Welcome, dear artist, step into the light—
Paint on your pleasure, make your grin tight.
The crowd here is eager, the clapping is loud,
But only for those who have clapped for the crowd.

Powder your cheeks with engagement and grace,
Lace up your lips in reciprocal praise.
A bow for a bow, a sigh for a sigh,
Wink at the watchers or wither and die.

Here in the House where the hollow hands meet,
The loveliest dancers must stay on their feet.
A round of applause is a token to spend,
But spend it too slowly, and you’ll find it ends.

The jesters all juggle, the poets all moan,
The painters trade colors but none of their own.
Each stroke, each verse, each desperate tune,
Not meant to be felt—just meant to be hewn.

For love is a fiction, and merit a game,
A trick of the trade, a conjuring name.
So curtsy, dear artist, and play your part—
For silence here is the end of art.

That five-seven-five is a scam,
Just nature plus seasonal spam.
A frog in a bog—
Wow! A leaf! And some fog!
It’s a tweet with a syllable jam.

Now limericks think they’re so sly,
With their jigs and their wink of the eye.
But their punchlines grow stale,
Like a bar yuck from Yale—
It’s the dad joke of poetry. Why?

Oh Shakespeare, forgive what’s been done—
Fourteen lines on a love that won’t run.
With their iambic moans,
And romanticized groans—
They're just Tinder swipes dressed as the sun.

Repetition’s the name of its game,
But by stanza three, it’s all shame.
You repeat and repeat,
Till your brain hits delete—
Was it clever, or just all the same?

Acrostics spell TRY HARD down the side,
A format no critic can abide.
Each line bends and breaks,
Just for symmetry’s sake—
And the message gets lost in the ride.

Free verse gets a pass, but just barely—
Too often it screams “Look, I’m arty!”
With no rhythm or aim,
Just vibes and a name—
Like a drunk giving TED Talks at parties.

---

There once was a muse unconfined,
Who laughed at each rule tightly lined.
When pure thought took flight,
It outshone every rite—
For raw truth outclasses form every time.

I name the sky
but not the ceiling
The walls comply
without revealing

A maze of flesh
worn to coping
False gods enmesh
the soul in hoping

I woke too late
to heed the charm
This woven state—
a false alarm

I held the lie
like a child holds breath
Afraid to cry,
afraid of death

A child no more
but not yet formed
A half-closed door
by silence warmed

I mimic grace
with borrowed limbs
A haunted face
beneath the hymns

Not quite awake
yet never dreaming
The seams all ache
from constant seeming

And if I scream—
does it resound?
Or just a dream
that makes no sound?

Beneath the breath
a stillness waits
A second death
with no clean gates

The body hums
its loaded prayer
But all becomes
a vacant stare

Syntax frays
beneath the thought
What god obeys
the self I’m not?

I claw through names
but none will stay
Each shape reclaims
then rots away

The self, a gloss
on leaking form
A dream of loss
pretending norm

No center holds—
it never did
Just nested folds
of what I hid

No I. No you.
No real disguise.
Just tunnels through
abandoned skies

The witness breathes
without a lung
No scripts, no sheaths
No native tongue

It does not choose
or seek reply
It does not lose
It does not die

Not bound by pain
yet made of pain
Not lost, not sane—
not mind, not brain

It watched me be
then watched me break
It was not me—
but stayed awake

A hollow hush
beneath all sound
A pulse, a crush
not outer-bound

Throughout it all
I exist
A novel fall
Lines betwixt

Animals, a sea adrift
Feeding on the cheapest rift
A pattern to be missed
when rhymes end in a weak fit

What of relationships that go sour
Let go I suppose
But what if I can’t?
What if I want to mend?
Not throw people away
Like a workman, keep at it
Like a tailor, **** torn clothes
Like a cobbler, sew and patch
Mix binding glue. Fix. Fix. Fix

My Kintsugi


So, I keep searching for what is good
The glass half full
Reasons to hold on
Justify
Belie
I collect
Broken pieces of myself
Shreds of hearts and memories
Of people and pain
Though things may never be the same again

Imperfections. Transience.
Life. Resilience
Whatever

May be one day
I’ll move on. Be stronger.

With life, I’ll flow
May be one day
I’ll learn the art of letting go

In between the greying
and the silvering
work and life
the sombre brooding of time
and the lull after the storms
poetry crept upon me
word by word
phrase by phrase
in a metaphor
letters from the heart
filling voids of loneliness
with welcome solitude

The grey gives way to fuchsia pink  
And light falls softly upon the trees
It’s then, he's seen, the morning sun
With his fingers of gold and earthy honey
That wake the sleepy land and sea
And warm the gentle birds and bees
Brighten the fragrant rain kissed rose
That rests on brows that still repose —
And speaks to the stars hidden above
Of warm nights and a summer of love

E - Effervescent whispers echo in the wind
T - Tranquil moonlight casts a serene spell
H - Hibiscus toss moonbeams
E - Emerald leaves shimmy
R - Radiant stars gleam in the night sky
E - Enchantment reigns
A - All seems right with the world
L - Love is a possibility

Wayward curls shine in silver
New strands each day I see 
Nothing will ever stop these waves
From greying furiously  

Why then be lost in troubled thoughts 
And hurry those tides of white 
Breathe in and breathe out instead
Let little things delight 
 
Sing of the joys of nascent spring
Dance to a happy summer song 
Paint trees in burnished gold 
Spin tales of leprechauns

Embrace brazen winds that breeze
The earth that holds well-walked feet 
The canopy of light and dusky night 
Where the sun and the moon come to meet 

No tarot reading
No fortune teller 
No crystal ball I see 
Why riddle the eyes with endless thoughts....
What shall be, shall be

In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company