I search your eyes in vain
no window to your soul
just ironclad control
no hint of lover's pain
lips pursed in harsh denial
arms folded on your chest
I'm an unwanted guest
judged guilty without trial
the words stick in my throat
"I'm sorry", comes at last
your love is in the past
I fight to stay afloat
you answer: "are we done?"
the air gets chiller still
our marriage had no will
and it has died alone
a pig you were
and pig you shall become
she gestures
and I feel my skin turning
into thick, hairy hide
and my nose
becoming a snout
but chauvinism won't be named
for three thousand years!
I yell
but all that comes out is
oink, oink
malice towards all
charity to none
spewing hatred forth
from behind his gun
we must heed the call
and must act as one
let his statue fall
for it has begun
Author notes: with apologies to Abraham Lincoln https://www.nps.gov/linc/learn/historyculture/lincoln-second-inaugural.htm
The snowflakes groan and scatter as I turn
my polarizing mask of little use
against the blinding sunlight -- my legs burn
the flags are flying by, I must not lose!
adrenaline, my speed a practiced pace
and last year's crash old history, I hope
another run, another downhill race
I've conquered all of them, I will this slope
a jump as the hill curves, and I take off
knees to my chin, remembering my form
each millisecond counts, and must pay off
the finish line is near, the coffee warm
the red line's crossed, I brake into the fence
and time resumes its flow into past tense
hidden in tall grass
I'm fawning all over it
spotted deer spotted
my wine rack functions as a shrine
give thanks for wine to the divine
when I'm online and shopping site unseen,
I do it 'cause I can, the money's good
I'm finding that some prices are obscene
inflation, I have never understood
the government thinks money can be free
when we all know that there is no free lunch
and I am left to wonder, what's to be
no point to saving pennies in a bunch
at least I drive a new electric car
and charge it in my house, so there is that
so there's some savings, not too high a bar
thank god, unlike in Europe there's no VAT
a sonnet on inflation, what is next?
a service to deliver it, by text
effervescent, the moon's crescent
freshly cut, a slice of lime
spilling whites and greens, fluorescent
coloring the sky sublime
desperate, in need of respite
elf works as a firefly
Elven queen, she's quite a despot
sends her back into the sky
here, her brothers, many others
buzz about, each with their flare
now you know just why she bothers
as their magic fills the air
effervescent, the moon's crescent
freshly cut, a slice of lime
incandescent, iridescent
coloring the sky sublime
Author notes: wc 81 image from Pinterest
thought it might just be all over
then I found my four leaf clover
now I'll take anything on
I just asked my leprechaun:
lead me to that pot of gold
hurry up, I'm growing old
What's freedom's price? Must life be offered up,
defending ancient scribbles on a page?
Must blood be drawn, a sacrificial cup,
and tyrants met head on, with righteous rage?
Our common and inalienable rights,
secured through endless toil and sacrifice,
sit squarely in the tyrant's bloody sights.
We're summoned once again to name their price.
The ends must always struggle with their means
or fear becoming that which they abhor.
Death is the easy choice. Well-oiled machines
rush to seduce with promises of war.
Search for the answer, but let freedom ring.
Let no man be a slave, and let no man be king
If there's a rhyme or reason to the world,
a purpose that is yet to be revealed,
I'm losing hope of seeing it unfurled.
Opaque as ever, it remains concealed
I do not speak of insight or of truth.
Eurekas that light up with sudden flare
were surely present, more so in my youth.
Indeed I've had enough of them to spare.
But genuine profundity escapes,
and wisdom doesn't lag too far behind.
And purpose? Not a hint of how it shapes
the universe. A challenge to our kind.
Am I resigned to never understand?
Stars in the sky, each like a grain of sand
effervescent, the moon's crescent
freshly cut, a slice of lime
spilling whites and greens, fluorescent
coloring the sky sublime
the boy sits on it, he's fishing
having rode here on his bike
catching stars, they're for the wishing
here's your wish, you little tike