Heroes Get Roses

Heroes get roses.
Champions on horseback ride.
Give them a reason to cheer.
Let them find their feet.

Heroes win roses.
Cause applause.
Sometimes on deaf ears,
They've won a true prize.

Heroes never listen to praises
A rose makes no sound.
Hands clap in vein,
A hero knows no fame.

Heroes don't get roses
Never care to hear applause
Don't need a medal to rise

Heroes Get Roses

Heroes get roses.
Champions on horseback ride.
Give them a reason to cheer.
Let them find their feet.

Heroes win roses.
Cause applause.
Sometimes on deaf ears,
They've won a true prize.

Heroes never listen to praises
A rose makes no sound.
Hands clap in vein,
A hero knows no fame.

Heroes don't get roses
Never care to hear applause
Don't need a medal to rise

Silent Night on a Hill

Silent night on a hill,
Christmas eve and I’m still;
Motionlessly waiting for peace,
Quietly in the few minutes
before the holiday sunrise.
The Christmas spirit exists
in a few ticks, it’s there and gone,
while consumed sleepers' sleep.
The street-stained snow gets covered again,
greeted with a new coat.
Solitarily that feeling erupts,
That tranquil beauty materializes,
taking hold to warm a few lucky hearts.
Until that boisterous morning unwraps itself,
and that stillness disappears
regrettably lost in reality for another year.

Lies as an Extra

Couldn’t I do more than listen?

Shouldn’t I be spending my time in silence?

If all my words are shouted,

would it hurt to whisper?

Lost on falsities my lips wondered,

maybe a whimper of truth leaked

and got hungry.

Scenes dissatisfy my tastes,

I enjoy confusion.

It didn’t make a difference,

when all is cut to illusion.

Religion Philosophy Theories Thoughts

Religion is a personal walk

Philosophy is lost facts

Theory is lonely assumptions

Thoughts are a shot in the dark

Quiet Creek

Is there love to be won?

Am I dancing with an old flame?

Hands cleansed are now ready to get dirty again

Pretending to find the sun

It's only because of you that I smile

Remembering those nights as owls

Wrapped in each others feathers

Ruffling the branches that we keep to a quiet creek.

Oh, Lonely Moon

Oh lonely moon, generous moon,

I’ve been a fool,

When I gazed out my window looking for the sun’s light

I watched it retreat and it gave me fright.

Ignorantly, I thought the only assisting hand was that of the large star

But my life has remained in your presence

I’ve spent so much time looking for that heat

I rest in bed, giving up without some escort to help

You have been there, unselfishly asking for nothing

I never accepted your friendship shafting light on my path

My dreariness shaded my vision of a true companion.

Oh, lonely moon, caring moon,

I apologize for taking your glow for granted

In my darkened days you’re all that lights my way

Your pallor sits with the stars, kindly lifting my spirits

In my lonesome nights you’re the only radiance I see

and I, thoughtlessly, use your glance to search for the sun’s warmth

I took advantage of your shine in my gloom

Your frown steers the course before me

My friend, my pale acquaintance,

You who have listened to my every trouble and never forgot me.

You're the company I needed in the bleak lightless nights but I chased another.

Oh, lonely moon, considerate moon,

Out my window on dreadfully friendless evenings,

when all I wanted was to sense the sun’s luminance.

Before me was a reflection bouncing off the black cold darkness

Your dim shine was vigorously extending a hand in front of me.

Staring me in the face, I never reached out before

My back to you I ran looking for the sun’s embrace

It was you who never asked for a return.

Oh, lonely moon, compassionate moon,

My friend, my guide,

Your sadness echoes in me now

My cold shoulder to you, I left you lonely

My daunting acceptance to your kindness

Your understanding is overwhelming

My self-seeking importance drifts away with your sympathetic view

Forgive me for my apathetic outlook of reality

And know that my time in a lack of light will no longer be spent alone.

So I’ll Sit

So I’ll sit,

and watch the sun rise

again…

alone again,

and it won’t matter

if its optimistic face smiles,

it doesn’t matter.

It won’t bother me,

if that companioned champion star
stands out at all…

it doesn’t bother me.

