Praise be punctuation
At the end of sentences
At least you could do
Something
To give us a break
Would be so kind
If you wouldn’t mind
Split up a series
To parse makes us weary
Appositives pop
Exclamations fly
In the face of
The moon
There’s one good eye
Lash
Us with parentheses
Make a bludgeon
Of the question
Of intended meaning
Must we wonder
How rhythm suffers

Praise be, punctuation!
At the end of sentences,
At least, you could do
Something.
To give us a break,
Would be so kind.
If you wouldn’t mind,
Split up a series.
To parse, makes us weary.
Appositives pop.
Exclamations fly!
In the face of
The moon,
There’s one good eye.
Lash
Us with parentheses!
Make a bludgeon
Of the question.
Of intended meaning,
Must we wonder?
How rhythm suffers!

Bad apple,
come spoil my bunch.
I've got a hunch
that you're a little sweet
and sour.
Cold's the wind
and late's the hour.
Let's soften together.

One good apple's all I ask.
I will not stoop or stretch.
Neither will I pay for it,
though I'm a starving wretch.

I will stand beneath the tree
and to it, gently call.
I will open up my arms
and hope the right one falls.

Prodding morsels,
blissfully wasting away,
a delicious trance.

When I owned the moon,
love songs made me swoon,
and birds rejoiced in magic,
but I dropped the ball,
a fumbl-
            ing

            fall.
Now all they sing is tragic.

A hundred thousand years ago,
give or take a month,
an epic poem started strongly
with a clever grunt.

Then stanza 2,
an urgent cry.

Now all we hear is,
Who am I?

I’m a man,
and so I can.

I can walk alone at night,
for only cowards get a fright.
I can post my real last name.
This life for me is just a game.
I can look them in the eye
(as long as I don’t start to cry).
I can curse and yell and shout.
That is what I’m all about.
Assertive is the way to be.
I'm the boss. Now can't you see?

I can dress how I would like.
I can ride a reg’lar bike.  
I can bend or squat or sit
with legs spread wide. I am the ****.
My gender, I don’t qualify.
Default is he, and so am I.  

And when I spit, I draw no looks.
My undergarments have no hooks.
My hair just sits as it was made,
Distinguished as it starts to fade.
I can slap my gut with pride.
She said me too, but that ***** lied.
My pain is real; my anger, too.
And I don't have to use the loo.

Dear daughter, won’t you try to be  
a big strong man as safe as me?

At least you had a glimpse of bliss.

You made her laugh.
You made her blush.
And really, that should be enough.

You know her heart and always will.
A fire raged, but now just chill.
At least you had a grab at bliss.
No regrets! It's things like this
That make life Life, and so you live,
For to receive, you've got to give.

An open heart gets hurt as hell,
But closing keeps out joy as well.
At least you had a taste, young man.
You'll know it when it comes again.

There once was a girl who needed a treat,
ignited the stove, and turned up the heat.
Her cupboard was bared,
and linens were aired,
and USDA inspected the meat.

Oh, that daunting climb!
Can we go the distance, dear?
I will match your pace.

I hope I am as I seem to be.
I try to seem as I am.
And if you need something more from me,
I'll surely do what I can.

Mindfulness is
gaze full of reverence,
attention full of interest,
touch full of feeling,
embrace full of care,
and passion full of truth.

Non-attachment is
hope free of expectation,
acceptance free of judgement,
trust free of fear,
intimacy free of dependence,
and commitment free of ownership.

Date a Buddhist today!

I know they say,
when you know, you know,
and I know what they mean.

You can't know what will be,
but you know what you need.
You have the dream, and you know the way,
and if you make it, you'll look back and say,

I just knew.

You remember feeling this way before
---but that wasn't the same,
or someone was to blame,
or the stars aligned against you.

Hope comes down like an avalanche,
and then you get another chance
to prove your foolish heart right
and sleep soundly at night.

Some slippery slopes
lead you in the right dir
                                         ec
                                           ti
                                          on
                 ­                             .

Yes,
they all have questions,
don’t they?
I do have some answers that come easily,
earnest and inspiring answers,
a few things I know for sure.
But then they just have more
and better
questions.
I wonder too.

Spot red flags,
and tick the boxes.
Do the math,
then chase the foxes.

A muse opens the door,
and wonder
rushes in.
Awakening
to the virtuosity of nature,
to light holding shadow,
to the psychedelic pop of form and color,
an artist rises,
hungry.

A moment of
forever
in her eyes
stupefies.
I stumble, stiff,
dim, deaf, and dumb,
with no past
but her smile,
and no future
but her embrace.

Silence is a shadow
filled by its beholder.
It’s fortress or an ambush,
a dreamer’s field or burial ground.
It’s fear or hope,
tension or peace,
a welcome gift
or a deafening assault.
It’s stunned confusion
or unspoken understanding,
the moment before a first breath
or the moment after a last.
It’s the storm to come
or the storm come through.
It’s a yes or a no.
It’s a maybe.
Maybe it’s nothing at all.

Always be just fine.
Stay out of trouble.
Get back in the line.
Build you a bubble.

Don’t ever gamble.
Ignore your dreaming.
Best not to ramble.
***** out your scheming.

Never should you rave.
Don’t you take a risk.
Always best to cave.
Abide the tsk tsk tsk.

Only the sloth knows
he can outrun the jaguar
and out-leap the monkey.
He could strike faster than the snake,
and his cry would drown out the howling wolves,
but he knows no haste,
no desire,
no shame,
no pride,
for the sloth knows
all that ever was
and ever will be,
that nothing will ever change,
and everything is new,
the inevitability of love and death,
the futility of struggle.
The future flows over him,
as he aligns himself
to greet his destiny fulfilled.
His heart, though, is never still,
roaring with silent elation
for your joy and mine
and of those before
and those to come,
wailing a soundless lament
for all our pain.