It blares me awake
   from a deep sound sleep
a high-pitched aberrant signal
   that disturbs and mystifies
a sonic knife
   cutting through the air
i pause
not remembering
who i am
where i am
how i got here
in this dark unfamiliar room

i struggle to remember
what mayhem could await me -
something evil, foreboding,
something awful
cloaked
in the merciless sunlight
of morning

what is more useless than beauty?

it's nothing more than an arrangement
   of features that please the eyes
a form of visual perfection
   that inspires awe
a whim of god to distribute it
   in modest numbers

but it still works its magic
when it sashays down a street
and children at play stop
as if a goddess is in their midst

We know that snow and ice
And wind and sleet and hail
Will make us all uptight
Make us despair and wail

Let's face it: The roads are scary
                      Filled with sudden risks
                      When Mother Nature digs into
                      Her nasty bag of tricks

And weather experts only
Make us tense and fidget
With forecasts of wind chills
In dreaded single digits

We say: No more shoveling snow
              No more arctic winds
              No more cars that cough and stall
              No more tires that spin

We'll wait for warmer days
The days when bluebirds sing
We'll wait for winter's end
And bless the birth of spring

It waddles across the landscape
an untidy blubbering mess
that cannot hide its hugeness
its folds of flabby flesh

Its expanding multiple chins
increase its oozing girth
a monstrous shape that maneuvers
to threaten the planet earth

It moves like a massive shadow
with its striking stature and depth
it destroys the people's planet
with one smothering crushing step

Think of it as a bad dream...

You're sleeping soundly
on a Greyhound bus

Suddenly you're awakened
by cold water
creeping up your shoes
inching over your ankles

You jump up
only now it's too late

The door of the bus
is locked
from the outside

The windows are stuck and
the glass can't be shattered
no matter how hard you pound

The water is no longer gradual
It is swift, rushing upward
enclosing your body
past your waist
up to your chest
covering your neck

In seconds
there will be no place
left to breathe
just the rapid snakelike swirl
of ***** water

You're left submerged
Your eyes sealed shut
Your hands gnarled
in a deathlike grip...
You're hopelessly caught
in the rising, surging
pull of water
moving out of a river
onto the city streets

i will ban
          syntax
          grammar

i will banish
          sentences
          phrases
          clauses

i will evict
          capitalization

i will exile
          all punctuation

i will relegate all of these to the
          circular file of written expression

it is time
at long last
for words to
squirm and falter
but ultimately prevail
in their singular
              splendid
              glory

The poetic license I seek
Seems to be something unique
No numbers are on it at all
No address or phone number to call

There is no photo of me
Smiling so pleasantly
Nor an "issued" notation
Nor "date of expiration"

No signature is needed
(A departure from the norm)
In fact, my name's nowhere on it
Or even the date I was born!

My advice is not to apply for one
In fact, I strongly insist
Save yourself stress and bother
No such "license" exists

Poetic license you see
Is invisible as air
Yet your skill can make someone smile
Or passionately care

Your words can paint sunsets
Or spout political views
Your poetry can be a fantasy
Or as real as Page One news

Set your pen to paper
Hit those computer keys
Create your own masterpiece
And let your mind roam free

You don't need a license
For your imagination to soar
Just wait for that creative spark
And let that mighty pen "roar"