a white picket fence
bordered the backyard
of my childhood home,

a neatly trimmed hedge
my father planted himself
framed the front,

there used to be a pine tree,
it was replaced with an artificial
fish pond a decade ago,

the house was yellow,
not musty or vibrant,
but like a sunflower

with a dark green door
atop seven steps
leading to the front porch

that used to leak rainwater
into our pots and pans
whenever a storm came.

i used to have a telescope
stationed in my bedroom window
to observe the bank across the street,

there were two lenses,
one magnified the zoom
while the other inverted the image,

i remember watching people
work at their desks attached to the ceiling,
but it just made my head hurt.

when the bank would close at dusk
i would tilt the telescope
to glance at the night sky.

i always searched for Mars,
i sometimes claimed to have found it
but it was probably just space-junk.

that same telescope now rests
collecting dust in my basement,
searching for stars amidst forgotten treasures.

but i can't see through the mystery
that's you, a beautiful disguise,
please let me be free of this misery,
thanks to you and your lovely, lonely eyes.

the truth is we are stuck in harmony,
two lone wolves searching far and wide,
please let me be in your company,
i cannot be without those lovely, lonely eyes.

such strong gales of wind
pummel the windows again
as a gavel does.

the daily hum-drum that we find in our lives
has again been replaced with this dub-step vibe,
we step in time to the rhythm as it moves
wobbling drops that can't stop our groove.
in fact they fuel it,
the real-time, phase-nine,
electro-hip hop, bass-line.
laser projections ready to stump and soothe our sight-line,
like a spaceship's blast off up over to cloud nine.
a bass-smith's tools perfect ghoulish dub lines,
the masters of the craft, now imploding history's timeline.

poems are like the seasons,
constantly changing yet always beautiful in their own way--
ironic, tragic, sadistic, blasphemous.
i can smell the sweet scent of the crescent moon
as it's cold white rays dance across my eyes,
around my head, in one ear and out the other
so quickly that a whistling whisper reverberates inside my dome,
yet unknown to me was the feeling of fleeing--
running away to a land of John and Jane Doe's,
nobodies to me, though somebodies to themselves, I suppose.
here we would sit, regressing our last lines,
of crescent moons, yet now the sun shines.
how can it be?
such a social tragedy, to escape and relate
life as it was to the life chosen to take.
no more "dudes", "dawgs", crude words or flaws--
just life as we know it, no need for applause.
the dying days of life astray have taught us and led us on our way
to the tundra of thunder, it crashes down and haunts us,
once cold, no light, now steaming and much too bright.
go ahead, raise me to the Heavens,
i dread the day my angels no longer beckon,
"His path is now set, we can intervene no longer."
demons will rise in rupturing riptides
as Hell freezes over, yet flames override.
Carpe Diem, Carpe Nox,
i've seized the seasons squealed the silver fox.
the crescent moon looked down that day,
upon us all, upon the choices we made.

the groogrux king, himself, would sing,
why i am is to forever bring
a jazzed up, blissful outlook on such things
that many see as strife, but man, did he ring
out on that saxophone, bass and alto alike,
he brought forth such emotion
as his wind-riffs did ignite,
the most stellar combination
of love and happiness tonight.

he lives on forever,
as we lie in our graves,
dreaming and wondering of better things,
better ways to use our days,
you gave your soul
through sax in whole,
long live the groogrux king,
we know how sweet you roll.

it's dark as midnight out there,
no lanterns to lead the way.
the clouds feel rough--
no pillows float the breeze today.

we're stuck at a standstill,
halfway to heaven, the stairs keep on rising.
up, up and away--
no time to hesitate, decisions keep expiring.

do we grab the banister?
it seems to be constructed out of lightning.
or do we slide down--
a balancing act ever so frightening.

the troposphere appears to spiral to infinite,
daunting, if not taunting, to say the least.
yet our altitude's increasing--
we must be overcoming that wind of a beast.

they said they did it for efficiency's sake.
birthed machine after machine,
just to increase the rate
                                  per
                                 time.
no god-given talent or skill,
can defeat this adaptive assembly line.

