Category: Poetry

Slick & sly are not bad…intentions in the air.
Guile & cunning neither; they’re only savoir faire.

Permission writ in verse: to bend, not break, the rules.
How else would one navigate lives & loves & schools?

To be fair & clear, tools are rarely unkind things.
It is how they are employed; what the user brings.

Castes can be mounted without stepping on others.
Your light’s not depending on whose else it smothers.

We’re all using our wits as we climb up each tier.
Like that cat said to young Alice, “We’re all mad here.”

So, Joe McCarthy died of hepatitis.
The ringing irony gives me tinnitus.

The hypocrisies done by men, self-righteous;
Prescribing that all but themselves be pious.

Born of privilege, or just stolen from others…
Tout values as aegis for their own druthers.

Impoverished of moral compasses, these.
Bound & beheld by a crucifixion’s geas.

No more let the powerful litigate right.
Time’s fullness has proved what they did in the night.

Follow faithful your sense of good & of bad.
We’re born with knowledge; most forget for some fad.

Locked in unchangeable fate; short of burning the world. 
Circumstance’s cruel dictate, around my life has curled.

No way back & no way out, only one space toward.
Destiny succumbs to doubt…on to peril, forward.

Does someone here have a match, for one last resort left?
Time to batten down the hatch; fire, commit your theft.

Fresh modesty works the loom; the naked truth aloof.
Simple things…no gild,no plume; just warmth & sturdy roof.

We raise them all among illusions.
Yet, we’re surprised at their delusions.

We tell them all dreams can become real.
Then, we validate all that they feel.

Some do get wise & are rendered sleuths.
They spend their lifetimes in search of truths.

Some stand their ground in narcissism.
Whilst, digging for perfectionism.

Some are enlightened along their way.
They carry that torch & save the day.

Pin & needles & pain…All of which wax & wane.  
Depends on the day…Which one gets to play; 
& how much I’ll rely on my cane.

My provider of care-tells me what needs more wear. 
She must watch her health; for therein lies wealth. 
She’ll be fine; with, or without, our prayer.

Even the best get sick…we fight so sick won’t stick.
We all choose a way, to stave off decay.
I’m not worried because she’s a tough chick.

The working poor in our myriad rookeries.
Lush as alpine flowers in rubble rockeries.

Blitzed bombed by disease, inflation & scarcities.
Suffocated & entombed by thy fair cities.

Lucky to have family in higher station.
Anchored, unlike many, dismissed by a nation.

Fodder for consumption with what little we spend.
Pitched at each other by falsehoods the zeitgeist penned.

Betters aren’t better; they built all upon our sands.
Is there hope in the little that slips through their hands?

Living lush & underscored are women still to wait?
Languishing in garden coves content to just be bait?

Obsessed with what not to say, her petals fall to bed.
Never knowing her own bloom; nor seeds within her head.

Waiting for her pollinator, spring has passed her by.
Fruit she hasn’t tasted falls for maggot & for fly.

Evolutions, two, fed upon her beauty rotted.
Fruit’s grave grows her second act; whence her roots were slotted.

May this new wind scatter her to newer unkempt lands…
Where she can grow & spread & leap, free from pruning hands.

The Ticky-Tacky plastic poured.
Flimsy sawdust particle board. 

The flooring…beige linoleum.
It’s heavy on petroleum.

Appliance…avocado green.
Formica cupboards glittering.

An automatic wash & dry.
The popcorn ceilings sprayed on high.

Rainbow of glycerine knick-knacks.
All came in heavy, dense, flat-packs.

Plasticine coated wood can’t last!
So buy more now! Supplies won’t last!

Common as raindrops, innumerable as sand…
Old Babylon’s tongues bred throughout every land.

Loanwords & calques & idiom & dialect.
Differentiations upon each known subject.

A Janus word is least of what misconceives us.
Communicating words cleaves us & cleaves us.

Phrases in the billions & words ever the more.
Then there are poets who take words to fly & soar.

More meanings in language than ever one can learn.
Yet, for understanding each other, we all yearn.

Burnt in light & lost in shade…
On the cusp, where all does fade. 

Open heart & curious mind…
Wishing for a home to find.

Out of sorts with compass smashed…
Wind & rain & squall have lashed.

Delving dusk to fathom dawn…
Helpless as an offside pawn.

Whether with or without flock…
Even gods obey the clock.

Many buds do open late…
August’s bloom’s still welcome fate!

Stalks may be oft cut to earth…
Still, spared roots assert rebirth.

I’ll keep seeking til I’m dead…
Maybe hearth is just ahead.