I’m almost convinced,

it’ll ascend once again.

For someone else,

maybe,

but,

one morning,

its crown will glare for it’s last time,

and I don't care.

Flashing Scene

The cold harsh light of people’s stares, cause the brim of my hat to be lowered and my steps to move backwards, silently into the sinister background of night. The bulbs burst onto a flashing scene, mocking friends that pester me. In the shadows, that are now my ally, I watch, and I avoid to be seen as I recollect how I got here.

With a deliberate slow flowed step, I blended with the blistering gloom to follow a couple to be hunted. Down a narrow park path, a scarcely lit way, I stalked behind, watching the lovers from a stance a few yards away. When my heartached-instincts and jealous rage cohere they deceived my idle hand, “I cannot help but follow thy command.”

Leaving the lazy lamp lit lane for dim pastures, the hand-held lovers, strayed from the safety of the gravely trail. In my uncomfortable bleakness, these unknowingly lustful kissers fell into; an uncomfortable position to be stuck, with love and passion in the limbs of the night; but to pick a path such as mine to cross. “What better way to drop victim of the frozen hand of death than in the fiery arms of your love,” I voiced to myself in a misty breath.

A stones throw from my feet they took a seat, as I produced a silent cannon with a barrel as dark as the eyes I preyed with. Using a quiet sneak I placed my leather boot across the unsuspecting fool’s cheek. The crimson glimmered in the moonlight as I dropped the barrel in the breathless woman’s mouth muffling her hesitated scream instantly. While he squirmed in a cowardly way, I clicked a thick noise cocking the pistol’s hammer, nailing him to his footprints. I whispered, “You flee from your lover like no heart was ever involved, you take for granted the touch I’ve missed for so long.” I flicked my free wrist in a downward manner and he replied aptly, with a knee-bent stance he slumped to the ground. I instructed him to crawl and lie next to his terrified prize. “Kiss her,” I insisted. His face answered with surprise. “Place your lips upon hers and remain.” Puzzled their stares became and with a repeat of the verse in a more thunderous tone they complied.

With lips pressed, lying breast to breast, I laid the firearm to the back of his head. The look in her upward glancing tearfilled eyes was almost human, a look that seemed to ask me a question, “Why would you end us like this?” So I replied the inquiry loudly and directly to the open air, “If I were ever to be forced to meet my finish there is no other place I would rather be, than in the arms of someone who loved me.” Her fingers dug through his shirt and clutched tighter than their lips kissed, and tighter than the tears that streamed down her face. “I’ll give you to the night,” the last words heard. With a slight squeeze, a recoil kick, and a soundless boom, I placed round from back of his head and on through the back of hers, drilling a hot shell into dirt; I let them spend the remaining seconds in appreciation of a shared heart. Quickly, I disappeared into the frosty dark to avoid a flashing scene.

Arizona Sun

Did I dream

you were a tourist

in the Arizona sun?

Was it for that,

I thought we had a date

in two years time?

Was I awake

When the earthquake

rose up around me?

Did I fall asleep

As the sunlight died,

tired of waiting?

My Old Room

If life doesn’t pick up soon,

I’m going back to clean my old room.

Where my parents can point out my many missteps.

The army ants,

fighting a never-ending battle, on my television set,

buzz, “Its time to move on out.”

Sometime ‘round noon,

as soon as I’m finally in the mood,

I’ll leave that pale space

for a nice calm spot;

Where I can warmly sit next to a fume-painted fireplace.

Once it has no more info to spit

I’ll make my way to a hollow basement of my subsistence.

Maybe later that day,

when everything’s ghost grey,

I’ll take on the labor costs of my misfortunes

and pay my hand drop

on top of my black cat,

purring her to bed.

When the night finally falls,

No one hears me at all.

I’ll count the herd to sleep,

thinking how tomorrow will carry me home.

Where I expect for impetus subsist to glisten,

even in the smallest shimmer, so my snores can echo in halls.

Small Town

Small town people in their small town ways

Small town thoughts in their small town days

Small town ideas and small town dreams

Small town jobs in their small town extremes

Small town parades and small town cheers

Small town lives and their small town fears

Small town squares and small town blocks

Small town minds in their small town box

Small town talk and small town prayers

Small town beliefs with small town cares

Dust

Against belief, I have not turned to dust,

Not yet.

