Poems

that's not me in there
I'm in Rio
drinking and whoring
under my nom de plume

here's a squirrel
no apparel
just a hand raised high
what's it saying
is it praying
or does it deny
that it's God
that sets the seasons
why?
He probly has his reasons
either way
collect the crumbs
like or not
but winter comes

Author notes: wc 44

"Look at me!" -- said mighty Ocean
"all your mystery and motion
captured by my shiny luster." --
swelling, he was full of bluster --
"Very well", then said the Sky
come and join me, I'm up high,"

Author notes: image from onepeterfive.com

infinity, that's what they track
rails hugging the terrain
she sits there, watching, dressed in black
you'd struggle to explain
what does she see, beyond the bend?
perhaps a world that doesn't end

Author notes: image from unsplash.com

in the beginning
presumes ends
pray tell what kind?
well, that depends

Author notes: wc 12

staring at the starry sky
she makes out the constellations
Ursa Major, Gemini
Aries, Taurus take their stations
Venus whispers from afar
wait, is that a falling star?

Restless church bells ring their towers
and the air tastes of alarm.

They will be here within hours --
sun, suspicious, masks its charm
and retreats to safer quarters
as the village hides its daughters
and the blacksmith hands out swords.
Witches sell a few more wards.

At the square, the townsfolk gather...

Some will bring a thing of gold.
Others, stock.  A few would rather
die in fighting than grow old,
but the town will try to barter --
most would rather live than martyr.

See tomorrow, having paid.
If they can...

A Viking raid.

no shades of grey, the eyes: black coals
the hair a raven, come for souls
those, drained of color, seek her touch
oh, sweet relief -- if love's too much
and rainbows pale and lose their charm
she might extend a gentle arm

Author notes: image from pinterest

soft, the curls that grace her face
falling gently on each shoulder
capturing the fire's trace
brush strokes by the stunned beholder
set the canvas in red glow
as the fire burns below

Author notes: art from pinterest

wild as the Highlands, unbroken, untamed
proud as a mountain that's yet to be named
ocean sends welcome, the breeze a stiff kiss
oh, she's not cold, she had come here for this

Author notes: image from dissolve.com

Back when God just started heaven --
long before there was a hell,
and before the number seven
grew such meaning in the tell,
He would walk among immortals.
Those popped in through quantum portals,
each with resume in hand.
Vied for roles they've heard He planned.

Some, like Gabriel, sought power,
in commanding of the host.
Others -- more came by the hour --
wouldn't dream of such a post,
settling for minor glory,
but there's one -- you've heard his story,
barely off the boat -- a barge --
he demanded -- "who's in charge?"

Who would dare!? What pride, what hubris!
Host, collective, held its breath,
but we do admire -- you know this --
those that fearless, challenge death,
and so God did naught but chuckle --
well, perhaps a friendly knuckle,
patting Satan on the head.
"I'm in charge, of course", He said.

Thus it was, in the beginning,
going smoothly, as per plan,
but hosannas, though well meaning,
Satan wasn't a big fan.
Not for him, their adulation,
so at last, with some frustration,
he reached out to Mother Eve,
though she has yet to conceive.

"Eve", he said, a phallic symbol --
she led an idyllic life --
"Eve, you're nothing if not nimble,
is that all you want? A wife
to that dusty, earthy Adam?
You can do much better, madam."
Eyes red embers, and warm glow
swept through Eve, both high and low.

What came next -- you've heard some versions,
edited for younger minds.
Far from me to cast aspersions...
Surely failings of our kind,
countless -- but imagination
isn't one -- nor is our station
such that we don't want for more.
Eve went on, then, to explore

all that Satan had on offer,
and her children, ever since,
we've accepted every proffer,
whether peasant or a prince,
tribe or empire, mob or nation,
sweet, eternal our damnation,
in the know now, we proceed.
No surprise: we're demon seed.

she longs, she does, for simpler days
but youth is gone -- it parted ways
just as the sun on Tuscan hills --
it shines -- but it no longer thrills
nor has it thrilled her in a while
no matter -- she will force a smile

Author notes: image from pinterest.com