Poems

sycamore stands, roots are covered in water
gold colored clouds, air can't get any hotter
boat is tied to the tree trunk, its owner is silent
as the ocean reminds us no man is an island

Author notes: image from depositphotos.com

if even and odd multiply
the typical rule will apply
but if they divide
no matter how wide
there's always a risk of a pi

our love, once pure, now grime and soot
our fairy castle, made to suit
stands lonely and discarded
the window I once hearted
no longer lets the light go through
there is no us, just me, and you

Author notes: image from pinterest

there are no movies
about peace among the stars
Hollywood ending

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.

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.

Unlike the Tigris and Euphrates,
the fertile flood plains of the Nile,
known as the home of banished deities,
(some are still wrapped up in denial),
are overrun by modern tourists.
Most are quite harmless, but to purists,
it's a sad symbol of our age.
Ask any talking head or sage,
and they'll lament the glitterati,
their fascination with King Tut --
and Nefertiti, she's all that --
though Cleopatra was more naughty,
a real challenge to redeem.
Well, and the pyramids, a scheme.

moonlit bay a silver mirror
night cannot be any clearer
Venus dueling with Mars
takes her place among the stars
and the waters down below
long for her eternal glow

when the rain of bullets starts to spray
send our love, think and pray
there is nothing that we can do more
we adore, blood and gore
I can hear the sounds of violence
long before, it begins
see it, feel it in the here and now
you and I, we know how
it is others that lay on the floor
long as it isn't me, isn't you
we ignore it, we have this technique
and besides, we are weak

Author notes: Kind of a Marylin Manson take on Sway

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?

golden speckles shine and glitter
as each beastie and each critter
every fowl and every fawn
comes to celebrate the dawn
and the waters on the shore
hold their breath, and wait for more

Author notes: image from pinterest

my baby, with baby in tow
described by my mom as a live-in
but mothers are rarely forgiving
yes, that is a tough road to hoe