#rkay
Right in front of the koban
Star-B’s cramp and crammed
Not for the presently starving
Perhaps not or the Summer
With its heat reflecting tiles
Where else is boxed contentment?
But where it’s found in a moment.
Nov 24, 2023
Nov 24, 2023 at 2:26 AM UTC
Is remorse a prison to the soul
the sole utterance of reproach
that if not to myself be True
the possible best in life accrue
what if regret creeps on the morning
a thief stalking the shadow of dawn
(re)fresh from bare motive drawing
crystal arteries of a day that is new
or shall we allow the mind meander
let it's "work" find itself crowning
there in its core uncover simplicity
strip away a mournful state of heart ?
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 8:56 PM UTC
.
revolutions of the second hand
innumerable to the watchful eye
has not comforted this bruising
nor can this heart run far enough
away from the pulsing gangrene
when off the darkest mile it tread
in the cooling of a fading day that
gentle crushing fixed completely
drowning in despondent smiles
wafting wavelets forlorn, wailing,
whispering affections now silent
wanting a happier, more innocent time
.
Jul 1, 2022
Jul 1, 2022 at 8:24 AM UTC
.
In this lifetime of striving
childhood's tentative bumbling,
youth's arrogant impertinence,
middle-aged regimented conceit,
in old age, encrusted intolerance;
when will we likely ever win?
.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 10:11 PM UTC
filled with melancholy
mood lit by lampshade
names and faces dissipate
weathered post it sticks
if only the memory did
Jun 24, 2022
Jun 24, 2022 at 7:34 AM UTC
some time, somewhere out there
someone had said
that one part of poetry
is a reservoir that holds
all the sadness of this world
What then does this say of a poet?
it is not seen how
that portion poets bear
bare on virginal leaves
all their flight and fears
are tears morphed in pressed ink
Jun 12, 2022
Jun 12, 2022 at 11:29 PM UTC
as soon as it's spoken
as soon as it's heard
words e v a p o r a t e
words depreciate
so we try to keep them frozen
and chisel them onto poems
with a hope, come melt-time
a fossilised facsimile resides
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 1:07 AM UTC
When your winter breaks into spring
think of new and wonderful things
while autumn creeps passed your window
break this winter free of sorrow
wait upon seasons - wait on life
live each day loving - escaping
weave each day's new strands - engaging
one day looking back - mem'ries rife.
Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 5:08 AM UTC
*his tears used to wake him
from an unduly prolonged delay
her smiles used to hurt him for
their beauty his heart, dismay:
their love had locked them up
and threw away the only key
and mile upon mile of wishful thinking
pushed them further away, though free
he looked into a well-used mirror to find
the devil he danced with was himself
and the fireflies that once lit their canopy
have also lost their former glee*
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
*resuscitate
an ailing soul
bereft of starlight's
superb glimmer
and woollen warmth.
Mayhap, stellate glow
in the stillness
of tranquil flight,
their counsel, console.
Humbly, we plea--
hymn of the night,
come and tarry awhile.*
_ __ ___ ✏
○●
°
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Were it not for one to play buffoon
or to say of none we're way too soon
involved in peddling mass hysteria
when it's been held in each posterior
consciousness - makers of peace are
blessed. So ever to be near or far
we at our disposal have in hand
a power to write upon our sand.
Jun 2, 2022
Jun 2, 2022 at 7:57 PM UTC
*Once prismatic brilliance;
brilliant only through borrowed light;
alone again in darkness, glum;
gleams, instant companion of night --
blind to grief and deaf to joy,
save by pristine thought, on lonely height:
a lone, canine howl reports and echoes,
as nocturnal critters hide, out of sight.*
_______✒
●○
°
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.
A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he was stolen in a generation;
trouble, his one destination
for any of his wild-sown seed.
Never had a chance, Billy McGee.
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 7:55 AM UTC
Belatedly, towing a rust-worn Saab, where
many dreams and adventures are wrenched
from a youngster's brooding petulance ...
Gravel crunches under a pair of balding tires
guttural screaming to a downbeat of debt
spewing silently from a tattered billfold.
What a present: timely to an empty fridge,
in the hallway, a growing pile of washing
impatiently reeking of malodorous intent.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 8:12 AM UTC