All the rats have abandoned ship

The mice are all that remain

The pleas of the poets
for sanctuary have all gone unclaimed

The danger was Titanic
The path clogged by  bergs

The hull was breeched
and icy words pour in

Soon the stacks of stanzas
will slip beneath the reasons

and litter the floor with what was and is and certainly its end .

The silence
of the lambs
resides inside
the courts
due to our injustice

Taken aback
by the shame
that pains
the hearts
deep within
the depths of us

Then there comes
the desperate silence
standing
at attention

Before the justice
that sees the sins of
of life's retention

Had only we
had listened
to the whispers
in our ears

We wouldn't
be wiping away
our fears
with the salty
taste of tears

Or seen
the visions
imparted
in our eyes

Telling us
the differemce
between the truth
and all those evil lies

Then there is
the silence of submission
awaiting our
due fate

Bookended between
the beginning
and the ending
with everything
at stake

And there are
the sins
of fear , worry, and all of our anxieties

That add to our growing list
of all our
improprieties

Comes that day
silence
will bury deep .
So deep that their seeds will never sprout

Prohibiting the weeds of doubt
that they never come
about

Silence speaks
so loud and clear
without ever making
a sound

The truth is in the silence
so look there
and it will be profound

Can you measure
the love hidden
in the sacred hallows
of our hearts ?

Did you consider the
strength
it would consume
to take it down
and tear it all apart ?

Was it worth
the time it took
gathering the fruit
from the seeds
of shame
you've planted ?

And the harvest of dust
amidst the chaff
was it all for nothing
that you took
for granted ?

Who can measure the
spirit of love
Or direct the purpose
of its cause ?

Or likewise
cast it to the dogs
like the pearls
before the swine
or so they say it was

Who can counsel
the wisdom
found stamped
on the face of all our hearts ?

Who then can destroy
or resurrect
the images
and all of its parts ?

I look inside myself
and see the drops of pain

I look around me and
see a sea of hearts the same

All are seeking comfort
for their losses or their shame

All having their doubts
and fears they will always be the same

A word of consolation
will never be enough

Don't pat me on the back
or give me that silver lining stuff

I need a purer living heart
A comforter of
words will never suffice enough

Someone who takes on the responsibility
for my sins
The sins that had my soul handcuffed

Someone to forgive the iniquity
To wash a soul clean as the wounds would be by rain

Someone I can trust upon
to take away the pain

I just discovered I've been passive-aggressive all my life !

Whatever !

Ivory teeth of history
Bite down on reality

(Mouthing lies
whipping posts
brutal assualts)

They are drowning
in lemonade lines
(queued for eternity)

(Waddle Waddle)
. . . the words
are disected
in prophecy

Variants of
Peking Duck
. . . quackery !

I knew you
back when
I didn't
know you

Now that
I know you
I wish I didn't

Like a cancer
on my
spiritual skin

An ache inside
my holy
bones

The fire
that burned
down heart
and home

I wish
you were
gone

If there
    is
no way out

No path
    of return

No tunnel
     at the end
of the light

It'll be alright

Just when
    I thought
I was going
    somewhere

I find
    myself
Once more ribless
    to someone who
I thought
    cared

Desoulment

I turn back
    into
One lacking

Resurrected without
a soul

Everyone is looking for their permanence
Looking to empower their staying power
They are just Ghosts
writing their life's story on the wind
The essence is a breath of moisture in the winter's den
They shoot for the moon only to be buried beneath its light
They lay down their cares and breathe their last
Then pull the clouds over and go to sleep for all has passed

What ever happened to Valsa George ?
Not a word for years and of you I ask and do implore
Has she gone on to meet her designated  fate ?
Is it now of me to inquire
because it is now much too late ?
Will her words pass on as well ?
Dumped into the black hole of the internet's Hell ?

Oh , well !

What is will be
May your best be allowed to soar so free

You heard me !
I don't write silly love poems anymore .
At best they become bleak .
They are the ships at sea scuttled by storm .
The aircraft that lose power and crash into the ground .
The miners of affection when the roof comes down .
Don't ask or make a sound .
I'm committed to silence so don't you mess around .
THEIR evermores doomed from first kiss and sworn bliss .
From the cradled vows
to the certain anyhows
Don't ask me about love poems anymore .

There's a nobody
in everybody's pocket
that's been stuffed in
and forgotten

A full bloomed rose
of any color
dethorned , betroved
and begotten

A day in paradice
reserved for one
but somehow has
all been undone

Take a chance on
the life belittled
dumped and stuffed
into someone's pocket

Were I in Beirut
A peninsularity of sand water . . . and time

Were I to cross the street to  Rue Monnot or cruise Hamra . . .

The air vibes incessantly .
The faces intrigue
The scents taunt and make my imaginations swirl

Laughter , chatter and comebacks in a language I don't understand

The feelings real , tangible
as the sunsets of their dreams

There's no place like home
Because they've all been torn down

A girl in your hands is worth more than two in their bush .

