I will take the knife and cut the tether,
I will cup my hand and puff the flame.
The wind shall bear me to fairer weathers.
Deep wounds, forcing the brand and the sever;
Creating within—magmas in my brain!
I will take the knife and cut the tether.
Alone—it’s beyond and through the never—
With war, it’s just us practicing our aims.
The wind shall bear us to fairer weathers.
I see the bullets dart like dragon’s feathers.
I make love in springs full of acid blame.
I shall take the knife and cut the tether.
Old men making noise; old bowls of leather—
Words from parched lips seeking civil refrain.
The wind shall bear us to fairer weathers.
And so the war knits on years together;
Man’s grand plan of securing creed and claim—
I will take my knife and cut the tether—
The wind shall bear us to fairer weathers.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
I am the cold North Wind.
If I were human, I would be
Labeled a sociopath.
But I’m not.
I’m just cold.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
These are lines
Without thought—
I simply choose to be.
I will embrace you,
I will not ignore pain.
I am a human being.
I am no human doing.
I’m found on the mountaintop
Welcoming the sun—
In the valley,
Trudging the over and done.
I take in the present,
Dance with the stimuli.
I vibrate—HUM—
My frequency tuned to
The Music of the Spheres!
I dance into God’s throne room
And absorb the Cosmic Gong!
I touch the face of God,
Relax, and belong.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
The dream is large and
Hard to hug.
The work-a-days are long
And seem to get longer.
Heading home from work spent
On one of these days,
I see these words—
“Remember who you are”.
Remember who you are.
I, we, are:
Poets
Engineers
Architects
Scientists
Mathematicians
Entertainers,
Working the daily as:
Baristas
Bartenders
Forklift operators
Custodians
Truck drivers
Grocery store clerks—all noble
Honest posts, every one.
Daily I meander this mid-size burg
In a cranky van as a courier,
Acting as grease to lubricate
Said burg’s school district cogs.
I wonder…
I wonder how many work at these
Worthy and square occupations and
Either do not recognize or
Ignore the fire burning deepest
In their heart’s furnace.
I jaunt about remembering,
Always observing,
Always knowing the fire will
Spit out the next poem.
Remember who you are.
Remember it is a choice.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 9:44 PM UTC
Accentuate the positives!
One must cull one’s self from the herd!
Etch sublime visions
Obtained naked on the wilderness hilltop
In Earth’s stone,
Or write them on these sheets provided
By its mighty trees and
Resilient leaves.
Baste the naysayers
With Tony Robbins’ ladle
Full of succulent
Can-do verve!
Annihilate their gloom with
Bazookas of hope,
Uzis of alacrity,
Shotguns of perseverance,
And AK-47’s of love—
Live on the slopes of
Vesuvius—
Pitch tents in Tornado Alley
For vacation—
Go grocery shopping on the Serengeti,
And woo Amazons and Nubian warrior
Princesses.
Fear has no stronghold!
The end will not be the end!!
Eternal hard-on!!!
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
When times get tough, and tensions should ride high;
When one’s hands are lashed and frustration’s sound,
I take a ride through the morning country.
Like a sweet raspberry cream filled fruit pie,
I savor the pleasure that gets around.
The morningside country beckons to me.
The city’s too busy; crowded and fried.
I wish to kiss the winds with a resound!
I take a ride through the the morning country.
I wake up, and the sun is in my eye.
She's there with me as my feet hit the ground,
The morningside country beckons to me.
This woman I love, she knows how to try,
She knows where my sincere heart can be found.
We take a ride through the morning country.
There are those days that certainly blindside.
What I do often for sorrow to drown--
I take a ride through the morning country,
The morningside country beckons to me.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
And so the sublime
Converges with the
Common,
Emerging under the
Street lamp
Encased in
Unlikely cocoons—
Heady and heavy
Conversation
Under the beams
Of many keen suns
And riveted moons
Encompass the universes of
The obvious and the obscure—
The subject matter
Of the ages,
Yes, the ********
Around the corner.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
I’m bucking trends—
Tendencies—
I’m going against
The flow of the universe.
It’s what I’ve always done,
Really,
What I’ve always preferred.
In the case of the you and I,
The cosmos seems to speak
Quite clear—
However, I’ve been just too stubborn
To lend it my
Practical ear.
Where you stand, you’re
The queen of my dreams,
Fair or no—
Propelling me against the
Astronomic flow.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
The mantle of dusk
Is being cast upon a heat weary
Northwestern Missouri countryside
As a young man stands upon the banks
Of a pond making casts.
He’s been at this for some time
With little to no luck whatsoever.
His favorite quarry, the largemouth bass,
Has eluded him successfully thus far.
He’s been wandering this pond’s banks
For a coupl’a hours now,
Certainly an eternity when the
Fish aren’t attacking the lure.
The youth knows one can’t catch
The bass just standing in one place,
So he scans the smooth pond surface
For activity.
He gets teased by flopping fish here and There
As they feast upon a mid-summer’s smorgasboard
Of bugs and worms and frogs that chose to Zig
Instead of zag.
He finally spots a place he thinks
Will afford him the greatest chance at Landing that
Largemouth he knows he can catch,
And so he posts up for just a while longer.
He looks to the west and sees
A final sliver of the Sun hug the horizon.
The light is fading fairly quickly, and he’s All but done.
The trek home isn't far, but he has no Lantern
And has had enough of the mosquitoes.
One more cast, he thinks to himself, just One more.
He draws back, flicks his wrist, and lets fly.
He cranks on his faithful Zebco 33
And just as he is to bring in what’s
Always been his lucky beetle spin,
WHAUMP!!!
A bass akin to Moby **** himself Explodes
The pane of glass surface and
Devours the lucky lure.
In sheer delight, the young man and bass Begin to fight,
And what a fight this pond monster Provides!
The young man’s line strains, his pole Cranes, yet holds with the thrashing and Convulsions that only a bass can deliver in Its ****** attempts to divorce Itself from The hook.
The young man was prepared for this fish-
He had waited since he first learned to bait A hook for it--
Prepared with the right pound test of line,
The right rod, and the right reel.
The youth lands the prodigious Largemouth
And takes him off the hook.
Wrapped in twilight, there the teen stands,
With at least a six pound bass in hand,
Grinning and looking west at the Sun Goin away.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
Why is the Pentagon so sprawling?
Why should there be so many
Doors?
It is so I cannot stand or sit
To block entry,
Or proffer peace down
Its miles of corridors.
Why is the Capitol Building
So big?
Why does it seem so regal?
It is so I may grow weary
Climbing its steps
As I try to remind my congressman
To check against those Pentagon evils.
Why is the Supreme Court so imposing?
Instead of a temple, it should be a
Log cabin.
Imagine if it were a little more cozy,
But hey, we like our justice cold,
And perhaps a modicum
Rabid.
Then there’s the White House.
Her walls have seen so much.
From getting burned out by the British,
To sheltering both buffoon and
Brilliant.
The latter and former rendering more and More out of touch.
For the brilliant, we have the
Memorials and the shrines.
One of these is simply a great ditch.
The black granite cries with you
As you cry;
A proper reminder of brave sacrifice,
And that the Pentagon can be a son of a *****
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC