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A blank verse worked,
A page with empty lines,
Not a word was written,
Precocious or sublime.

     I think I can go deeper,
     No title, lines or words,
     Just a blank white paper
     To ponder and observe.
     Smaller than a quark,
     Just think and it will work.
     Even greater than the singularity
     That banged our universe.
     Something was there,
     But nothing's here.
     This is a nothing verse.


It teaches nothing's worse
Than worthless words
That have no meaning,
No emotion, zero girth.

But you can make an ode of it,
A sonnet, or Rondeau,
Choose to please your fancy,
But please don't choose Haiku.
A few readers asked if I could do a sequel to "The Invisible Poem."
We're misrepresented
(We male Caucasians),
Who don't indulge
In bigotry.
Poor "Us."
We should run from the wolf,
But Red Riding Hood didn't;
She cut through its forest,
Like bait in its trap,
Presumed it to be
The wolf that it's not.
We fight them, tame them,
Blame and shame them;
We'll throw others in front of them
To save our own skins.
Its golden yellow eyes
Invite you to binge.
You know it's a wolf,
Yet knowingly walk in.
Whitt-whoo, the wolf whistled,
And the lamb stroked its chin.
A fox sent her candy,
But when it was handy
She cried, Wolf!
For that's what it is:
A wolf in sheep's clothing,
Or a ram that's been dissed?
I equivocate way too much.
This time, I want to be absolutely blunt.
Hoping whomever reads this has a moment
Of recognition, insight and acknowledgement.
I would use the word epiphany,
But I want to be as blunt as
A dropped egg, a ***** diaper,
A rock, bird **** or lights and sirens;
Not like cryptocurrencies and 17th century tulips.
I hope to say something full of oomph.

*Don't **** it up again.
It's sliding in that direction.
What business is it of ours
If Canada wants nuclear weapons,
Or Ireland, or North Korea.
Accept all issues of sovereignty,
Except genocide. Then get involved.
We could straighten Pisa if so desired.
The space program by itself should've given us
A hundred years of peace and behaving *****.
We're not going to get another chance at this
For ten million years. That's a guess. A conservative guess.
I love how the past is history,
How the present makes history.
Tomorrows deserve history.
I'll spin your yarn
With no embellishments
On the twilled roles you've spun;
I won't tink your knitted history.
I'll needle for pearls of wisdom,
And wear you as the fabric of my life.
You fit like a woolen hoodie.
"tink" knit backwards to unravel what's been knit.
If I showed you a picture of her,
All else becomes background.
Before the Eiffel, she towers high;
She is the Alberta Foothills to the Rockies;
As curvaceous and meandering as the Amazon;
More story than Bunratty Castle;
The most intriguing smile at The Louvre;
More endurance than The Spirit of St. Louis;
As mystical as The Shroud;
More amusing than the Park;
More striking than lightning.
The sun diminishes behind her;
In any room, she is Feng Shui.
It's futile to compare.
She is the globe, all else is alien.
The last breath of winter's glory,
The first open flower of spring,
The coolness of a summer rain,
The palette of autumn's color,
These and all others wither
And fade behind the foreground.
Happy Valentine's Day
How close did you come
To having it all:
A middle-class life
Hung framed on the wall.
Two cars, a house,
Three kids and a spouse;
A fulfilling vocation,
On hold for vacations.
You cheered from the side-lines,
Offered counsel during half-times;
Standing, whistling, clapping, gasping,
Not knowing those moments
Would forever be passing.
You'd bundle the kids home from the field
To the loving aroma of a home-cooked meal.
The house soon secure for a well-earned sleep,
Living the dream between clean flannel sheets.
With grand kids in store,
And retirement soon;
All this and more,
But stories are looming.

You'd a plan going forward,
Somethings were said,
Things never heard,
But whispered in dread.
The worm set in years before,
An infectious destroyer
As it continued to bore.
A simple beginning, but not much said;
But cancerous rumors take root and spread.
They've lead many living to join with the dead.
You took the high road, decided to ignore it,
Believing the rational mind would abhor it.
But like a lead apron it draped common sense,
All things unraveled, a sad denouement,
You've been tried by opinion,
Found far from innocent..
is it like a feather
is it now or never
our faces are neglected
our souls are introspective
gravity collected
space and time dissected
water is our mother
the earth is our shelter
a blessed sacred elder
lilikoi is my favorite fragrance
tastes like innocence
and you must respect her
amazing feelings to select
the headwaters call collect
protect our sacred mother
dance upon the other
call upon the winds
feel them on your skin
remove the falling stones
that cover up your bones
rest in love unknown
concentrate until it is shown
phone calls steal our happiness
accidents dent our marriages
darkness is our daughter
streaks of light and color
falling stars kept captive
we plant them in our yards
keepers of the spark
sisters of the sparrow
made of light and yarrow
feathers flicker softly
all our woven glory
givers of the heart
singers of the dark
if you wish to hear them
make yourself a part
of the symphony
lifetimes of abandonment
oh so quick to fill you in
on all the tragic stories
what if we ignored them
and stayed present in this moment
filling up our cups
simple days spent with simple eyes
kindness supplies our alibis
respect is valued
like a stream in our hearts
we are dipped clean
threads of beauty
borrowed from the scarecrow
next lifetime you’ll become
another source of hope
ports of pleasure in our seas
forever we are feeling these
hopeless ropes tying up our antidotes
confounded sounds mounds of hope
stereoscopes and isotopes
poets freely speak
seek islands of wisdom
on stormy seas of chatter
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