Poems

seen it all and been it all
and though time does take its toll
overall I've had a ball
thanks to smokes and alcohol

Author notes: image from quotesgram.com

For today, I'll be a poet.
How to be one? Wouldn't know it
if it hit me on the head,
might be called a hack, instead.

Lovers that I've loved, unsmitten.
Notes to songs I won't have written
sounding off inside my ears,
like the chatter of my peers,
cure it, with a few more beers.

Is that it, entire story?
Greater truth, an allegory,
hiding behind this façade?

Don't believe it. You've been had.

Hanging clouds, soft cotton candy,
wispy tendrils probe about.
In my beach chair, sipping brandy,
waiting for the tide to out.
Sweat is cooling, makes me shiver,
pondering my life and death,
yearning for a single sliver
of a sail upon God's breath.

There she is, all mast and glory
as she leans from bow to stern;
pausing here to tell her story...
time enough for me to yearn.

All know the tale of Icarus,
flew too close to the Sun.
His flapping strong and vigorous;
the wings became undone,
wax melting in the intense light.
His sister, though, she flies at night.

Author notes: Image from wallpapercrafter.com

alien whispers
fill the void among the stars
Fermi's paradox

Some say that dragons can't breathe fire
and surely ice
Analysis one can admire
for proper stomachs can't belch fire
and yet I've read the story twice.
It must be something that they ate
that makes them belch fire and ice.
The story's great.
That should suffice

The booby soars, a kite against the skies.
A mackerel, all sparkles, pulls its string.
Then, suddenly, a dive -- the fish denies
its predator the meal. The fisher king,
beak full of salty air, seeks newer heights,
and vantages that few will ever gain.
He rides the updraft, joins the other kites,
the mackerel, maneuvering, will feign
this way and that, its scales a shiny bait.
The booby searches, seeks the slightest glint,
each aerial maneuver tempting fate.
Fish caught and swallowed, then another stint.
The cove holds the relentless sea at bay.
I watch the play of predator and prey.

Zeus is loose among the maidens
Hera is beside herself
gets her toga, washes, straightens,
grabs her scepter from the shelf.
God of Thunder, is he really?
He shall see some lightning bolts
Hera's hardly touchy-feely
when it comes to Zeus' faults

There! She finds him, in flagrante
and with Hercules's mum
Shameless, one might say he's flaunting
Zeus says: Hera, let's be calm

That's who he is, king of Olympus.
Had he more control of impulse,
we'd have fewer demigods.

Then again, what are the odds?

the little prince, he sleeps and dreams
the world is different than it seems
a wondrous world, all full of stars
and magic links that world to ours

many a day forgotten since
where has he gone, that little prince?

A tale of how the world was made
An accidental birth
In just six days, an A Plus grade
and there you have it: Earth
Well, that's what some of us believe
Turns out He was just bored
When you don't know just what to give
But like to be adored
You give some light and say it's good
The next five days a breeze
and on the Seventh, since you could
you teach them "thanks"

and "please"

ancient Egyptians
invented graffiti
penile inscriptions
next to Nefertiti
hidden in tombs
but hardly forgotten
there's nothing new
under the Aten

Empty hall, chairs in the corner.
I do not have time to warn her
as she makes her way inside,
face exhausted, bleary eyed.

Memories flood in. The ghosts
of our long forgotten hosts
circle her, each yells its story.
"Worship me! Accept my glory!"
She can't answer them, of course.
In a practiced voice, but hoarse,
she now blocks their new found portal
and sends every vain immortal
to the void from which they came.
Looks at me. I am to blame.

Did this all just really happen?
Did they find a way to tap in
through the medium of heirs?
I'm not sure.

I just see chairs.