Category: Poetry

Why not a dance party lying on my back?
Would that really make me such a kooky-quack?

I was lying in bed & thought of a song.
The beat got a hold of my soul before long.

This guy has always had music inside him.
Grateful for my gifts & I’d never hide them.

So, tonight’s the night where the rythym gets me?
It’s the time when I fall prey to the boogie?

I lean into the magic; cause I’ve nothing to prove…
& surrender to sleep inside of my groove.

They’ll be at the age soon when my adults turned away.
Yes, there were witnesses of the abuse of this gay.

Past that point, my lived experience is so sparse.
Absent of family & lodged in a foster-care farce.

Suddenly, all my adult relationships were paid.
I was a ward of the state & just really afraid.

There’s much uncommon good that I can share of this world.
Yet, I have nought for these years; when my own life was furled.

I think I could be useful in the deeper felt strains…
Including hurdles that waylay & hang up our brains.

I can pay witness & shepherd the wanderers back.
Hard, not to worry…there’s so much they need that I lack.

Still, I know that I love them…so, I know it’ll wash.
I’ll try to remember it…when I have angst to squash.

How far are you willing to compromise?
Don stiff mannerisms, drop voice & hide?

How long are we patient to wait for change?
Wait on red-tapers leery of the strange?

How hard will individual lives get?
We’ve brief agency; but far longer debt?

How much can one do without burning-out?
Just with big pharma & old-monied clout?

How would one know if they’ve finished Life’s race?
Dead Dust has no need to think of its place.

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.