Those lies are a bust

Nothing but a threat.

It’s not just,

But that’s why it rains,

It’s why hearts rust,

It’s why hearts strain.

There’s little that can be done for lust.

Try as you might,

Run if you must,

Move away, or take flight.

It’s that yearning that makes decisions thrust,

Ignoring emotions that make the most sense;

Like a flower catching a winds’ gust,

Lying pressed against a white fence.

Outweigh greed with trust,

Against everything you’ve been told;

It’s how to live in the upper crust,

But it’s fools gold.

I Don't Mind if You Forget Me

Pressed solely on my looks,

never getting far with what I see.

Don’t take me for granted,

It’s not naive to be free.

I don’t mind if you forget me,

I never knew myself.

It’s okay to regret me,

since that’s all I have left.

I don’t blame you if you don’t understand me,

I’ve sunk myself for less.

Who am I to say what you should do?

We’re nothing but nature’s creation.

I don’t mind if you forget me,

I may never of existed.

I Hold This World

I hold this world,

in my palm accountable.

As much as I am at fault,

I am still just as human as when I woke up.

Made from this unswerving earth,

I pass the blame,

my species trait.

I say, this soil

which I will become,

formed my first breath;
a constant presence in my life.

I hold steady to a rotating body

as the wells of the ocean

splash and spill,
fulfilling my feeling of being,

waiting for what I am owed.

I am this world.

As much as others think
it was made for them,

it needs neither of us.

Perhaps,

I am only a temporary inhabitant,

meant to spend 70 years spinning;

trudging through give and take,

turning in a milky galaxy,
ignoring what’s on my plate,
forced to question myself

as more than just an ape.

Or, to keep humanity alive,

I lie to myself and say,

"The sun rises for me,
I’ll go about my day

as if all is summer.”

I am held trembling

in the dry hands of the world,

accountable. 

No more important than a snowflake

falling on the last day of winter.

I am only a lonely creature

born on a rock of circumstance,

clever enough to daydream,

too dumb to wake up.

How Can Sleep Conquer Me?

How can sleep conquer me?

I move, I think,

I breathe, I scream;

I stand on mountaintops and roar out soundly,

“I won’t let sleep take me!”

I rush past exhaustion,

ignoring yawns.

I trudge, I strain

I never submit to her smile,

I caress Death’s little sister with ease.

How can I resist a stretch at dawn?

My poor back, my fallen knees.

If I don’t vanquish now,

then drown me at sea;

but please, don’t let me waste my time asleep!

Holidays

On Earth Day I chopped down a tree

On New Year’s Eve I thought about old times

On Valentines Day I went out to break hearts

On Independence Day I contemplated anarchy

On April Fools’ Day I woke up

On Groundhog Day I went back to sleep

On Veterans’ Day I seceded the Union

On Flag Day I shot bottle rockets at Old Glory

On Memorial Day I walked on heroes’ graves

On Halloween I dressed as myself

On Thanksgiving I admired my Native American side

On Presidents’ Day I chiseled faces off a mountain

On Labor Day I worked my fingers raw

On Christmas Day I sent a gift to myself

On my birthday I forgot my age

On Easter I waited for the dead to rise

But today I celebrate more than ever.

I Thought About You

Per la mia sorella,

Outside, cold, under the broken stars with an open heart

Falling upward, through drops, I strove to make my wish spark.

It felt heavy, destined to doom from the start

I tried to reach the streaks of far-flung fires with my heart.

I made a wish because I thought about you

It was genuinely all I could do

I admit it won’t ever come true

So I sat silently in a horseshoed courtyard thinking about you.

As Miles swooned between us, I gave myself to this night,

Letting everything else disappear out of sight

So this roving memory would gain might.

Accepting finite certainty I gave up to this night.

I waited under the twinkling suns alone

Let it come true and be known

I don’t wish to glimpse etched stone.

I remained stranded in a yard all alone.

I sat starring, as the starry sky turned black

The thought emptied from my voice, as faith lacked

I wished maybe as a constellation you’d come back

Unanswered, my hope turned black.