no man-     P
no fire-         O
no brain-       W
no super-     E
no will-      R

it's flawless at first glance, and maybe even second.
simply perfect to the naked eye; even the telescoped, i reckon.
but under a microscope, it becomes simple to see,
this single-purposed way of life isn't human; how can it be?

just like control + C, control + V,

i believe they've synchronized simplicity.
  believe they've synchronized simplicity.
                they've synchronized simplicity.
                              synchronized simplicity.
                                                     ­  simplicity.
                                                     ­                   .
                                                                ­        .yticilpmis
                                             ­                           .yticilpmis dezinorhcnys
                                                    ­                    .yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht
                                                         ­               .yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht eveileb
                                                         ­               .yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht eveileb i

                                                              ­                         ,V + lortnoc ,C + lortnoc ekil tsuj

                                        ?eb ti nac woh ;namuh t’nsi efil fo yaw desoprup-elgnis siht
                                                          ,e­es ot elpmis semoceb ti .epocsorcim a rednu tub
                                    .nokcer i ,depocselet eht neve ;eye dekan eht ot tcefrep ylpmis
                                                       .dnoces neve ebyam dna ,ecnalg tsrif ta sselwalf s’ti

                                                           ­                                                                R      -lliw on
                                                              ­                                                           E     -repus on
                                                              ­                                                        W       -niarb on
                                                              ­                                                          O      ­   -erif on
                                                              ­                                                             P     -nam on

                                                             ­                .enil ylbmessa evitpada siht taefed nac
                                                             ­                                   ,lliks ro tnelat nevig-dog on
                                                              ­                                        .emit                    ­                  
                                              ­                                                          rep    ­                              
                                  ­                                                                 ­     etar eht esaercni ot tsuj
                                                            ­                              ,enihcam retfa enihcam dehtrib
                                                         ­                .ekas s’ycneiciffe rof ti did yeht dias yeht

rhyme and rhythm now
strike up a fancy, somehow,
so natural. *(bow)

i have a knack for misreading emotion,
or possibly a lack of accepting devotion.
you set me in motion, a tide in the ocean,
fated to fall yet i rise with your potion.

i'll drink your poison if you fill the cup,
you make me crazy, baby, don't give up.
a lyric i love above all the rest,
but my cup's still filled, i can't drink it yet.

four years ago i'd down four in a row,
but now the tides fallen and i can't let it go.
i used to be immune to this toxic venom,
snake tooth insanity now drives me to bedlam.

a once-concerned man in the mirror told me,
the best things in life are free.
so why is it my life revolves in threes?

three colleges,

a four-year marianist institution,
     with less morals than a mosquito,
a two-year community college,
     overlooked as tall egos look down upon,
and on to a four-year vincentian valued
     melting *** of hopeful inspiration.

three majors,

a degree in engineering seems futile,
     as i already understand the mechanics of life.
a degree in business is impractical,
     as i already know how to sell you on strife.
a degree in english completes my triad,
     as i already know it's the butter to my knife.

three years

one for the money,
        two for the show,
                three to get ready,
                                                   four, oh, help me so.

three reasons,

1.
2.
3.

it seems i'm still searching for my meaning here,
pursuing a hare at tortoise-speed.
if only i could kick it into third gear,
i'd catch up to my purpose, and plant
                                                                    three
                                                                ­                more
                                                            ­                               seeds.

i watch that ember burn,
in a slow-roasting fire.
i hear each individual crackle,
exciting my inner-most desire;

to feel that blaze a'burning,
deep inside of my heart.
that's ceased, post-recently,
to strike the steel to start.

blood type: irrelevant,
for it's flint flowing through my veins.
the tinder within must surely be damp,
else you, my dear, fight flames like rain.

song and *dance,
                             a lovely combination.
whiskey and women,
                                      a deadly intoxication.

put two and two together,
                                                                          elation*.
                                                             higher
                                                       no
                                              ain't

