"Ticket please" flatly states the conductor,
looking past - not at me - toward the distant west.
"Tell me," I nearly ask "does her image fuel
that furnace in your chest?"
Oh well, instead of bothering to try
I simply nod and let him pass me by
and slowly I turn my thoughts west -
to you.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
I am not a mathematician
though I profess to be.
Not a poet, nor musician -
a mediocrity.
But seldom when I stare the glass
I see what most choose not -
a stone flecked field and plots of grass
and destiny and rot.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:25 AM UTC
Church bells sing to a God that cannot hear.
A lover soothes a love that does not care.
When will come my time of contentment?
I have naught but the agony of my rage.
a gun
some fun
and the brains on the wall ring louder than church bells.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
My pain is worn as jewelry.
It pierces through the years.
It's subtle - drawn across the face -
with budding diamond tears
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
Of chipped white paint -
and quaint.
Only time could make you so -
opening and closing to let us come and go.
Creaking and squeaking to let us come to know -
the changing winds that blow
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
Before I rend myself to sleep
in want of visage from on high -
I post a tablet at the door
and leave some pencils standing by
and soon the room goes dark
But I shall never kneel or pray -
I'm certain God would not condone
the crude vernacular of His
creation left alone.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
it piles on itself
vowing to touch its lost love
the turbulent sky
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:03 AM UTC
The lightning attacks the ground.
A predecessor of coming rain.
The awed applause of God abound -
His thunder claps and claps again.
A woodland hush 'neath starless dome.
The giving trees plead and tremble.
The fish swim deep and birds fly home
as fearful watchers who assemble.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:02 AM UTC
The leaden sky is painted gray -
the artist must have died today,
for Heaven dims the brush.
So softly He must have withdrawn -
such tragedy He must have known
to so affect the sun.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
Light paint, a false nose, rainbow colored hair.
A lonely stage is set for comic grace.
The Clown walks on to greet our hate. Life is
just too much to bear, so He paints His face.
His long, odd shaped shoes and most painful walk
give display of that we've shown. His blood stains
our murdering hands. His act taints our lives.
His painted tear - an eulogy - of rain.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC