Poems

Coney Island's Ferris wheel
groaning softly as its steel
carries lovers to new highs
first time riders feast their eyes
and imagine themselves brave
ocean shrugs, returns their wave

Author notes: image from marketwatch.com

pity Achilles -- the man's chief appeal is
his weaker, assailable heel
Peloponnese knows it isn't his knees
those were a part of his deal
Thetis his mother, 'twas she and no other
dunked him, head first, in the Styx
made him impervious, rude and discourteous
words might still hurt, but not sticks
should have let go -- mothers know this is so
he might still be marauding today
and his Myrmidon fellas -- to a man, they were jealous
would be following into the fray

so pity Achilles -- a man that I feel is
woefully misunderstood
though you never can tell -- all is well that ends well
he might live in the end -- Hollywood

by definition
poems about poetry
are metaverses

I reside where words collide
sentences run on
paragraphs are swept aside
punctuation gone
commas, periods delight
maybes showing off their might
hide a deeper meaning
or just maybe, preening
and in any case, if lower
or if upper, faster, slower
taking all of it in stride
I reside where words collide

reason is the harshest prison
caged by maybes and what ifs
day is rarely for the seizin'
wisdom, precious of all gifts
puts up barricades and hurdles
bottlenecks and barricades
and your will dissolves or curdles
grey dispersing into shades

squirrel opens with a gambit
sacrifices middle pawn
jay ignores -- cares not a damn bit
if the game is won or drawn
but the squirrel fears no peril
and proceeds with the attack
and the jay, in blue apparel?
it just came here for a snack

white attire, wolves are dire
just as Evil does not tire
nor does Good go home for winter
snow may blow but does not hinder
Good will fight till all is well
as to why -- it does not dwell

what are metaphors for --
make us listen?
we prefer to adore
that which glistens
drawn as always
to gold, even fool's
looking for
ways to turn
glass to jewels

Come, love, and let the seasons take their course
and etch their stubborn markings on our skin;
the fountains of our youth exhaust their source.
The end, though not yet near, knows to begin.

Wine doesn't taste the same -- a stronger brew
is needed to affect a certain glow.
Old jokes are funny -- harder with the new.
Our bodies fighting age, but blow by blow,

they're losing -- hope to last till latter rounds,
but in the meantime, put up a good fight.
Oh, not as dire as that, don't make those sounds!
The day, it may be over, but the night

is plush, dark velvet, and the hunter's moon
is glorious, so let's not leave too soon.

riders on the storm
wind is wet and warm
our house is falling down
and the emperor, no crown
sitcom actor, all alone
there's no message on the phone
riders on the storm

swords turned into plows
never mind the hows
they are rusting in the fields
so forget about their yields
if you want to go to war
they shall plow the earth no more
swords turned into plows

girl, we live but for today
no more honor and obey
if he doesn't hold your hand
he will never understand
see him off and see him gone
and the world will just move on
girl, we live but for today

Author notes: https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/doors/ridersonthestorm.html

fair Vermont with all the staples
lakeside lodge -- the scarlet maples
will soon shed their fall attire
but for now the hill's on fire
as the trees reflect below
lodge is bathing in their glow

most have come for peace and quiet
though some labor to deny it
claim they're just here for the season
need no other rhyme or reason
then October in the air
and November's almost there

but a few will try to capture
thrill, intoxicate, enrapture:
being there, they feel a duty
to attempt and  share its beauty
to portray it in repose…
count me among one of those

Amidst the warriors of old
Ranked by the stories that are told
There's one that surely does stand out
Heralded, written all about
Uniting virtue in his cause
Returning, some day, to applause