"which side of the island are you on?"
the sign read clear yet confusion spawned.
a month before it said, "what mean these stones?"
i thought i had it pegged but a new riddle roots my dome.
at first glance, it's simply north, south, west or east,
until a greater insight allows you to realize the beast.
the monster within, with a mischievous grin,
the chesire cat's supreme tiger of a twin.
you see, demons and angels atop shoulders will boast,
a toast to good and evil, which lures you in the most?
perhaps this island is theoretically unsound,
heaven and hell in a melting ***, chaos surrounds.

beauty is in essence nothing more than acceptance.
when one acknowledges beauty, one
takes a picture from that precipice,
tends to that angel's every need,
for nothing lasts long if you let it go,
hold onto beauty as long as you please.

but sometimes you see beauty in your mirror,
the slightest reflection makes the situation clearer.
eyes like fire, jaw sharp as stone,
its a shame we cant rewire ourselves to avoid medusa's clone.

you see, an eye for an eye
is still an eye for two,
so who wins the stalemate?
both one-eyed jacks do.

i saw a downed tree two weeks ago.
it was green and full of life
despite the evenly-spaced, spliced logs
its trunk had become.
each with over forty circles,
outstanding the test of time others could not.
to us time is current, to nature it is recurrent.
all we know are the rings around,
cycles repeated, cycles abound.

we stand ready to survive the day,
while nature stows and stocks away.
for next year, for many to come,
nature, like the tree, prepares to endure its run.

we say let's live to see another day,
why not another year? would ten not be okay?
calculations, calculations,
always counting through observation.

abacus please don't feed me lies,
the tree grows rings and then it dies.
blooming, blossoming, full of expression,
its leaves are brown now, nourished recession.

but fear not how, not when, nor why,
this poor giant never planned to die.
see, up they grow, from seedling or sapling,
to shade us all, optimistically happening.
no bowing their chins, no lowering their gaze,
for the sunshine is their life force today.

if ever dazed, lost or swayed,
just climb a tree and learn its ways.
the future can't be met just yet,
go ahead, breathe in the day.
all we know are the rings around,
cycles repeated, cycles abound.

acquaintances grow and
then
        they
                fall.
but a reunion makes losing
worth
           finding
                        after all.

the wind has caught up to us once again,
billowing around the spinnaker
as she dips the helm ten degrees starboard.
we've reached six knots,
a nautical dilemma when the cat's paws
signal the departure of a strong gust.
she rides the wind-waves,
a natural captain, she is,
as we continue on home.

we run against the grain,
we test time outside its frame,
we risk the impossible to the extreme,
we question life, what does it mean?

independently,
we can all grow together
as the willow's hair.

we all strive for perfection.
be it the perfect life, perfect wife, or just perfectly out of strife.
perfection in itself, is imperfect.
for in order to be flawless,
one must never skip a beat.
or give that vegan such innocent meat.
perfection has no regrets, no trial and error.
just trial and success.
how often can any of us say we have bested our best,
only to find that test and all the rest were but a jest.
we've all been made fools,
some even used as tools in a greater plan.
nobody is perfect or flawless.
even jerks can become jaw-less
when karma completes its cycle.
some keep their shields up.
i've laid mine on the floor.
you might dare to taunt me,
even flaunt your skills galore.
i laugh, you scoff,
i perform and you're off.
those who guard what's underneath
are still chasing perfection, they will not bequeath
the honor and glory of a more perfect story
than their own.
they seize the throne through force
while i am appointed as time runs its course.
honestly speaking, perfection is dead.
i perfectly love imperfection, unique from toe to head.

that first day of summer has come,
the longest of all with no choice but to run.
for it runs from the east, chasing its own shadow,
on westward where travelers admit the challenges are not shallow...
by any means.
that first day of summer has come,
yet so quickly it leaves us, bewildered and stunned.
the moonshine reveals we must wait a year, somehow,
to again root for the day to finish its longest marathon and dip below...
be patient, serene.
that first day of summer has come,
patience aside, we've waited all our lives to fire the gun.
pull the trigger, move to alaska, complete a task worth wiping sweat from the brow.
from metaphor to metaphors, we sit. it's not yet time, yet the time is now.
we wait for chance to give the king a queen,
we wait to see that day still yet to be seen.

but why, oh angel,
why do i lack the courage
to say buongiorno?

