Agree” memoranda. 

We can make it if we talk; but silences can kill.
Staying so pridefully mum saps everyone’s good will.

We should just lay it all out; yes, we should talk it thru.
Public praise & private criticism’s how we do.

No headway’s made when you’re waylaid imagining fights.
No harbored ways ease traveling days, if none think you’re right.

Too, secrets are no good long-term…they’re fierce poisonous.
Cancerous black holes of chokehold tension harming us.

You shot your shoot & missed; you were never near the court.
Up fly yet more walls, you’ll build your tomb out of your fort.

Celestial graveyards, our Galaxies.
Existential spontaneities.

My brief blink’s seen supernovas die.
Yet, bare, aware; to think…or ask, “why?”.

Fade swift from mind’s eye, REM dreams.
Still, waking science twists how real seems.

Too, whilst I strut, many things are born.
Many great primed lives felled by foul thorn.

Life’s beauty secret is constant death.
Phosphorous sight twixt first & last breath.

So, life has no meaning & we all die alone?
True or not; I’m no fan of the dramatic tone.

Give me the facts & don’t editorialize.
I can process cold truths without guides to advise.

I open my door, my mail, my heart & my self.
Yet, my blank old dance card gathers dust on yon shelf.

I have good manners, charm & occasional wit.
I’m nowhere near rich; nor am I a lazy tit.

I am truly singular…for best or better.
I’m meaning. I’m never alone, if I’ve letters. 

Some days paper planes just aren’t crafted.
Not a one paper ball in the basket.

No Damocles pencils hung overhead.
No doodles; no notes…no lines, live or dead.

My bandwidth unfettered with nowt to learn.
I’ve signal for miles; for dropped calls I yearn.

Efficience killed my procrastination.
It cant have my self-edification.

I finish my thoughts; production awaits.
Schedule harvests. I forget to be late. 

None of us are making it out of this world alive.
Some live accordingly; others ignorantly jive.

It doesn’t matter the riches in your bank balance.
Nor, is it of consequence how brilliant your talents.

You can go to space & leave this planet for stars.
Yet eventually, death fells all low & high bars.

You can devote all your time to life’s mysteries lost.
You can spend your days blithely oblivious of cost.

Still, you can choose gnosis of inevitable ends.
So, live in spite of death; until your grave’s rest he sends.

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.