It is the strangest tragedy.
America you sicken me
with your lack of creativity,
your intolerance of diversity,
and your myopic mind of mediocrity.

You copy fools who use you up
admire the desire to get more stuff
and in your fevered pursuits find
each acquisition is not enough
for you to satisfy your collector’s state of mind.

While pursuing profits
you scoff at scientists and artists,
not realizing when you depart this
tiresome existence
you will not get a single second back
despite your religious insistence.

There will be no return visits
or heavenly escapades,
no afterlife charades
or heaven's gate parades.

All that stress you felt,
all that time you wasted
trying to get to the next phase,
well, it's a tragedy because
life is not a video game you get to replay,

Once she wore
soft velvet skin,
made for touching
and all-night loving.

Hard work to make a living.
Tender affections giving,
suckling children,
and taking care of them;
She did it with love,

but time took
her once
supple yet soft skin,
and in aging
weathered it
till it was leathered
though still tethered
to her gentle heart.

Youthful vigor,
changed to
aged wisdom,
and anyone around
was greatly gifted
with the words
she gave them.

Till, the wheel eternal
took her energy,
and every cell and molecule
was given back to
nature’s majesty.

I am a greedy goblin gobbling great perspectives,
a sneaky thief, sweeping in silent as the wind,
no creaky hinges will stop me as I move inches
pushing forward, moving towards worlds of words
as a dreamer, poet, lover, and thought explorer.

Like a ninja in the night, I wait and listen
for the whispered ideas most are missing,
to devour each tasty flower that nourishes and empowers
my artist heart for seconds, minutes, and hours.

I am selfish because I wish to taste the tastiest poetic dishes,
and let the flavor linger on my tongue,
taking the lines and savoring each one
cause they are so terribly delicious.
Till the meal is done and it is my turn to cook up
a thought, line, verse, or rhyme that another will love.

They are as precious as the lights,
burning brightly in the night,
and more valuable by far
because they shine
for a much shorter time.

See them laughing as they play,
see them swimming in a pond,
see them growing and changing
every single day,
till their flame just flickers out.

All ash blowing in the wind,
fantastic flesh beings
that will not return again,
but once they were children
growing up to be women
and silly old, befuddled men.

See them dancing, and spinning
clutching those they love,
see compassion’s beginning
and gentle heart’s farewell.

Just as soon as they arrive
it is time to say goodbye,
less than a second in
space and time.

See them celebrate and mourn,
see them elevate above the norm,
see them struggle to be better
and falling short more often
than they succeed.
  
I will write them a lullaby,
I will hum it as I cry.
See me weeping, eyes stinging,
until it is my corpse they are bringing.

I hope someone writes a poem for me.

Imagine if
you took
the breadth
and width
of all existence,
summing it up
in one sentence
and let it go.

Or wrote it down,
syllable by syllable
tasting ever sound,
then sat it on the ground
and burnt it.

What if
you watch it
play out like
movie in the night,
but then decided
you didn’t like it
cause it made you
uncomfortable,
so to spite
that bright display
of brilliance
you put it away
and then
never spoke of it
again.

How come
it is so easy
for me to see
that simple beauty,
but when I
share it in poetry,
you turn your back on me
ignoring my plea
for decency.

What a strange species,
that lets its artistry
disintegrate
into a fury of
mind numbing stupidity.

It’s hard to breath
but easy to bleed
with this hole
in her breast,
a gaping wound
in her chest.

She tries to keep
the weeping
suppressed,
to not let her
children
see her depressed,
but it is beyond
obvious.

One body missing
from the chair,
and child’s bed.
She still feels
a quiet dread.

No sleep,
but a little drink
to fill the void;
They say
time will take
the pain away,
but another loss
is what she is
trying to avoid.

She goes on,
while her family
tries to bear
the same agony
with stoic despair.
There is only
air and tension
to fill their
emptiness.

No shared connection
or conversation
to help them all
deal with this.

So, day by day
the nothingness
burrows deeper
and eats away.

The space between,
human beings
expands beyond
reckoning.

Strangers,
keep expecting them
to come back together again,
but the crack between
these human beings
becomes too far to leap.
Till, one day they are
too far gone from each other
to even speak.

The reaper’s victory
is totally complete,
because for one,
he got four souls to keep.

I write under heaven’s fire,
a bright orange flaming fury
that sets the skies ablaze,
as the sun rays
makes clouds
look like they are
burning, burning,
moving, while slowly turning,
a righteous delight,
that I enjoy.

Until I feel
the day’s descent
and night’s lovely ascent to
a starry painting
we all can view.

No grander
fool who
meanders
makes demands here.

Restless,
head to chest
to catch his breath
else meet his death,

the poet seeks
dreams to speak,
closes his eyes
and lets his mind
rise.

Until his art
is fully realized,
and the hunger
to create
is satisfied.

The muse
lays down
and falls asleep.
He puts down
his pen,
and lets her rest
without a peep.

Until, he needs
her life’s blood again.
She will awaken
but need sustenance,
and he will feed
everything
heard and seen
to his artist queen.

The phoenix
will rise to shatter
all the thoughts
and words that mattercont.
to create wonders once more.

I am fractured,
a flower floating in
times that never end.

Orange clouds afire,
lit by disasters,
I am that burning
bratty *******.

Foaming wave,
fierce tidal force
forced to go with
the terrible flow
that beats the shore.

I am the shattered glass
lightbulb burnt out.
Thin shards flying away
from the electrical light
that I made.

I am the leaning lighthouse,
beacon in the storm,
the key to my own
clockwork brain,
just tic tocking away,
wasting time
every single day.

I am all the strange
mixed up metaphors,
as mad as a hatter
cause I make little sense,

and someday I will be
sadly,
past tense.

Do not ask me to write a better future.
I cannot see a light through
the dark tunnels we are
traveling in our fast flesh cars.

I am not depressed as many are,
because I have seen what horrors
have moved us forward thus far.

My nightmares pale in comparison,
to the carnage other people have been
moving, drowning, and living in.

Poverty and hunger, war and terror,
chaos and destruction, over there
where I don’t have to see,
but I watch and read
enough to know it’s real.

I am coasting while others are roasting,
burning in their own personal hells,
convicted and sentenced to a chemical jail,
that they cannot escape because their cell
is the body that they make.

Rage and anxiety pushing our society
to uncertain extremes,
dividing us into the too many teams;

When we would be better served
by acting like Earth’s steward
and learning to listen to
those who have not been heard,
by making kindness the new holiness,
and finding out why they know this
isn’t how it has to be.

Inclusivity doesn’t cost much,
and we gain the universe
by being able to accept and embrace
change.

But my people like to tear down the strange,
prefer the cold dark caves
from which we sprang,
whilst burning and burying
most outliers.

I live in a world of science deniers,
that don’t give a crap about forest fires,
cause our climate has become
numb and dumb to the truth.

So, though, I may smile
while I am talking to you,
I still believe we are totally *******.

Tension pinching
my chest
while I am clenching
my teeth
trying to catch
my bad breath.

Red eyes strained,
and pained
from coughing so hard
that my neck veins
bulges out so far.

So, tired
but I can’t sleep,
haven’t eaten
much all week
and I am feeling
really weak.

Nauseous,
and afraid
so many things
I have yet to say.
If I die today
who will know
or care anyways?

I’m scared
and confused.
After all
that I have done,
this is how I lose.

No one here
to talk to me
and I don’t
want to believe
this might be
how I leave
the world.

Is there anyone there?