Poetry log
A ditty
little things are grand things,
A dusky sun,
a frolicking breeze,
people search the world
and often over look these.
The world is such a fickle place,
though its beauty is a constant.
enjoy it now if you are wise,
it will turn with out your consent.
Hot Sugar
Sweet is the embrace
of parents and of kin,
rare and transitory things they are.
Wasting them is sin,
and upon their loss will deepen the scar.
Sometimes when the wind calls,
to some far flung terra firma,
to answer can be wonderful,
can make the love of life more fervent.
But please return from time to time,
is all this one can say.
remember that the earth will always turn,
but everyone’s parents die some day.
The Devil holds you with love
Feet grounded solid,
in the thick green mire,
slowly you sink,
and dream to retire.
The world rotates,
events prattle on,
you’re not a part,
those days are gone.
But that electric sound,
the sonic resonance of scenery that matters,
you still see it,
still feel it,
in your empty bones.
That’s when teeth chatter,
you’ve traded life’s consuming fire,
traded it for something cold.
you’ve found a stable hand to grab,
but it’s the devils hand you hold.
The devil says to work and trust
don’t you stop, don’t mind the rust,
each step with him is nicotine
another step in a quiet scene,
one where you won’t notice that you dance,
a slave’s waltz with your dark master,
wrapped in chains of debt and worry.
But you’ve a brood,
and a toiling love,
and though they free your mind,
they tie your hands,
they keep your peasants toil upon the land.
All the while your loves and friends,
keep with the demon till the end,
supporting each other through thick and thin,
never guessing their love’s a web,
sucking them down with the prince of dread.
And so we are,
standing upon the mire,
separated,
cold,
and sinking,
too bound by our love of love,
to escape the thing we gave our freedom to flee,
the trap, the enslavement, and the separation from,
all the people, places and things,
we most desire.
complacency
Big dreams to small comforts,
fast living to slow death
compare and contrast
dreams to nightmares
failing to risk the later
the former never materializes
A mind crushing room
Were they castle walls,
rising through the clouds,
men would not feel minuscule,
so awfully anti-proud.
but usually,
and generally,
and subliminally,
and ignominiously.
they’re fabric cubicles,
grey painted offices,
dirty 2x4’s,
and punishment for past offenses.
Would that men could travel,
as far as thoughts can bend,
for when they don’t they can unravel,
large minds come to tiny ends.
And so sits the common one,
the little mind in a little life,
trapped by ten foot office walls,
just giant’s hair infecting lice.
Just feeding on extracted oil,
wrung from the earth by others,
doing all the menial toil,
machine enabling brothers.
Company Party
staring up from a half filled cup,
knees just touching wine,
I see the level rising,
but think I will be fine.
The temporary joy,
of bacchus' clever ploy,
feeds my myopathy.
And though perchance I may to drown,
meekly, peacefully and without sound.
I wear a playful grin,
and indulge in foolish sin.
I’d much rather have lungs devoid of air,
floating in a cup in a giants lair,
than to suffer the worst,
and slake the giants thirst.
PTSD
Go through hell,
then arrive in purgatory.
Replace the sulpher smell,
with the ache worry.
Watch the pieces come away,
Survive to live and tell,
left too paralyzed to hurry,
too hurried to trust.
Light can be had,
even after a decade or more,
but a part stays in Abatobad,
and relives the damned war.
repairing the dike
There are pros and cons,
Peaks and pitfalls,
Good and evil,
In the lives of good people.
It's hard to know
What's true or unbelievable
When mirages and camouflages
Are common event causes
And throughout the course,
Those who love,
Those who intercourse
They pray to some force above.
Rarely do pure answers arise,
More often is compromise.
Plugged holes, extinguished fires,
Bruised feelings and inadequate pacifiers,
These are the things,
Feelings,
Tremblings,
Of true lovers light.
The Struggle at Dawn
The sun came up this morning,
and the shadow lifted from my face,
emotions lightened slowly,
the fear and doubt displaced.
Displaced by urgency and resolve,
by granite brows and diamond eyes,
battering and piercing new problems to solve,
standing and shining with endless competing lives.
Hamster Wheel
You tried to get off one day,
but it spun too fast,
more time bending the ray,
from straight future to crooked past.
the wheel never stops,
that’s the job of the spinner,
sometime between birth
and more fast food for dinner.
the world is wide and huge,
skies stretching beyond view
but spinning on the wheel
there’ll be no view for you.