I threw my poem to the wolves
They then tore apart
every word
They swallowed down all the thread
then they languished
for soon they fled

For this was nothin̈g new
Just another sitting
on a Sunday church pew
For every poem has its cross to bear
Before it's cruxified
and rise in air

Dare the day
to raise the light
To dedicate
itself to the Sun's respite

To crush
the shadows
kidnapped
by night

To free the wounds
of fright or plìght

The sunny ray's raucous
crackling whips
Soon the darkness
will be flipped

To hear
the moans of
grinding time
The wheels spin on
as the engines whine

So does the day
dare the night ?
Yes it does
to the Sun's delight

Handing out smiles
weak after week
See the bitter in the sweet

The agiest lie about their youth
When falling asleep
they slip , tell the truth

Keeping your wits
at sticks end
When the walls wail
you learn to bend

They paved the path inside your brain
with asphalt , potholes and sewer drains

But you scraped down below their truth
Investigated it like a common sleuth

Discovering the real way
you turned off the sound to what they say

The clouds
are covering
up for the
sunshine

If not for nothing
there wouldn't
be anything

The truth
lies
in the mouth
of a politician

Patience my son
Rome wasn't
destroyed
in one day

We are headed to an on line determination

Where two collectives cross each others path marking the spot with an X

Where the minds of men become one with super intelligence

On that day there will be the X-ing out of . . . ?

I call myself
I fall myself
Too tall of a mountain
to climb
to be bookshelved
without a reason


I paid the price
There's no doubt
the flames burned out
All that remains
are the ashes doussed

All alone in the dim
Where all my fantasies
seem so slim
Where all chances
have evaporated
Full of nothing to the brim

Missing the someone's
whispers of night
Takes out the control right ?
But the "you" memories are made
The music played
The sorrow displayed

The ache soothed by
the medicinal *****
Watching the moonlight
fade away as it moves
Finding all my madness
in the black of blues

The shortest distance between two points in space and time is up a worm's *** .

Hot as the sand's
breath upon my back
The eyes of the Anunnaki
like a duststorm
welcomes me back

There is an inference
. . . a deference
. . . and a resistence
to their age

There's a shadow of energy tingling
against the skin of my bones
They are dreams that didn't stand but stumbled , fell ,
faded
. . . and now they are gone

There the sun's constant echo in the canyons of desires

But all I hear are the wails of Ululation of the outliers

Sand , Sand , Sand
Crushed into dust
Buries the ashes
turns truth to rust

Mashelem

Bill Baley bought the bank down on Boulder street
He rode the bus to work
years for every week

He always sat his
orbed *** down
upon the same old seat
The one you know with a view that was always so oblique

He liked the way the wind would swirl and
blow the trash around
It was a poor man's cheap ballet
but without the sound

If threatened . . .  with change . . . then he'd begin to fret
Just considering the consequences always made him sick

(Sometimes he'd get so riled he'd became a ****)


No one robs a bank these days
nor steals a railroad train
They'd illegally transfer digital money
and that's how they've named the game

If you stroke or tap the key
you'll become a millionaire
Join the frequent flyers club and go mostly anywhere  

Well Bill's bank on Blouder street
had all of its money drained
They took out everything
turning his blood icy in the vein

Bill then lost his everything . . .
His bank his house his cat
Even had to give up the blue Siberian Yak

He became a homeless man
and drifted with the wind
He never knew tomorrow or the troubles it would send

Someone stole the shoes
he wore
while he was drunken sleep
and he became another refugee begging on the street

As far as survival skills
he was worse than even lame
Most people avoided looking
thinking he was all to blame

Poor Bill Baley froze to death
On one of those freaking polar nìghts
The frigid northwest winds made sure he was frozen white

They took his remains
down
to the mortuary
The city had contracted them to dispose of indigents
with their crematory

He was torched by flames
that rose above the city
Now at this point and time I say purely it's a pity

For after all crime does pay  
yet it kills , ruins lives
and slanders
And we are the goose looking on stretching necks to gander


Now-a-days no one sits
on the bus
that Bill would use to take
The bus route run there was decided that they'd eliminate


Now nothing but black faces blankly stare when you're staring back
Those are the people who were born with no claim to either side of track

And as for Bill no one remembers now except those who lived aback
And not too many live that long
When you're tied down to the track

There is no moral to this story
No bands or whistles or
parades of glory

For what little we have will be taken away
. . .
when they open up the gateway

piers , numbers , lights
C train soundtracks
disco biscuits
just trying to stay alive
just trying to revive

Here comes the rain
Here comes the pain
Here comes the slo motion catastrophe
that limps , lames , stains the woodwork
of the floor
. . . no more .

I like my heart just the way it is
Worn , damaged and ill repaired
Not interested in a new one
This one has paid its dues

This one has been like an old friend
It has always been there beating for me
year after year
without end
We've been together
through thick and thin
so why change horses in mid vien .

