the sunset, fire in the distance
the ocean swallowing its flame
a lighthouse blinks into existence
to signal sailors that lay claim
to these unmapped, uncharted waters
and keep them safe from Neptune's daughters
Author notes: artwork from facebook
caught in vivid pastels, rooftops vie for the sun
bnbees and hotels carve their slots having won
just a bit of the land on the cobblestone street
stay with me, they demand, take a load off those feet
Author notes: image from Facebook
The air is cold and grey, the morning bleak.
Your breath escapes, condensing into steam.
A trail of salty water on your cheek.
Inexorable crushing of a dream,
or just a gust of wind against raw skin?
Wind finds its way through every nook and fold,
attempting to subdue you, to get in,
to freeze your innards; to declare: you're old!
What business have you here among the pines,
here in the land of icicle and snow
which nature shapes in intricate designs,
where man has yet to rule or overthrow,
but soon will learn the earth exacts a price
for winning when the game is on thin ice.
Had Romeo and Juliet eloped
we'd never know this tale of star crossed lovers.
By killing all his darlings Shakespeare hoped
each generation reads it and discovers
the Montagues and Capulets anew,
and weeps over their sorry tale of woe.
We'd wonder if our love is just as true
as that of Juliet and Romeo.
But Shakespeare did not deal with focus groups,
though possibly a run in with a censor
might force the playwright, going through their hoops,
to skew the storyline or make it denser,
and write it as a comedy instead.
Like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.
was Passover taken offline
Like Tantalus, whose thirst cannot be sated,
I hunger for each rough, each clumsy touch,
a hunger that can never be abated.
Compulsion eases slightly as I clutch
your body in its snakelike, fluid motion,
then floods back in as soon as you release.
A coupling devoid of all emotion,
where pleasure comes from swallowing your pleas
to please, please feel, please join me as we tremble,
indulge in sacred fetishes and hurts,
then let me put together, reassemble,
the me that redefines and reasserts
those parts that are still mine, that I still own.
Together but as always, all alone.
some rains are a shower to wake up the earth
and sate every flower and seed their rebirth
some signal a season to hear children sing
some rain for no reason except it is spring
some remain unexplained, some we've yet to discover
and some are a maiden -- she waits for her lover
Author notes: photo from facebook
for President Trump
to get over the hump
must stay out of jail
which his Court will avail
for President Biden
everything's ridin'
on prices of gas
which he also has
for sad RFK
who jumped in the fray
on the strength of his genes
really hates those vaccines
for Kamala Harris
Olympics in Paris
a horse by committee
and that is a pity
and as for Tim Walz
does he have the balls
but Democrats wager
on this minor major
and last for JD
the new Zebedee
in hell or in Hades
stop talking cat ladies
No elephants or tigers at the circus.
No death defying tamers with long whips.
When was it that the circus lost its purpose,
its maximus, the coarseness that equips
the spectator with calluses and ridges,
inuring to the brutal and the cruel?
Now gluten free, though lacking roads and bridges,
and just as well, look at the price of fuel,
we've missed the sly, insidious transition
that put us at the center of the stage,
perform as best you can in that position.
The safe, and barely noticeable cage
is really only there for your protection.
They'll let you out in time for the election.
So effortless, his flight above the prairie,
His wingspan, a magnificent eight feet.
The turtle and the rabbit best be wary,
this raptor's out there looking for a treat.
He soars, the thermal lifting wing and feather,
a buoy on the hot breath of the sun.
The cloudless sky is eagle kind of weather,
though he will hunt and do what must be done
in any -- he is well known for his daring,
this undisputed king of all the birds
who lends his royal character and bearing
to crests of fallen empires and to words
that celebrate those victories of old.
And not at all embarrassed to be bald.
I'm realizing as I've gotten older
that perfectly good deeds do go unpunished
Is this because they're cleverer or bolder
or possibly those punishing have vanished?
No, there is surely evidence galore
that some will get their punishment in full,
but nonetheless come back and ask for more,
and thereby giving credence to the rule.
There is, perhaps, a simpler explanation:
though the cliché makes for a great excuse,
our natural, instinctive inclination
is do not get involved, since what's the use,
and then confess you'd do something about it
but then you would get punished, do not doubt it.
A fool may soon be parted from his money,
an idiom that doubles as a rule,
a reason to remember: fools are funny --
and truly, what's more funny than a fool?
How sad their fate of ridicule and laughter,
a sadder one is difficult to have,
unlikely to be told before or after,
and sadder still the fools that are in love.
But yet we must continue, sentimental,
yes, we, the fools that love despite it all.
Our need is existential, elemental,
a fool is not a fool without a fall.
The easy way to tell a fool apart?
Look for the one that has an open heart.
Author notes: Prompt #2. English Sonnet