Category: Poetry

Most nonsensical cognitions stem from a deep refrain;
Like flood waters receding into aquifers of rain.

We still ourselves & meditate; focusing on one thing…
Like letting go of stress or sorrow; thoughts along a string.

Soon & sharply, that thread is twanged by misfires in our mind.
Primordial disordered themes from lizard brain behind.

Something neutral, somewhere dark or image ridiculous;
Irrelevant of nature, interloping synapse thrusts.

It pulls the hum’s harmonics sharp & flat within our piece.
Either, ignore discord…or track the squeak & apply grease.

Djinn’s are great models of irony.
They’re serving it without errancy.

They are sought for what they can offer.
Blind to lessons their stories proffer.

Everybody wants to rub that lamp.
They imagine up; to lord from tramp.

Seekers approach genies circumspect.
Whilst fortune hunters are checked & wrecked.

For, you think you’re due milk & honey?…
Wished for coin; then, buried by money.

Here you come again, shoe two.
Just when I’d stopped feeling blue.

Sometimes, I’m able to dodge.
Even from toes, I dislodge.

But, just as much, I’m squashed flat.
Wipes out third dimension, that.

Then rain comes & fills my cup.
Please don’t clear my grease stain up.

Good comes & I float again.
Next shoe two comes…bite its shin.

If words were currency, I’d be rich.
Though, a wealth of words is still a bitch.

Even as you toil mining them out;
Each debit of hope, credits a doubt.

Faithfully, I, arrange them each day.
Ordered intently with truth to say.

Many insightful messages shared.
My profit’s relief & few have cared.

I get what I need from creation.
Still, I’d not snub remuneration.

You are the moth that attracts the flame.
For adventures you are always game.

You’ve lived a handful of lives by now.
You have drunk the milk & bought the cow.

You have not taken many main ways.
You veer to yeas & avoid the nays.

You’re not the piper; you are the pipe.
You have nurtured fruits & sunned them ripe.

You have founded dreams with trusty stone.
You are the maiden, mother & crone.

We are all of us captives to our mind.
Yes, every last member of mankind.

All us humans have the same computer.
Yet, most fear using a troubleshooter.

I agree with, “to thine own self be true”.
Still, maybe take a beat when feeling blue.

We all have both dark & light subroutines.
Our tools are neutral; both dirty & clean.

The trick of sailing is how you do it.
Give clear eyed maintenance to your unit.

The choice is yours for ill or good.
Will you show face or don a hood?

Each day you wake unto our world.
All of its options wait unfurled.

Will you stay in your bed by choice?
Or, choose to give the day your voice?

Would your legend live…giving up?
Or, would you leave us much to sup?

Even villains can say they tried.
Shake off your rust & live this ride.

We’ve got it all; yet, something’s missing.
Our gears grind more; instead of kissing.

Is it just a task for maintenance?
Or, does it require our countenance?

We must confer with all voiced dissent.
Actively listen with calm intent.

Our common ground is easy to find.
Just share the top ten things on your mind.

If there’s only agreement on one…
It’s still shared earth & you both have won. 

Oft elusive for me was slumber.
I carried not splinters but lumber.

Shards from a cross I was never near.
Thorns from a crown of violence & fear.

Switches from shrubs embroidered my thighs.
Sticks of repression & its base lies.

Splints just there to keep me from running.
Struts, with help, to keep me from crumbling.

I creak in the cold & sing in heat.
What rest I’ve found, has been no mean feat.

Still, I pull wood from me by plier.
Just some kindling to feed my fire.

Candy bars in mason jars.
Baby Ruth & also Mars.

Sugar safely screwed away.
Break glass in emergency.

Glass case sets the snack apart.
Even looks a bit like art.

Extra layer from me set.
Bad choice made harder to get.

When I start to twist the lid…
I recall why they’re plainly hid.