A. Gee Where words collide
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Hard Place

When talking rock and hard place, it would seem,
we tend to focus solely on between.
It is, of course, a common enough theme:
imagine, if you will, this type of scene:
A rock is on the left, you're in the middle,
and to the right of you, you see a... wait...
What kind of place, exactly? For that riddle,
an idiom for railing at your fate,
we've picked two things, but one's unlike the other.
One conjures up an image, crystal clear,
but opposite it, an unknown. I'd rather
have something more concrete to hate, to fear...
Make your hard place a wall, that'll do the trick.
A wall you can dismantle, brick by brick.

Lords of Misrule

Tonight the joker's wild, the wise old fool.
As revelers are out for fun and pleasure,
he's proving the exception to the rule,
surprising those who thought they had his measure.

Out in the cold the circus is in town.
An acrobat, a clown, a fire breather.
A fortune teller in a gypsy gown;
her claw like finger motions, come on hither.

While lords and ladies frolic and cavort,
in search of ever more exotic flavors,
the joker makes his moves about the court.
The butt of jokes no more, calls in his favors.

Do not expect a sterile, bloodless coup.
Remember, in the end, the joke's on you.

State of Affairs

And so, what now? Continue to pretend?
Ours that, most unoriginal of sins,
a sign of something coming to an end?
The same old, ancient story that begins
with all that promise, only to collapse
as sunsets settle to a stale routine
and closeness soon accustoms to the gaps,
inevitable, coming in between
the ones that once thought they can be as one,
but realize that they were all alone.
It's over just as quickly as begun.
All that remains is expiate, atone...
You'll fall again, though now you are bereft.
Continue to pretend? What else is left?

The Arrangement

"Speak now", the preacher says. I hold my peace.
Forever is so long... but time runs out.
I've failed to carpe diem, failed to seize.
Beset by possibilities and doubt
I dare not stop the knot from getting tied,
and everybody breaks into applause.
The preacher's celebrates with "kiss the bride".
but it is timid, there's an awkward pause,
as if the lips that must be joined at last
are doing so unwillingly, at best,
uncertain of the future and the past,
and hoping it's not real, it's just a test.
But it is real enough, and hope is buried.
"Smile, silly!" mommy whispers. "You are married!"