Category: Poetry

I hoped I’d say goodbye today…be done with you forever.
Yet, here we find ourselves somewhere good people dreamt of never.

How can we be patriots in Puritan states that hate us?
Where do we find points of pride if we cannot pass in straightness?

Some will flee, some will stay & some will break apathetic.
Some will cleanse their hearts of hate & evolve to sympathetic.

For my part, yet, I have no plan…I’m still reeling on my heels.
Though, yes, we might be martyred first…chin up even as one kneels.

We cannot rest, though we are spent; the day to day must go on.
We will not bow, nor bend, nor break; we must greet this new gray dawn.

Do it, make it, build your light; be your very own tone.
Build the world you dreamt that night; gossamer spun & sewn.

Everything you’ve lost is ever present in your mind.
It’s coupled with its memories & its loss in kind.

So, take the ghosts of the past & marry them to now.
This is how you know thyself; this is exactly how.

What’s born that day is fullest you; glowing from within.
The past informs us now & awake is future’s win.

It’s disheartening to think that most haven’t a clue.
Sight requires open eyes & it matters what you do. 

I’ve always been slightly mad in life; notably in the falls.
I’m acutely tuned to darkening days & predator calls.

I can sense enclosures & I am piqued by subtle alarm.
A snapped twig or cracked leaf & I’m bolting from the threat of harm.

Yapping dogs gone barking mad & every chill I ever had…
My hind brain blinks & blows its grid; climbing fear to close its lid.

This, like much, holds its own perils…dodging risk steepens uphills.
Thus, you may miss easy fun…whilst making breaks for safer sun.

When all is said & done, the choices will always remain yours.
Learning what to truly fear cannot but aide you in your tours.

Why do our edges dull; & why do we break down?
Why is our effort null; & where is our renown?

Our pitiful fights won; & petty ones lost…we are hopeful brigands;
Love’s motley star-crossed.

Our minds mostly in sync & simper fi one eye.
A well weathered wink…so nothing slips by.

It’s over in a blink & drawn out for a mile.
Two very tall stiff drinks & nurse them for a while.

Gulping thru the ease in; again, I relearn you.
Please lean in to reason…
Say, love can get bored too.

The physics of smoke tell gravity to get fucked.
Burning ash & haze as if from heavenward plucked.

A fire’s waste sends aloft all its pleas for rebirth.
Rain sends them back down to dampen scorch seeded earth.

Long years hence, there’s a tree in that very same grave.
With no memory of fire, tall branches grow brave.

Clouds gather, grow pregnant & the sky cracks apart.
The lumber may be soaked but lightening’s fire will still start.

The pine sap boils & the trunk shatters into flame.
A cone falls to the mud…A new verse of the same.

Now, the familiar golden crunch of Fall.
The brown, red, orange & mint of it all.

The yellow flurries drift down upon gusts.
Ochres, umbers & sienna…the rusts.

For, Summer’s grown old & creaking away.
Cool bites early morn; then, stripping all day.

Just enough cold passing thru for color.
No bundling up till the view grows duller.

Change, like magic, amuses & warns us.
Get ready for winter’s solemn chorus. 

For most, aging is a cavalcade of giving up.
They let all of their gumption spiral out of their cup.

For some, the clock winds tighter until cogs & springs break.
They’re found fighting til the day that they die, for Pete’s sake!

Then, there are those for whom life runs on autopilot.
Those ushered by money thru their lives on clouds violet.

Few are those who’ve strode on the earth of two or more roads.
The same know the difference between these toils & their loads.

Once in a blue moon…a handful can stride down them all.
Lucky, if one’s a creative, recording that crawl. 

Venus laughing; String of pearls;
Landed gentry; dukes & earls.

Zeus is hiding; darkened rain cloud;
Humble peoples; land tilled & plowed.

Mercury’s slow; dilation grows;
Flora hiding; nobody knows.

Janus two-faced; augurs lying;
Pan’s a deadbeat; Caelus crying.

Open season; idols mounted;
Dios muertos; graves uncounted.

I’ve rounded thousands of periods…both punishments & joys.
I’ve scribbled a thousand turns of phrase…each word my voice employs.

There was a time when a blank page was one of two last resorts.
As the road stretched on, they cleaved close to me; ever my cohorts.

Every letter of every word that I have ever writ down…
Sticks to me in a million layers; my armor & my crown.

Even wisps of sound that made no sense are now my bright brocades.
The tinkle of medals on my chest…the words my action fades.

Thusly, I am all that I have ever said, or wrote, or sung.
My teeth have their own typeface & I’ve an ink pad for a tongue.

Our facets give us substance; even conflicting ones.
Laser born of prism great, burn histories of suns.

Little idiosyncrasies…flowered grassy knoll.
What sets us apart is what makes us one of the whole.

We have a blooming face for different occasions.
One per season & one for all life’s deviations.

Still, each bud we pop in view is pulled out of the green.
Petals bobbing brilliantly above a meadow scene.

Yet from above, seen as a whole; foliage is all.
Up close, a blossom’s singular; distance deadens thrall.