if it was my last day on earth?
harmonies, contradictions..
an accusation against mother nature's omnipotence;
prophecies, predictions..
tenfold more wicked these claims lay
fallacies, convictions..
for questioning an unquestionable supremacy.
*policies, traditions..

that below you,
your feet,
your soul..
something stirs from the ancients
awakening this new oblivion..
you ask how, never.
could it be just,
simple
hunger..
the fright with no recover
for no means lay discoverable here..
land frozen, bitter.
and may i add,
succinct,
short, sweet..
do not falter, new directions
create the life you've grown to know quite well..
suffer, yet prevail.
though still and still,
that empty
fills up..
void full of fallacies like
what you see is what you get, where's the faith..
in the world, yourself.
you must go search,
you can't
let go..
for that which hides is worth finding
in both the journey and the resolution..
let your ship set sail.
be the captain,
guide that
helm through..
endure whatever comes forth
to misguide you, deceive you, taunt, block you..
crush the ice, bring hope.
numb to the bone,
but wait,
the warmth..
euphoria, achievement's
best reward when such struggles, outperformed.
you've reached the goal,
now make two more.
failure comes, and
failure goes, but
success is worth more than a thousand stones.
port, bow, starboard, stern, compass unbeknown,
never hesitate in changing your course..
follow the north wind,
let it take you home.

how to escape this thoughtful innocence
holding me behind bars of rightful insolence.
they say, "train your mind, lose sense of time,"
while i say, "why train the untame, isn't losing sense the wild's game?"
questions. answers. repeated. just dapper.
never enough you say? yes i feel that way,
often enough as if the work isn't done here,
so why stray far if the achievement is near?
sometimes roads bend and wind for days
only to cover the straight distance a foot away.
this, we call life, and we enjoy the strife,
for overcoming it brings jubilation
while the journey creates hesitation.
hold back and time passes your eyes,
jump in and time let's you fly.
what to do... what to do...
answers. questions. reiterated. human nature.

this ripple effect leaves justice hanging
in and out of balance,
cycles expanding, contracting, repeating, reenacting
those atrocities which should never be seen.
how is it so that one man knows
all that which we suppose
a fallacy.
yet still an idea grows, lingers, equilibrium the trigger
to test the faith of those ginger.
perhaps they will prevail,
perhaps we will prevail.
the ripples never cease until dawn's dusk is unleashed.

Two days old, as hours foretold,
Wisdom is a gift, heartily gifted so.
Life’s greatest mysteries left to unfold,
Hourglass sand drowns the catacomb.

Time perceived through linear scopes
Shows present truths and fallacies as heard.
Elope distinctions, divorce similarities,
For the world is backward and time, reverse.

Lessons learned, reiterate the word,
Responsibility, the key to community.
Prosper, live long,
Disease is only deadly when extinct is the immunity.

Freely versed, lyrically rehearsed,
Speaking from the heart blends emotion at the worst
With flint and tinder
Striking up fire, but always a spark first.

Lay down your own bricks in the cobblestone;
Let your motivation shine through creation,
Any man’s hard work is not worth your own.

I’ve passed up jobs, errands and even the unknown,
To reminisce on maybe lost elation;
Lay down your own bricks in the cobblestone.

To hire is to lay desire prone,
Motionless, emotion deviation;
Any man’s hard work is not worth your own.

Thrice I’ll repeat, for urgency was shown,
Like no vacancy for meditation;
Lay down your own bricks in the cobblestone.

If a lesson is to be learned and known;
As Dad says, “Honor. Appreciation.”
Any man’s hard work is not worth your own.

If ever I am lost, misled or thrown
Off my path, I’ll pave with no duration,
Lay down your own bricks in the cobblestone.
Any man’s hard work is not worth your own.

cycle.

deadlines rewind, time and time again.
insolence killed the jester.
blasphemy killed the king.
disrespect and disregard,
for more such powerful beings
can bring one's end
to a point where no future remains.
the past is a myth and the present, it hangs.
how is it her majesty can call upon others
as if travesty was still just a game?

recycle.

Mesmerized by days
Phenomenally hidden
Underneath the snow