Have Your Lips Ever Been Pressed?

Have your lips

ever been pressed against another’s

and felt the embrace of love

returned the same way it was given?

Do the cushions pushed together

help to remember

the reasons of conceiving hands

clenched in each others?

Has your lover

received your heart

the way it was intended?

Has your gut instincts reacted

to the suggestion

that his idea of love is perception?

His eyes glance at your lips

like obstacles to his intentions,

a loop to dance through, a hurdle to kiss.

Has his words lost there meaning; lost their bliss?

Words that are rehearsed

in the ears of so many.

Each of those many, lying down

to assume the chalk-lined imprint on a bed.

Have your lips ever felt the hold

of another who shares your vision of love?

Let lips fall on the same page,

with never needed worry,
wondering whether or not he would stop
if you asked him to.

Just lay next to me in bed;

with only eyes meeting on a pillow

knowing no physical touch.

No cares, no caress, no sound outside our hearts breathing.

Unity means so much more

when hearts kiss in the evening.

Forming a link that doesn’t care if it rusts.

Biting Words

I tried so hard to tell you off, but stumbled on my words. I could not outpour the hate I wanted so badly to say. Maybe out of good wisdom, I bit my tongue, or in recognition of my future crumbling, I wrestled with those words, I wanted so sourly to spew, but refrained. Either way, you never heard the honest truth of what I had stocked, buried cocked, with rejected memories, forever echoing silently. The vocabulary, burned in my throat and tiptoed behind my lips. The well-prepared syllables expressed completely, the person I hoped to never meet. I need you to stay at shouting space. Exactly, what I wanted to pronounce, when nothing but this odium of anger coursed in my thoughts. Increasing in distance from your ears, the monologue I swallowed is never explored, but was ready to explode. As I chose a higher ground, from such suggestions of inequality of human respect, these words, these sounds of utter detest, sat in lonesome squalor out of reach; finding themselves pressed to the roof of my mouth and dissolved to a bitter taste of defeat. My words, my poor heartbroken speech, in time will soon be forgotten letters I had in mind; wisely choose to never speak. Instead, I left you alone with your guilt and self-doubt, worse than any rotting discourse I could have spoke out. Tell yourself all the words I bring with my turning shoulder, happily alone without a sentence.

Simple to Dream

I now find it simple to dream.
Today I sat back and fell asleep.
Under the shading oak tree,
I buried myself in sweet slumber with ease.

Now I find it’s best just to dream.
Drifting away into a sleeping play,
I direct my life toward a different act each night.
Cheering on the floating lucid calm I find.

If I found myself swinging toward the same,
my naps will change,
Lulling myself into a new dream.
Letting the air swiftly carry me to the moon.

It’s fitting I find some rest.
Having worked all my love to death.
I relax with oak as pillow.
Finding dreams to be the solution.

Reducing activity from trying days,
life seems easier to portray.
Hazing drops of reality,
distract from painting daily pain.

It’s simple to dream!

Sun vs Moon

The cold persuasive stare of the rising crescent moon’s fleeting astral scowl,

a shivering passing glance during the recognized cosmic routine,

flies-by the fading feeling of the sunsets’ romance retiring.

A lunar revolution with the celestial twinkling stars.

Their guiding flicker anticipates ascension to the stellar universe’s heavens.

Deserting clouds wave away to the rays, as they help

shadow the falling heat of the sweltering sun’s dying light.

Silently retreating until tomorrows’ climactic beginning,

the heartbroken sun solemnly sinks behind the earths rotating body.

The sly illusive king star releases a misleading solar blink, as its radiance weakens from sight and dies for the night.

The overpowering moon shakes stardust from its eyes, and casts a snarled glare.

With galactic-gritted teeth it laughs at the remembered heights of victory,

only to selfishly fall victim to the ghastly sun’s warm and inviting morning smile.

The tricky embrace of false sincerity.

Screw and Nut

We both circle about,
clinging tight
through rough days and nights,
through rusting rains,
and breezing earthly shouts;
held together as one,
like a screw trying to be a nut.

Fuck Writing Tonight

Fuck writing tonight,
in the dark green color
of the pale moonlight.

