no small talk
wit nor regret wrought

just simply

be

Let the rhythm move you
Find your inner groove
Work on making your craft sharper
That way the waters will be calm and smooth
Visualize doing your best
Have a pleasant attitude
Continue to climb that ladder
And show your gratitude

begging she
hobbles
wobbly on
bent legs her
garments
unraveled
scarlet
letter
meticulously
embroidered on
sagging
bossom
golden heart worn
upon the wrist
which
wields
the
collapsible
white
cane.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017

A statuary
of bliss
was Springtide
here that
Euripides might
deem as
golden for
his future
but this
righteous indignation
was angst
in literature
today but
rabbi was
surreal too
but temperamental  
once again.

what does this word mean to you

~forever~

is it something you're willing to do

~forever~

is it something you say
a promise you make
that you'll take with you to the grave

~forever~

will you hold tightly to this

~forever~

seal it all off with a kiss

~forever~

husband and wife
through struggle and strife
a covenant made for life

~forever~

a band that will always hold on

~forever~

a truth that will always stand strong

~forever~

a promise with no end
in all that love gives
being the only way to live

~forever~

At land end's trembling lip,
passed eye's can-can't see, at the
sky-sea line where vessels dreamt
of falling from.
The king of the animals was bit by
a pair of star-studded teeth, to
dispel the myth of water.
Wild with wilder strokes, their
plunking slip slaps, nowhere-fasting.
Slogging away at ancient rains,
beating their surface round, showing
droplets what they were.
Body to body of water, weightless
upon where great floods got drunk.
Pulled in by the call to insignificance
through the dereliction of duties,
unscrambling the doubling deep's face.
The how of the humbling left to the
king of the animals, back floating...
with the lo-upturned eyes of a saint.

Don’t bring your Bible
To convince me of your choice.
Pick another atheist.
Because this one came with a voice.
This one came with something
That I choose to call a mind.
I don’t like walking around
Intellectually deaf and blind.

Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.

But the second round of magic
About walking on water and things
Is far less exciting than tales of
Dragons trolls and magic rings
Since all of those wild yarns
Don’t claim to be true stories
And don’t ask us to blindly believe
And hope for only heavenly glory.

Many decades ago I stopped
Believing in superstitious twaddle.
In stead of some tasteless wafers
I much prefer a decent waffle.
If the contradictory book you sell
Is any clue as to lifelong serenity,
Half of what the preachers say
Is nothing but pure duplicity.

Don’t bother telling me what a
Four thousand year old man said.
He either never really existed
Or he is many millennia dead.
I dig that you are reaching for
Some answers as to how and why
And you prefer the old tales
About a big dude in the sky.