Death arrived on a plane,
Eager for lovers,
Hungry for converts.
The Emerald Lady cowers in fear,
Empty and silent, her night creatures hidden in shadow, her daytime a wasteland,
Everyone waits for the signal.

It takes a fair amount of confidence
and a good-sized ego,
To drop the line and coolly walk away,
Certain that she will take the bait...

"Lady Liberty must die," the Orange King mused,
"Public opinion is not how I got this job.
My fame must be locked in,
A surefire certainty,
My praises sung for generations to come".
He sat up straighter on his gold-plated throne and
Imperiously called for the bards.
"Make it known in the kingdom", he intoned with a frown,
"That Liberty has repeatedly lied.
She's quite fake, in fact she's a bore,
Outdated and certainly no style!"
A bard raised his hand,"Sir, I will do as you ask,
Your greatness is apparent to all,
You can rest quite content
By the time I am done
Lady Liberty will be comatose!"
And it happened to pass all over the land,
Posters placed where the public would see,
Liberty's depravity laid bare,
(She hated the Orange King),
She must pay for her
outrageous crimes.
Many were horrified
But some people cheered,
The Orange King was free at last,
With Lady Liberty gone,
A new day would dawn,
"It is time to recover our past".

"Mike, I need a cure--
"Everyone says Clorox works..."
"Sir, you try it first."

It was the Telemann, wasn't it?
The slow honeyed complaint of the violin produced those hot tears on your pale cheek,
While the cello brought forth the deep sweet pain of remembered love,
The recorder sighed with you as golden nights of wonder and romance were recalled, cherished, and banished to the ether once more,
And the harpsichord sparkled sadly as it observed your sobbing drooping form on the couch, its tinkling notes caressing you as it attempted to soothe and bring resolution and peace...
It's not your fault, Georg Phillip,
How could you know that
your shimmering masterwork
Would bring the piercing ache
of lost and unrequited love?

How did we miss it?
Big Bird's jab revealed his stance:
Feather-clad *****!

Hope--despaired.
Constance--cheated.
Faith--no longer believes.
Charity--is stingy.
Prudence--is reckless.
Patience--isn't.

And Genevieve--
Has no business being in this poem.

A knee across the neck
It only took nine minutes
" I can't breathe", he gasped...

Be careful, Donnie!
The noose you want for his neck.
Might go around yours.

The stars have gone out and I look at the distant shore hoping for some sort of crazy meaningless distraction to push me away from your sapphires and mouth smiling wide I want to float into the stratosphere and forget you went dark and I was both dammed and ****** trying to crawl out from under the wet blanket of your silences onto dry land I will always want you poison sweet and tempting like the flower Persephone knew she shouldn't pick but did anyway like the pomegranate she ate that bound her forever.
I am unsouled.
I am unsouled.

If only I could
turn my thoughts
into a squadron of paper airplanes and
fly them without care
from the rooftop of my imagination...

Hope shook out her moonlit skirts and bent to whisper in my ear,
"Yes, you can wish upon that star
and dare to chase your dreams."
As usual, Hope proved elusive
and stranded me in the
Desert of Illusion,
Forever chasing the fleeing rainbow
With nothing more than a chipped magnifier
And a wallet full of tears.

Protests everywhere
Nations going up in flames
Justice needed NOW.

Maybe the idea has had its day
And the names associated with it have been evoked to the point of meaningless boredom,
But when the dead leaves are blown away from the headstone,
And the bones taken out and put under the microscope once more,
It isn't too far-fetched to have collective remembrance of the heart-stopping sounds of heavy booted feet marching in perfect, demonic unison,
The faceless faces of cruel men watching the crowd with expressions devoid of mercy and compassion.,
And ourselves blood-red mad , raw-throated from the shouts and screams of hatred of the other,
We can only wonder
at the possibility of our inner darknesses rising up to consume and drown the souls of those around us in an excess of misguided vengeance,
Our humanity and tolerance destroyed by the pops of the first bullets.

We must never come this way again.

Even in my dreams
I am not me...
But am instead a figment of someone else's
Ideals and aspirations...

Life rolled up at the gate
And reached out with
Arms like scythes,
Beckoning me forward
Its eyes dark and unknowing.
I thought I had time
and hung back, indecisive.
While the seat looked inviting,
I had reason for fear.
Then the Master of the Ride looked at me
And marched over to the lever
"Get in" he barked impatiently and the door banged shut like a bomb.
It is now time to use what I've learned
about big hills and wild curves:
Lean in, not away,
And see yourself victorious
At the summit.

Walking up the rickety stairs,
Patchouli and cigarette smoke
combat for supremacy
Before I even reach the door,
and I step through to see
The everyday undead scattered on the thick carpet like so many corpses blown out of Wednesday Addams' haunted dollhouse.

Maybe it wasn't wise to come.

A cd player informs me that, indeed,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
And I cautiously move into the living room.
Ruby lips and ivory faces emerge from the gloom,
Incurious glances marking my progress
As an acolyte guides me to the Queen of the festivities
Holding court in a corner of the living room.
Her waist-length silver-gilt hair and damp skin like fresh camellias gleam in the candlelight,
A studded black goblet brimming with Jack Daniels
Is handed to her,
A token of homage she eagerly welcomes
   while nodding me forward.
Whispers behind me tell her story,
Of how she's seen a thing or two in her time,
And why her flat stare and Theda Bara smile give glimpses of her bottomless occult wisdom.
As her slim fingers play with a knotted black necklace,
She considers me long before finally declaring,
--"My God, you're an old soul"--
And she pats the cushion next to her,
An invitation to drink deep and close of her dark knowledge.
A cup of something unknown is pressed into my hand
and I sip, hanging onto every arcane word she utters.
Night slowly fades into dawn
and I wake cold and stiff from a kitchen floor sleep
only to see the Queen buttoning the cuffs on her white poplin shirt.
Smoothing her tweed skirt, she steps into her pumps,
Grips her cup of coffee,
And with a cheery wave, leaves for work.

Big egos dream big
Yachts no longer speak of wealth
Billionaires in space.

If I can shout at one end of the universe what is the wait time for a reply?
Squeezing through a time box of the infinite,
a smatter of silica and carbon might be the only way dreams can be dissolved...

My dear planet Mom:
You deserve our love and care.
You're our only home.

They pronounced her DOA,
Dusk and Dawn bore witness to the assault,
She was mature, fit, yet troubled,
He, a young lion, but morally lost,
Her duty was to protect someone's property,
Yet her own property was senselessly destroyed.