Category: Poetry

…The diaphanous words composing the lyric.
…The solid atomized in the atmospheric. 

…The many strokes a brush gathers distinct.
…A blurry image on the whole made succinct.

…The tune conceived by its very first note. 
…The pearl’s grist a hum vexing the throat.
 
…A vigorous expression sourced from life.
…A creative frisson left by vital strife.

…A rapture over pieces compiling a whole.
…An enthusiasm shaking the cage of control.

…Spirit bulging out thru bumps on skin.
…Vision to foresee & Energy to begin.

…It is body born with no stable substance. 
…A welcome sensation in seldom abundance.

Skirting the edge has defined my trail.
Compassionate kindness my sturdy guardrail.
 
Grateful am I for those who have guided me.
Durably forged by being loved chidingly.

I’ve needed both bumpers upon life’s lane.
Indifference & apathy ever my bane.

So easy to give in when no one is watching.
Finally yielding to steady debauching.

My saving not owed to plenty paired eyes.
A lean team observing prevents my capsize.

I need not adoration from mercurial mobs.
A few satellites can govern love’s jobs.

I no longer wish for more than I have.
The dream of needs met an unlimited salve.

I grow to my limits & often surpass them…
Fate sated plate & a cup poured past brim.

Unnecessarily clever;
A go to response for whatever.
Defensive disease that never says please…
Using dry wit as a lever.

Unnecessarily heady;
Confounding retort at the ready.
Won’t draw blanks & cannot say thanks…
Never deferent & stoically steady.

Unnecessarily cruel;
With aloof & unflappable cool.
A slap in the face with no innate grace…
Self-appointed exception to rule.

Unnecessarily chiding;
A soul like a bottle of lightning.
Clearly you care if your brain’d just dare…
To stop giving your heart such a hiding.

Unnecessarily weighed;
Pointlessly frozen-afraid.
Destiny’s fast when purpose beats past.
Life isn’t just lived…it’s made.

    Eyes boring holes in our lucent panes.              
Watching as death waxes & never wanes.

We worry if here’s where it happens next.
Dazed by fear while nooses drape our necks.

Pitilessly praying carnage passes you by.
Telling yourselves every available lie.

With a gun on your hip & a hand on a Bible.
The Other your trigger, inflexibly tribal.

It’s not an issue of you versus them.
It’s the defensive use of weapons on whim.

Not occurring to seek help & employ words.
Just opening fire on the innocent herds.

Politics felating their funnels of money.
The wealthy alone drink of milk & of honey.

The right & the wrong rent from the nation.
No respite found in just litigation.

The cycle begins again & again.
On self-righteous wings we swiftly descend.

Run in your races or take to the street.
 Find jilted justice under bulleted sleet.

Fire for our souls & tender for ignorance;
Paper blossoms wit & man’s ill fragrance.
Mind opening vistas & walls of indifference;
Paper bowers bloom in hues of resistance.
Life for the Spring & the footlights of Death;
Paper pollen at dawn & seeds in last breath.
Closed, they collect a dusting of apathy.
Open, they power the paths of empathy.
A life can be lived on the petals of page;
Paper foliage variegated with joy & with rage.
From hearts they will flourish in fast evolution;
Watered with the blood of love & revolution.
Sunward on thoughts-like a trellis of hope;
Imagination fermented in each groping trope.
They know of the soul’s perennial litigation;
Inspiring our ideals with each germination.
We grow paper flowers in our spirit’s rich soil,
Then we press it ‘tween pages never to spoil.

So much of faith turns to warring;

Pedantically fevered & boring.

Faith should be a personal art.

A moral compass, doing your part.

It’s not at home in our town squares.

Churches peddle dogma’s wares.

Society’s faith is a whipping post.

Who has virtue & believes the most?

But the poorest faithful bear the cost.

While wealth ensures that all are lost.

Simple faith is nuanced hope.

A humble light for which we grope.

Trust ye not the loudest player.

For faith should be a private prayer.

Faith has never needed its gods.

Because it is hope-against all odds.

It beats the ground, lays every thing down…but rain falls up to me.

It rushes, it floods; it flows sideways & slanted…yet rain falls up to me.

It soaks, it coats, it clings, it drags…though rain falls up for me.

It washes away, wipes clean, soaks deep…still…rain falls up for me.

As you watch it come down I feel it go up…the shoots & veins of flower & tree.

Though every drop must hit the ground…the rain always falls up to me.

I see the turn of love. I clock the mechanism.

I have known that bond…the closing of a schism.

I recall my heart racing & wild magnet hips.

The taste of cigarettes & beer on their lips.

It’s almost alien now considering the click.

The complications achieving their tick.

The amorous machinery turning its tumbles.

As a lock’s key lands home-despite all the fumbles.

But keys are lost & gears grind to their halts.

Neither object of Love needs bear all the faults.

No skeleton dances in mismatched lock.

Might as well blame the tick for the tock.

Love marches in Time interfering with hearts.

Everyone subjected to playing their parts.

Some wonder how & some wonder why.

Some wondering “who?”; while Love passes by.

An intricate dance of luck & technique.

Not without misery, darkness & mystique.

I don’t wait for Love or follow in Time’s wake.

I merely study their workings for my sanity’s sake.