Fuck singing voices,
in the poor pallor of
the lunar palace.

Fuck lyrical hymns tonight,
in the supersonic speed
of godly light.

Fuck beating hearts,
in the twine of
mutual thoughts.

Fuck poetry tonight,
in the visual symmetry
falsifying imaginations.

Fuck art,
in the assumption
any piece of shit qualifies.

Fuck this tonight,
in the very instant
I scribble it!
Fuck it!

Your Smile Catches Me

It’s your smile that caught me first,

I got lost in it

like a moonlit ship at sea.

Your words are what thrill me

Keeping my attention like,

“All hands on deck,”

Those big beautiful blues,

like the sky’s glow

guiding that missing ship home.

I know no more touch

then our lips pressing,

so it’s your heart that interests me most.

It’s your smile that makes my heart beat

and that’s worth the weight anchored deep.

The Words Escape Me

The words to write about you escape me,

a fear I never thought I’d face.

Words stumble from the brain

and stop before lips ever give them a place.
I struggle to pronounce love by name.

The words trickle in thoughts

shining only for seconds

and disappears like morning fog.

My concentration crackles my brow 

my mind races for descriptions

of how my world exists in your eyes.

Words don’t stop me,

the letters only spell out sounds.

I drop my pen and book,

frustrated with trying.

I lie in bed and do nothing,

I place my hand onto yours

and kiss you goodnight, content.

Think of You

When

I think

of you

I see the sun

I know

I love you

I can feel the heat

And when

I hear

you speak

The music slows

I know

I love you

I can feel the beat

Each moment

That our

lips meet,

time just stands still

I know

I love you

I don’t mind the wait

Trampled Strings

My fingers trample strings like stallions stampeding in line

They drift away like a dream muted in usual time.

Hands chop on an axe, lumbering down frets

Hammering with no regret

how that saw blade sounds.

Bow-like bends, slithering snake slides,

move that blue woe to trumpet aloud.

Aurally arousing reverberations

vibrate loosely in an ambient tide

lambently surrounding pleased ears

like welcome-home-lips kiss frustrated tears.

I choke that speckled neck severely

conquering that black wood frame

making her sing my name.

Tiger Dream

Tigers dream of other tigers, free in an African field.

Losing those tiger stresses, as they slip to sleep,
Their imaginations run wild as the heart of the tepid sun.

The grumble of slumber caresses dirt under belly.

Windswept, with the tall grass, as flies dodge paws,

Their tiger feet never retreat, or heel as the open air roars.

Pouncing through beds of life with other tiger tails.

The barred claws twitch, as the lonely tiger snores.

What Words Are Now Spoken?

What words are now spoken?

Repeated again in that constant tone

Maybe worse, said with more meaning,

None the less gone.

In which tongue was it lunged

as when it was flung viciously

in sincerity and truth,

stumbling out to that vulnerable fool?

Those woven words broken,

or articulated injudiciously,

maybe even misplaced,

‘til now they hit upon a home.

Michigan Air

There’s nowhere else I'd rather be,
than here breathing this frigid Michigan air.
A bitter misty exhale when breath's released free,
thrusting our souls out into a harsh smoky cold.

In the dismal December when the freezing rain is sleeting,
saunter a three-step stomp to clear boots of slushing ice.

The low lamplight, that plays as a fireplace,
spreads across my face with the blasting storms
beating against my windowpane.
I sit in somber, causally repeating a simple phrase we Michiganders, utter,

“This weather will change into something better. “

City and Soul

City and soul screaming out of a black man’s horn.
Tearing down the avenue with unmatched care and pace.
Marching with the procession, to the distinct rhythm of Summertime.

Performing on a stoop, he keeps his seat with trumpeting pride.
Turning in the air hitting ears 'round the brick-laden boulevards.
No surprise, the stomping feet pass by in cadence with his melodious despair.

His piercing voice rejects love long lost, like a guitar without frets;
The town’s pounding heartbeat arranges behind each crashing song like a cymbal keeping time.
Tapping feet results to dancing in the saintly streets as the lonesome man cries.

