Category: Poetry

If you’ve got a smile on, you really can’t complain.
I know where to find them, wither sun or rain…

In the valued minutiae of quantity.
Perspective imbues these mean things quality.

Quality exists in what’s precious to you.
Who’s to say, if you’re wise, that good things are few?

Ritual exists to slow us down to now.
Each thing in your day can have a dance of how.

So logic dictates, where logic still applies…
Busy is a breeze, upon which good time flies.

Whose, without time, does not edges soften?
Whose life, without dreams, is happy often?

Whose eyes, without light, have ever known tears?
Whose life, well lived, does not endure the years?

Whose poor heart, while beating, has love not touched?
Who truly, without shame, has pearls not clutched?

Whose life, with no strife, is not much stronger?
Who, without laughs, has not felt well longer?

All of these may be employed as evidence…
To define a good life’s basic elements.

I lived life in front of a mirror for quite a hike.
Now, I don’t quite know that I’m sure of what I look like.

I spent so much time ignoring my own reflection.
Whilst I focused on the mirror’s other projection.

They were there, center stage, forcing my irrelevance.
I shrunk by the minute under all that deference.

You were the flower in need & I was your gardener.
Beauty was my charge…but I wasn’t your pardoner.

I’m “Popping tongues”, “frying eggs” & “kissing teeth”.
I make silent breathy curses underneath.

My barely hid seething makes jaw tendons flash.
I rush ragged breathing & rising red rash.

My ears feel afire…say, do you smell smoke?!
My composure fragile; like the film on yolk.

My hands are trembling & my heart’s exhausted.
I’ve “done unto others” & Brother, it’s costed.

I’m not angry or injured…just sick & tired.
I’ve employed “Golden Rule”. Now, enough! It’s fired.

Gail force leaves signatures across the dunes of deserts.
Even choppy seas are signed in whipped up foam & spurts.

The breeze is ever on show; all we need do is look.
Read outside most days; it’ll turn pages in your book.

If you can but stretch, look up, treetops argue with wind.
Their debates knock tree crowns off; but mostly they just bend.

The vents of blowhard storms are known to take out power.
Yet, if the time is right, night blows a bloom to flower.

Drafts are coming for your hair & whip your clothes around.
Trash twists in spouts & often leaves money on the ground.

Every second counts, when you are feeding souls.
Whether with kindness, laughter or food in bowls.

They’re innumerable…the ways we nurture.
It’s each ounce we spend mitigating torture.

Yes, even the softest of touches still counts.
Wither shielding or leading life’s marching bounce.

Each new rise & fall offers chances to soothe.
For the course of love nor life ne’er did run smooth.

If you miss one, don’t fret, the next is coming.
Serve your attention & avoid all numbing.

Today is New Year’s Eve, to me.
That’s all that a birthday need be.

This is a day for counting years.
It’s a day to address time’s fears.

A day for one to look behind.
It’s future’s door, don’t greet it blind.

So, I’m my own Janus this day.
Live now, while mind’s eye looks each way.

I make a plan against age to fend.
Then, auld lang syne’s just checking in.

It is hollow help; because it’s inaction.
It might help the beseecher…by a fraction.

To me, it is hiding from work to be done.
It’s a cry to heaven, when the gig’s square one.

It’s passive action; abdicating your will.
It’s falling to your knees when the chore’s uphill.

It’s making your problem somebody else’s.
You’re betting with nothing…& zero welches.

There’s beauty & horror in all living things.
There’s plenty to do on the ground without wings.

Just for today, the patriots do seem it.
Yet, celebration’s not their only remit.

A couple months yon is a citizen’s day.
A day we trade fireworks for having a say.

Our civil duty for the flag of freedom;
To keep old liberty from mausoleum.

We’ve cut it close in my living memory;
Just out of reach of a within enemy.

We have our stars & stripes, some of which mean blood.
It’s down to that booth to hold back fascist flood.

Taking simple minds & warping them to evil.
Twisted facts skewing towards general upheaval.

We know the different fonts for sale & for flavor.
We all smell the bullshit they expect us to savor.

Adverts double down on the stupid & the useless.
We’re just warm bodies & the rights we have are toothless.

So, why do they keep flogging bad deals & bad info?
Are they really counting on dupes; lured by a window?

One ledger line by line, they must see us ducking out.
We spend & vote on our own steam…that’s common man’s clout.