Category: Poetry

What would you do after the fall?
Would you be the best of them all?

Would you be stuck on survival?
Would you aid mankind’s revival?

Would you go it alone unstressed?
…Leave order behind in protest?

Would you even know who you were?
Would the past be traumatic blur?

Who there could say who you now are?
When war turns all love to a scar?

Who would any one of us be…
At that line where we fight or flee?

Wearing fresh clothing that I’ll surely soon spoil.
My garment meant only for creative toil.

Its fibers will drink up the clay, paint & ink.
It will hold memories well past soapy sink.

Its first recollection’s of its own ruin.
Soon, it’ll crave to soak one or two more in.

Up next, it will thrive as a work of its own.
A linen bound log of the colours I’ve thrown.

Finally, it will tear or will wear too thin…
So, I’ll select another to create in.

Leaving milk & breadcrumbs; so often frowned upon.
Tracks, I see in snow, silhouetted by the dawn.

Who has plucked my bounty & crossed my wooden fence?
Ghostly prints in ghostly light, something has gone hence.

Snowy crystal shines as shades flee this later light.
Darkness did disguise the thief in the deep of night.

New moon slotted in its shift just this eve before.
Hid by hidden moon, the rogue could’ve taken more.

There’s naught but fading steps as flurries blank my bluff.
Forgive the desperate soul surviving in the rough.

Keep all your euros, francs, pounds & pesos.
Keep your avarice & soulless pathos.

Take away agency, riches & clout.
Take all the power, control & the doubt.

Put by thy fame, thy fortune & thy land.
Put by ambition, thy cruelty & brand.

Bury your creeds, your banners & your arms.
Bury all your pride, your shock & alarms.

Stock up on courage, on comrades & will.
Then, douse all the lights & corner your kill.

Scale…You know? Measured things that relate size.
Are its mysteries only for the wise?

I hope every choice we make in life counts.
But, what if our best is just a mere ounce.

How can a wee dram affect a great sea?
Do lives so small even budge a degree?

All of history remembers so few.
Is change a debt generations accrue?

Life’s futility can fill you with doubt.
It’s almost just not worth thinking about.

I try to summon pride & search for a well to draw it from.
What people say that they see in me leaves me confused & numb.

My mirror must be a liar for I do not see it there.
I close my eyes to sense it, but I can’t feel it anywhere.

Maybe I was told too early that pride’s a dangerous thing.
Or maybe I’m too worried no one would get the songs I sing.

Chances come around & they all encourage me to engage.
That’s when mine & others’ viewpoints clash in ready war to wage.

Here’s the bottom line: I’m grateful I feel seen at all & heard.
I’m lucky that some see more than just a guy who’s good with words.

Fitting the story of a life under a limit.
A comprehensive blurb read in under a minute.

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”; said Sir Oscar Wilde.
But minutia is needed for the tales that beguiled.

World building details are how the inspired immerses.
Even a folk song requires a few storied verses.

The better the punchline, the shorter is the word count.
But sometimes a laugh-line’s just a story’s brief dismount.

One-liners are funny but so is a vast satire.
Ignore limitations; trust the walk, not the tight-wire.

Yeah, so…run ‘em up & fill ‘em in.
Everyday there’s that scoreboard within. 
 
Time chipped off from the time of our lives.
Counting along twixt our nines & fives.

Intent to beat yesterday today.
Resenting sidetracks along the way.

Thou shalt be waylaid most of the time.
Interference there in rhythm’s prime.

Go with the flow & keep score if you must.
The slower we go; the quicker we rust.

Lost in spirals of anticipation.
Weighing success or decapitation.

Really nothing so very serious.
Just worry making me delirious.

Unreal swell building before the actions.
Commonly split into extreme factions.

Loss of what I have right now on one hand.
The other, not worthy of the good planned.

I know all will dissolve when I’m in it.
My prepared terrors, each time, I forget.

Why must fags police ourselves for the comfort of the masses.
If we don’t live out loud we’ll soon be headed for the gasses.

Why can’t we all claim space to share…the dissident & the normie?
Does your faith require that you shun or, at least, deter me?

All that anybody wants is life lived free & life lived safe.
So, why does space that I take up cause a starchy collar’s chafe?

I use words to defend myself when I fear your violent hate.
Why should my small life depend on your   deterministic fate?

What is the message left then for our children to look up to…
That we should bow to majority & ostracize the few?