The misery strikes a chord within stumbling tourist's trails.
Smooth as sorrow, the gliding tone of the tempered tunes tremble in the twirling alley lights.
Each French Quarter-note adds to the blue atmosphere sighs; blasting bass overtakes market square.

Thumping hopeless pitch shapes the community-laced sidewalks before waltzing boots.
A cheerless speedy laze spills from each timbre of the night.
His drumming sadness strikes the steps he graces with harmonious sounds
of his heartbreaking in disaster for public amusement like a clown.

Sitting Like Fruit

Sitting like fruit, the snowflake decays.
Waiting to melt away, in the dimming afternoon,
laying on the injured window frame.

Within the silent residence,
a piano slowly comes to life,
drowning out the blizzard’s shriek
resuming where it left off one night.

Brittle skeletal hands
press musical breath into the room.
The ivory fingers haunt the ying-yanged keys,
rattling those notes awake.

The remembered limbs work the tones,
bellowing the closed doors with a whistled breeze.
Fighting the freeze that spills from outside,
the aching sounds warm the house with melody.

Then, with a quick click,
unlocking the red front door,
the music went dead,
as I walked into the comatose home
frozen to the bone and alone.

Chicken Earl

I’m gonna get me a chicken
and name him Earl.
He’s gonna be my very best friend
until he is no more.
We’ll play and he’ll cluck and I’ll laugh and he’ll eat;
all the seed I feed him.
Then, nature willing,
he’ll grow nice and fat for winter.
He’ll peck and crow,
I'll smile and high-step around the yard with him.
I’ll even let him find a mate; and encourage it,
but he’ll never officially procreate.
nor will his widowed wife be a mother,
but all the same, fun will be his gain.
It’s the least I can do to be fed a happy meal.

Remember When We Were in Love?

Remember when we were in love?
When our two hearts fell into one.
Lying silently together in bed, with nothing said,
Only our eyes, gazing longingly into each others,
whispered all that needed to be expressed.

Can I Distance Myself From My Friends?

Can I distance myself from my friends?

Can they let me leave?

When I’m sitting all alone,

on some western shore,

will they notice I’m not at home?

When in plain pleasures I snore,

locked in some forgotten motel room,

will they pretend I don’t breath?

If I sit,

on shoulders rolling flat tires,

with no spare hand to help heave.

I'll shout to them pleased, "I exist!"

When I crossed the Bible belt

I felt an absence of pride.

Will someone shake my hand to pen?

“Most of life is a lie!”

Dionysus’ Stiletto Heel

She moves down the blueprinted sidewalk;

tight fake animal print stalks her legs.

Overseen black tank-top covers above

like having blonde hair doesn’t matter who you clutch.

Unnatural step; dropping Dionysus’ stiletto heel…

deliberately embarrassing his spirit.

Jingle of clinking adornments,
Shaking sounds as she comes near.
A little snicker as we pass glances to each other…

Lovely lady loiters on anti-sober trips

with the moon hugging help

to streetlights that shine under-bright.

Her bubbled shouted voice,

shackles to the tufted path

as if neither of us gave a fuck.

And passing under spotlights
She extends her slender arm
and grabs a proper tug just to say hello.

I Stand on Skyscrapers at Midnight

I stand on skyscrapers at midnight

like curtains draping out the morning light

with the heated violent world below

each summer breeze magnifying surrounds me

An escape worth holding on for

Planting on a church tower at sunset

like sand holding a seat I won’t forget

with the cold preying world below

each tickle of snowflake chills me

Heavens soft touch I suppose

I sleep on a creaking tree limb at sunrise

like a man’s eyes sheltered after he cries

with the warm rustling world below

each spring fancy fling excites me

Pinching my attention awake

I lie on top of mountains at night

like a fib I’m scared to recite

with the bitter tumbling earth below

each shouting wind surprises me

Shaking my existence to the core

I jump on slanting rooftops at high noon

like a noose I’ve seen stretched for a silver spoon

with the falling playing world below

each slipping tile startles me

Sneaking shivers keep me froze

I reign on top of the world at dawn

like an all encompassing yawn

with the reluctant world accepting below

each crying sigh of shattered hopes depresses me

Drowning my dreams at shore

I sit at a small wooden desk at midday

like I’m wondering if this is all a charade

with the combusting world speeding outside

each clicking letter humbles me

Mashing my boredom to bits

Cracked Clock

There’s a crack in my clock that bends over my wall.

