Solutions are like dishes.
They have ingredients
and once one is found
you can make it again.
Yet, my lonesome irksome
won't pass with time
and since there's no reason
I guess I'll just rhyme.

I've been to the ocean
its embrace like the grave.
When you're caught in its arms
you're too lost to save.

In somber dreams blue
I do think of you
and drift on a draft
of winds that I knew
Without you I'm there
in oceans not fair
my weeping's a flare
an SOS' glare...

Isolated I am
a man in a maze
No matter where I turn
I am forlorn
solutions are infinite
but momentary
and worn.

I thought I would write of love, love
But I faced a wall, a block
My quill stood still in time
While the clock went on tick tock
I thought I would write of passion
That makes one spin on toes
But my quill stayed quiet, still
It wouldn't spill or flow
I thought I would write of romance
With all the right beats in the groove
But my quill stopped mid air
It didn't want to write or move
So I lay my quill aside
And gave poetry a miss
I left the paper empty, love
And sealed it with a kiss

Sometimes the searing sharpness of cynicism is required;
The acid, eye -watering lemon zest of fact
Piercing
The soft underbelly
Of platitudes, niceties, clichés, pleasantries and delusions.
The sweet smile offset by the glint in the eye,
The raise of an eyebrow or the hint of a frown
Won't do it.

Slivers of sycophancy stick in the teeth
And globules of gratuitous grovelling make one gag.
Swimming in warm soapsuds makes the skin shrivel
And the body longs for the cold shock of sea and salt.

Slick smoothness sickens like melting ice cream
and pretty politeness can seem
Pretty pointless
In the icy blast of a down turn.
Whipped up enthusiasm is just that -
A lot of hot air.

Oil the wheels, grease the palm, slick back the hair,
Stick on the smile, fix the grin, paint the slap.
Nothing sounds too well held in place;
All ready to slide off, leaving  the raw expression of bewilderment
In the face of reality