Piñata Heart’s Full of Goodness

Piñata Heart’s Full of Goodness

The piñatas are looming & everyone’s got a bat
But not quite sure which symbol they’re most mad at
For each piñata is a symbol of something you hate
Be they politicians or be they relatives, or lovers or a mate
They may be pet peeves like manners or grammar
The point of a piñata is to get good from the wreckage of a bat or hammer

I think my piñata would be the visceral heart
Exactly the good stuff you need when it’s beaten & pounded & shredded apart
It always gets sewn back together with magical thread & patches of leather
I’ve no idea what spirits & angels put inside as with broken heart I lie there
I come ‘round in a day or ten & the mood will’ve changed & goods left lie ‘round me
All will’ve taken just the good they need; while my heart restored & relearned to beat

But there’s always two things that after having your heart rent & mended leaves behind
A harder heart to rend next time & the one exact goodie I need to move forward in time
Sometimes it’s Courage & often Defiance that the piñata heart gives me & anyone near
My piñata heart propels me through each dramatically tragedy filled year
So I have a bat & you have a hammer let’s take of the blindfolds & come together
The Piñata Heart always spills good no matter how much it suffers & feels forever.

Whatever your piñata know that all you’ll get out of it is good
So no need for vengeance, heroics or playing Robin Hood
The piñata provides even if it starts out as violence, anger & action meeting
Everyone should have the visceral heart as their piñata; because it’s nature is beating
As they say…it can take a licking & keep on ticking.
The place you’ll always find good is in your heart, so go on, keep kicking.


Choix Mortel

Choix Mortel

My old life doesn’t recognize me it knows of me no more.
I’ve tread water for years in the center of the river ‘tween Stix’s narrow shores.
Between the shore of the old life & the shores along the new.
I’ve been stuck in decision in the middle waters…such a black shade of blue.

My hesitance traversing along to the banks of my new life; across from where I was just alive…
I can’t take anything or anyone but those who understand a life dying, while, only the self survives.

Try as I may to let go & swim naked with naught but character, soul & skin.
Th Stix’s water’s thick as quicksand & I’m at risk of drowning if I don’t just fucking swim.

Hades has been patient with me while I learn to embrace the new life awaiting me…
See, He has no claim on me for the world of my life only died but the soul is still ‘en vie’.
Yet, He notes my weighty grief for what is dead & gone-& if I drown, I’ll be claimed gladly.

So, I must decide while my head’s above “water” & I’ve established, just barely, I live.
Now, I must paddle to shore, clothe my skin in its sand & see what a “New Life” can give.
I’ve got my character, skin, my soul & good friends; if “New Life” can just lend me a voice.
If happiness is earned & what I’ve to say is truly heard, I can deal with my mortal choice.

I can choose to move on from a dead world…
As long as I find my voice & as long as my voice will be heard.




Please take me, oh please take me far away from this place.
Save me from this catacomb & its indeterminable pace.
Carry me while you can to somewhere open somewhere wide.
Someplace where windows aren’t just things I see from the inside.
Release me from this distant place, this lavish gilded cage.
Help me find escape outside & not just on this page.
Pry me from my chair for it has rusted where it sits.
Bring magic oil for my poor joints to lose their coltish fits.
Someone stand beside me…be my walking, talking cane.
Teach me how to walk again & share some of my pain.
Shield me from this constant storm. Let me hold you in the sun.
Let me lean against your sturdy frame. Hold me up so I can run.
Help me pass this shallow breath that ticks the box which says I live.
Take me where I’ll huff & heave to catch the air you give.
Show me what it is to laugh for I’ve forgotten how.
Tell me I can do it all. Tell me I can leave right now.
But this is all a fantasy for you do not exist.
You’re a relished figment standing firm in reality’s crushing midst.
I cannot do a single thing that I’ve listed here thus far.
My life ceased to tick & lies broken with its workings all ajar.
This is who I am now & oh how I wish it were true.
That I could unlock this wretched door & walk right through with you.
This fantasy & reality are pressed full flush & in between’s just mesh.
Each will leak into the other but you will never be made flesh.




Dueling Quotes

Virgil wrote the Aeneid, an epic poem. I’m writing an Opera of Poetry…the first of its kind & I still don’t stand a chance dueling with Virgil…someone who wrote an EPIC POEM however…a duel is a duel…

and I happen to adore this inspirational twist on a classic…ready, aim…

“Fortune Favors the Bold”…

Virgil-The Aeneid


“Fortune Favors the Balls”…

L.B. Stowe-Me a couple years back.



Silly Rhymes

Silly Rhymes

Quite like
To find what it is
That can combine us,

Than to pick over & through our differences
Presenting all of the petty things that divide us

Distract us with games like Find the Queen & Musical Chairs
Keep us looking over there then here while your screwing us over there
Commit atrocious things while wearing your cheap Sunday best, then put it all on air

Give us dancing puppets in the no longer respected Congress & Senate
Put these politico’s in impossible positions & watch the disgrace melt as he spins it
They’re mostly sociopaths & not knowing guilt & still sit in shame they participated in it

All you can truly control in your life is to live it honestly
How others perceive your words & actions is relevant only to their serenity
You can’t keep pulling men from moral quagmires & fires. Your back’ll break eventually

They’ll all inevitably let this “so thin it’s clear” facade come tumbling down
Keep one eye on it just to see The Fall coming in time to get down or out of town
Grab your kin & an ethical mind, aid who we can bail the top predicted shit show around

I hope they are not driving us to our feared & final ends
The man they’ve put in the driving seat is surely not a friend

Mostly I fear the answer is “yes they are” but I hold out hope
“The Gentleman” & “Party” figuratively will hang by their own ropes

They won’t be found admitting it but they are leaky creaky homes
“Party” ready to leg it but “media” is ready to air so they cannot safely roam

Once the center for liberty now it’s that scary house at the end of your cul-de-sac
We’ve seen our rightful liberties in our friends o’er water & past that we don’t want jack

A True North Poet’s heart doesn’t get these times so we birth verse for a “Hatter’s” mind
For the “Bible” sayeth “out of the mouths of babes”, so stop & listen to our “Silly Rhymes”