It stops the falling limb’s track dead at noon

It’s been shattered for months, I think

I’ve been lost for the same

I choose not to fix the broken tick

Tipping my nose at the frustrations of certainties

I follow the synthetic legitimacies of the universe

Assuming that time stands still for me

No longer tocking in with the music surrounding

The clocks refrain cackles the air

The untuned tempo falls short from belief

Shaking the world without its tickering snicker

The crack in my clock rattles the world

With each mind disbelieving missing rhythm

Unmasked possibility of nonexistence

Designing fear of an inevitable end no longer on hand.

Blind Lion Roaring

I am a blind lion roaring

forming fear to a man called the Seer

who just sits and listens

the sound intimidates his surroundings

and disappears without causing a commotion.

I am a rabid roach lying

Foaming at the poison fuming in a corner

I watch the Seer pick up a book

He whispers the words, “Show Me”

without warning he flattens my brother.

I am a toothless shark swimming

Faking strength navigating waters

I sense the Seer sleeps in the shallow

I belly up to the sand and wait as I drown

He lends a hand to deepen my madness.

Alone on a Wednesday Afternoon

Alone on a Wednesday afternoon

I tried to find a friend

but everyone had left me

so I sat by myself waiting

wishing that someone would call

no one again,

not a ring from anyone I confess, it’s degrading

So goes another fall,

just like I knew it would be

alone dreaming of the sea

or how it would be to glide to the moon

Swelled and left too soon;

when we reach our bitter ends

little is left of my plea.

Less crying will help start hearts equating,

I’ll do all I can to stall.

Life is all so small,

dreams descend

trivial time penned

love that never responds when its opportune

Nite Owl

There’s a Nite Owl that wishes to be a sunbeam.

In the dark, that thought is gone.

Streaming along, out over the lawn,

That predator screams out loud,

“Dreams never climb passed dawn.”

Then, I, left with but a yawn,

wake up. Without a doubt,

I rise and shout,

“All that we see or seem?”

Nothing, not even a hoot.

Swamp Haiku

Deep in the dead swamp

I scaled a cursed crocodile

Just to see him swim

Haiku #2

So quick to have kids

Life should be found worth living

before passing sin

Alphabet Fun

At another addition of audience,

Before beating baritones assemble

Causing careless catastrophe to breakout

Dangerous dancing dreams cancel

Every event established decent

Fascinating faces flame for eternity

Gallows gonna get a fantasy

Hold heads high to gibbets

Imply inert increase to hopes

Justify jubilantly jingoism for infinity

Kill kingdoms kidnapping all joy

Lay love lastingly before kisses

Make money matter less

Never need names for members

Opinions only observations not necessary

Possibly pressure persists for oblivion

Quarrels quantify quietly in public

Response remotely rendered as questions

Serving severely squandering of riches

Teardrops tattle tragedies in secrecy

Unfortunately unfolding unevenly to time

Violence varies vividly for uniforms

While weeping words for vengeance

Xenocrates xylography to relate xenogeneic to wallow

Yes yelling yields to xenophobes

Zero zeal zips all zamindars

Beacon of Bliss

Your smile is the sun on a winter morning,
warming frozen hearts that went speechless at dusk.
At night, the shivers run heavy over meeting-minds,
while we wait awake for a wake, or a peek at sunlight.
Maybe a week or so will pass before we rest again,
but those lips, like a beacon of bliss, shine contagiously,
thawing those stringent thoughts and quieting troubles.

To heat my heart and keep me moving as the winter turns dark.

Have you ever seen the stars shine on a cloudy night?

Have you ever seen the stars shine on a cloudy night?

Have you ever had someone handle the stellar sights
by thought of words, making the dark flicker
in the midst of will alone?

For the soul purpose of brightening up your vallied days,
has someone pulled the polished rocks from the sky
and set them on a ring?

Rolling off my tongue,
I can make a moon fall to my fingers,
tumble knuckle over knuckle
like a silver dollar paying for your every trouble.