Quatum Parker was a native American math **** . Born in the Blackboard Mountains of Oklahoma to Boris and Annika Schvartsberg who were pre-holocaust survivors who migrated to the U.S. prior to the infamous invasion of  fire ants in 1918 . At an early age Quantum
showed a proclivity at dealing with numbers which he picked up by watching Crows count in a mysterious beek and claw adaptation of the hood system of physically applied pressure points . Or as it is known today
as the fast break and dump system . Unfortunately Quantum had the misfortune one day of running into Little Bear legally coming down the mountain which so startled him he slipped and fell to his death . But we can all thank Quantum for leaving us a legacy of calculus of how many bounces it takes to **** a number .

There it was
in plain sight
I stared and stared
but it didn't
look right
I checked the spelling
and was assured
that's the way it's
spelled

I said what the Hell

Something I saw
now for every day
How could it change
so much in every way

Jamais vu !

Past - tap as Pat sat STP (a sap) at Apt's PT

Sometimes . . .
Such as a Who
. . . at Leeds ,
Or a dream unfullfilled
. . . in Alabama
Or the conflict
. . . daily in Dallas
or the absurd
. . . "Free at last ! Free at Last! Thank God free at last !

The more it changes
The less I recognize
. . . and there you elbow me
saying ,"It remains the same!"

Poetry is like underwear
It's wearable but not necessary
Comes in all shapes and sizes
Any color you would want
with printed statements of facts
Some wear well
Some have holes
Some rise to the occassion
Some barely make it waste deep

Was I caught while my guitar was sleeping
Or was it just a lighter shade of pale
Or was it just a rain while I rode a diesel down to New Orleans .
Holding down my dreams I called out for all's it worth

So much resistence from behind

I read about the watch tower

He said there's no reason to get excited

Then it was Tuesday afternoon

In a white room .

And all the leaves were brown

On such a winters day

I couldn't make it on Sunday

I got so ****** depressed

Have you ever seen the rain
comimg down a sunny day

The
darkest
dawn
always
comes
after
the
darkest
hour
of
the
night

She was a creature
a consumer of stars
Like a rabbit
hopping from bar to bar

The nighthawks few in precision
Feathers flagging
like fodder in the wars

Second guessing wasting hours
All the questions
fill the buckets with years
so dire

Rolling
stones
crush
bones

"War , children , it's just
a shot away" (Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones)

"Send me dead flowers every morning and I won't forget
to put roses on your grave."
(Dead Flowers by Townes Van Zandt)

The distance between two lines is pointless .

Not believing in God for
lack of proof is such a lame excuse .

Flees around the corner
for what would the marble be without the pressure

"A desert with desires denied
Tread lightly my friend ,
around the edges .
A safer way to Akaba ?
Ha !", said Auda Abu Tayi
King of the Howeitat .

In the December of my time
I find that silence
feeds me sweetly
without dread .

"I'm all right , right now."

Late at night ,
bathed in the moon's
delight . . .

"I feel all right , alright."

Just say "let it go."
Let the emptiness
swallow you whole .

"Just let it go now."

It's all so right .
Close your eyes ,
Hold memories tight .

"So tight."

"It's alright , all right now."

The flute
evokes the rites
The pipes the pain
Long standings
in a winters rain
so ends
his reign

Some people
are buried
some are flamed
Some we raise
our glass unto
and drink to fame

We sink
our hopes
and shed our tears
and like little children
we face our fears

auld lang syne

He drove a statement through his heart .
He bled out numerically
before he had the chance to bark . They closed the lids to his accounts figuring there was nothing left there that he could bounce . Once he was wheeled to the lawns that closed , he was stripped of all equity even the diamond ring in his nose . There was no interest that accrued . He had no pension that gathered dust in the murmings due . They closed his file  , his coffin's lid , and all of his memories  too .

Flees around the corner

There are little rocks
Big rocks
and boulders

There are crushes
Dilliances
and full blown romances

Just as the seconds
are
to the minutes at hand
that make up the hours of our lives

How sad are the days that rock every moment
of defiance

Let the light
be the truth
to the horizon
of our thoughts

Loving you
means accepting
all the dreams
you are
not

They say you can never
know
Precisely what it is that you no

The car ran on and on and
on three wheels
Wasn't sure on how many
pills

I stared at the palm of my
hand
My future looked so **** ******

The confidence was all spent
Time I moved on and
went

I stood on the corner ,
warmer
Thinking about times , stoner

They say you can never
no
Now I just wouldn't
know

I was born
my place to serve
The train of my robe
ended before my
back would curve

I had many wings of endurance
Still I covered my eyes
for rest assurance

Four out of six
for adoration
One mustn't forget
ones place of separation

The whole hosts
was more than a dream
Every nuance well thought
out down to the minutest scheme

Divine by all measure
No encapsulation here
Long after creation
the truth will appear

Silence . . .
like a candle glows
In it's  warmth
leaves an afterglow

Fog my brother
wise
allows the future
to disguise

Dusk in  
minutes
of dreams  
realizes it must release  everything

It's not a love song
It's not a long song
It's not . . .

The Phoenix
rises . . .
spitting out ashes
desires
and destinations
over and over and over again