Category: Poetry

At 47 it dawns on me, “I have found my voice”.
Couldn’t, & wouldn’t, change it; even if I’d had a choice.

It didn’t happen overnight; it took its grainy time.
Yet, somewhere just past apogee, my craft fell into stride.

I’ll never be a millionaire & I will not meet fame.
What I’ve earned that’s meant for me will, in time, find me by name.

I’m a bit like Johnny Appleseed; casting wide my wares.
While 1’s & 0’s form my seeds; my fecund soil’s your stares.

Even though I offer nourishment; still…get big & strong.
For…if deep refrains blow your brains, you’ll have to right some wrongs.

Without logo B.S., could we again sell?
Can we create without producing as well?

It’s a drag & I mind it; that is allowed.
I wish I were heard, but, poetry’s not loud.

A patron might; yet, I know no names.
I’ve never excelled at fanning passion’s flames.

Blind to chances; like sand, slipped thru my fingers.
I can feel them fall & what we miss…lingers.

So…searing the flesh of works in my hand?
Yeah…I think, just right now, I’ll make my own brand.

So…I’ll just swing a cat at this.
It’s everywhere; I cannot miss.

Close my eyes & cover with hand.
Sense closing threats; both small & grand.

That infra-red we find when blind.
While, survival fuel floods the mind.

Feel air drafts shift & distant calls.
Aware of threats thru several walls.

Talking round it can be a bitch.
Ancestral roots grew one more witch. 

Too many inner pleas start with “I wish I could be”.
My appeals for more of this or that feature in me.

More that quake internal calm, are the  “shoulds” & “shouldn’ts”.
My own reproachful strain of simple “coulds” or “couldn’ts”.

We pick away, life & day, at all the things we’re not.
We stubborn lay in our own way; dreaming of a shot.

Sisyphus can push that rock in hopes he’ll one day win.
Yet, I would choose to stack instead; upward, end to end.

I hope, one day, to pave a way high enough to view.
To view the world un-fetal curled into something new.

Don’t send someone else on your apology tour.
Use your feet to assess the mess you’ve made before.

I know I must accept that you’ll never be warm.
I must also accept that you rarely mean harm.

We are just different & that’s no grounds for hate.
Why is it so easy for these themes to conflate?

Me?…Gotta stop going to the salt mines for sugar.
Too, I must decompress my own pressure cooker. 

We make it so big; we can’t see it all at once.
Maybe we both shave 20% off our cunts?

 I guess, it’s just what you get.
When, with life, you made a bet.

“Do your best & all will wash.
Pay no heed to poor or posh.”

Gone with flows & their mercy.
Bejeweled flotsam with scurvy.

What a trip that must’ve been!
Bottom, top & back again.

Any end could clear the debt.
It’s the swimming…not the wet.

I just want to bitch a bit.
Belly laugh & talk some shit.

I just want it to be us.
High & low brow omnibus.

I just want to vent a little.
Blown off steam’s no big riddle.

I just want to spend some time.
Sharing laughter, tears & whine.

I just know we’ll get the chance.
Adult topics; adult stance.

Je ne me comprends tout.
J’ai d’accord avec eux.

Lui, il a mal compris.
C’est vrai, son tête ouvris.

Mais, j’ai raison d’être.
Un grand artist être.

Je pratique tous les jours.
Imprimer tout mon cœur.

Quel dommage ce serait.
Manquer un fin qui m'était.

Children are mouthy plants.
We turn to cans their cant’s.
We tell them true; all what to do.
Then, they add their own slants.

All the generations;
From all far-flung nations…
They know these games; we’re all the same.
Time’s human undulations.

Renew, raise & reject.
Rinse, repeat & eject.
The young get old with stories told;
Inclusion not neglect.

Stack the family plot;
Immobile in its lot.
The oldest, there, no longer fair.
Tradition’s all they’ve got.

The end comes for us all.
Just hope for broken fall.
That on the way; a tidy lay…
would sweetly homeward call.

Live from the edge galactic radio.
Balance twixt the audi- & stereo.

Sound, music & muscle all come in waves.
Riding that line that infinity shaves.

We sang once; so, we will sing forever.
Who knew that sound-wave science was clever?

Around & round we spiral entropy.
Schrödinger’s Cat doesn’t care if we see.

No start, no stop…just hits on the hours.
Immortal songs from transmission towers.