I can make the twinkling distant suns
lay in my palm
like coins to a begging mans heart.

For you,
I could turn the earth backwards
to beg a king for the love
souls shouldn’t deserve to own
without blessing from Arthur’s throne.

Be Cupids’ Arrow Broken?

Be Cupids’ arrow broken on this dark February night?
Be Cupids’ arrow broken from the swift air it follows?
Has the heart-shaped laced tip flung and found another’s chest?
Be that my plate too rigid to break
and the mind too valleyied to quake.
No resistance or fault I pluck from others,
but my heart, tonight, is a target missed.
My beat skips as my quill runs dry, the result of bad aim.
A pen that cuts wells like an arrow falling on the soldier of Helen’s eye.
Deliver love wrapped with your bow!
On this stormy night, let it slice through me like rain disintegrating snow.

Perhaps, it can’t bust the rusted chain,
or may it be, he has trouble with the lock I put around me;
or the silver lining required for entry.
I possibly keep myself too well hidden.
Conceivably, the archers’ shots’ path was stepped in front of by another;
who now find themselves in love.
Knowing full well and good, a flying boy has no aim.
Possibly an off day?
It’s plain to see, my angel of love has a broken wing.
But lets remain to be specific, my trouble is,
that by chance,
I was hit, and no one was in eye-shot of my grin.
I do have similar features,
and my winged cherub is anything but young,
so my defense is looks can be deceiving.

Any or all, the result is the same.
On this evening, I see no trace of dart, or feather, or hand,
and no wound to tend, but my first suggestion wins.
With many attempts and arrows wasted to my side,
my poor god of love no longer wants to try.
So my named-arrow he has broken.
No glue may ever mend the heart-shaped laced tip
that was meant for my soul but never found its end.

There Goes Another Night

     Trying to keep the lock silent, as I open our door, I tiresomely stroll into the dark apartment. The quiet silence of the television broadcasting the news across her face is the first sight I see. In her normal chair, where day after day I see her waste her existence, I find her laid out and reclined in a similar situation as yesterday. After throwing my keys on the same hook, by the same door, I drag my feet to the usual pile of blankets balled up on the living room floor.
I grab the load of warmth, that’s rolled together like curls of her dark hair, and with a familiar gentle loft, of the checkered-patterned quilt, I swirl it over her, making sure the cold is well defended against tonight. While I toss the next blanket across her somber grin, I tilt my head low and glance at the bottle of gin wavering from her loose fingertips. “There goes another night,” I thought to myself, and then whispered it into her ear. With a cloudlike kiss of an angel I tap my lips to her cheek and tuck her flowing hand away from the grip of gin, but only dreadfully too short lived.

When I grab her wrist, the bottle falls and rolls underneath the kitchen table. Before fetching the capless glass, I lift the shelter of her bed and place her idle hand beneath the layered covers. I hear her exhale quietly, like the bitter air squeezing from the cracked window. As I place another kiss upon her soft lips and back away with a frowned face, I close my heartfelt eyes. I then find myself on hands and knees, thinking a prayer I’ve found myself reciting time and time again.

“Sorry Lord, please forgive me because I only pray for the selfish redundant wish of my love getting rid of her thirst, one you’ve heard before. I know that these are my own troubles and the will that has been bestowed upon me was ignorantly wasted, but if there was ever a time I needed a prayer to be answered… I’m okay with where I'm at, and if you could only allow her to see that, then maybe tomorrow, she will be free of her sin.”

That thought swallows through my head like that bottle of gin rolling free and I grab the bare fifth setting it on the empty table waiting for a reason to live. With a gripped neck of the bottle and a melancholy heart I gulp on top of my shallow stomach, breathing deep the burning of the last few drops.

My head, hanging low, as I glance at the moonlight glimmering on a picture mantle; my eyes limp over her throne and sitting in a frame, is my heart holding my queen. I remember every reason I find myself in this position and I go lay in my vacant bed, happily to dream of my framed heaven for the rest of my days. “Her escape has always been found in a bottle and me, all I need is her smile,” these are the last thoughts as my shirtless body hits the king sized bed, exhausted again.