Category: Poetry

My every childhood dream is simply there for you.
Mine were simple basics & for you they’re givens true.

What you know to be the norm was not just so for me.
I witness your journey & rewrite bad history.

In gratitude, I replay childhood; through your new eyes.
You’ve been a hard reboot for me…also nice surprise.

A welcome shock to see good nature & good nurture.
For either, I’ve fought the dark…just a lonely searcher.

These concepts weren’t new to me, just a foreign land.
I’m honored to have walked upon your soil, hand in hand.

The time for undiscovered countries will, soon, be yours.
May perspective light your way to advantage lined shores.

When I wake give me a breakfast lighthearted.
Just a small chuckle to get the day started.

Please, give me the same as a cap on the night.
I like a little snicker to scare off fright.

My day’s full with so much routine ritual.
A repetitive slog; life habitual.

Why not begin each revolution smiling?
Greet your sleep sanguine when it comes beguiling.

I have done this for years to get through the rough.
Laughs bookend my days whether easy or tough.

Dancing on my back in a bathtub full of glass.
Rend the hump & hardy flesh of my back & ass.

I could wish for pain to take a day, or ten, off.
I could wish for a better fed spot at life’s trough.

But, I’m not wasting any wishes, or curses…
Not over things that still inspire my verses!

When my days are done, you will inherit some things.
Not money or land, nor any precious gold rings.

I’ll leave music; I’ll leave laughter for each of you.
I’ll leave you tears & I’ll leave you words that were true.

In total, I’ll leave the heart & the art of me.
Frankly, I’m jealous of the lives heirlooms may see.

A jellyfish does not have a spine but they can kill you all the same.
So, I’m a little confused when “spines” are mentioned in a conflict’s claim.

“Manly men” are mystified as heroes with spines of iron rebar.
But iron melts, under friction’s heat, & cowards fear it’s lava scar.

So, any blight that comes by night can smelt the bones of every “man”.
Then, who will smite the evil sprite that muddles our mettle where it can?

It is not the fight that makes all right, draping blind justice in fresh blood.
It’s the harvest we yield, after wars, from fields; where marrow soaked the mud.

Though, it’s better still to work the mill; away from pastoral terrors.
Angry lines won’t open minds & free softer hearts from toxic errors.

Sometimes, I start a verse in bed, as my synapses fire down.
Jotting down a couplet of non-sequiturs leaking from my crown.

I’ve lived my whole life with my head in heaven & my feet in hell.
So, who knows? I may go either way; at the hour of death’s knell.

But putting aside mythology, I’ve resigned to just exist.
My high art mind & problem feet provide my poet’s heart much grist.

So, when I wake, I tally the words that zoomed past just before dreams.
Among the random mess I’ll find a piece that just needs stronger seams.

So, I sow words upon the blank & sew until the pieces fit.
I guess my point is…”random seeds can grow into full-bodied wit”.

I’m done missing people that did not stick around.
Those who volunteered to be lost & never found.

The proverbial handful proved dependable.
The rest & I…mutually expendable.

Though, sometimes, I do wonder where & how they are.
I will not go investigating; near or far. 

I’m near & not at all the same as I once was.
I myself am ever changing, just as one does.

Growth serves us well & I truly hope they’ve changed too.
Of course, their core the same; but mostly someone new.

It’s a sad & stagnant choice, when nobody grows.
Bitter hearts still stiffly fighting against life’s throes.

Better, not to miss someone…Best, to just move on.
Don’t feign kinship when you see recognition’s dawn.

Everyone now has their own cult.
This is social media’s result.

Life for approval & freezing time.
Sharing your life; but only in prime.

What’s the payoff for moments frozen?
Does strangers’ love make you feel chosen?

Yes, I was there for the race’s start…
Putting my horse just behind my cart.

But, I edited down to joy’s spark.
No followers, no cults…just a lark.

Googling alone does not information make; data arranged just so.
Algorithmic overlords steer us to camps; where to stay & when to go.

We have made them the way they are; but maybe now the control is reversed.
Art is said to imitate life; but idioms cause binary to burst.

What rises up, indeed, comes down & algebra, for a use, can be trained.
So what do we say to guide the arithmetic not to take what was gained.

If it presents me with something that makes me smile, I zealously engage.
Yet, if it offers divisionist fare, I ignore its presented page.

So, what can you do to tame the beast’s language; comprised of ones & zeros.
Be wary what you encourage…groom your digital heuristic heroes.

What is the point in snapping the arrow, when sense warrants detaining the archer?
In tending the target, we will always miss the culprit’s unheeded departure.
 
Where do we go to hoe the row laid down by public & popular sentiment?
In avoiding conflict, we silence our truth, making voicelessness more imminent.

Why do we bother with hate & regret, oppression & colonialism?
In warring with others, we blind ourselves to the absence of any true schism.

When will we drop our arms & our boundaries…arbitrarily drawn on the map?
In proving your prowess & militancy, you fall in your own, destructive, trap.

Who will fall first in the coming avalanche & what kind of cascade will it be?
In civilization’s crescendo, will we be destroyed; or will peace set us free?

I’m all full up on how awful people can be.
I now attend the notion of who’s good to me.

I am no saint, I can come across so aloof.
My absent bevy of friendships is enough proof.

I have always leaned toward being selective.
But, as years drag on, I’ve found most bonds elective.

That doesn’t sadden me; but instead, makes me proud.
The people still in my orbit…their love’s so loud.

It’s why I don’t mind that my past seemed off-putting.
We the people I love are sure of our footing.