"outright" poems
Her smile,the best thing to happen to me in a while.
Took the pain,
and all the drops of rain.
Replaced it with a feeling so joyful and unique,
a feeling a man would to the end of time hunt and seek.
Sometimes shy, sometimes just outright joy, sometimes naughty, sometimes just outright fun,
her smile, a combination of all the heavenly feelings in the book put into one.
With that sweet smile of hers,
the sweetest dessert she offers.
Could stay hungry all day, just to have that sweet smile I could stay.
Her smile, her strongest weapon,
could cause wars and offer a peaceful solution.
Her smile is one thing that no one would ever want to miss,
her smile the perfect definition of pure bliss.
So do it with class or do it with style, the truth is your smile is the best thing to happen to me in a while.
Smile once, smile twice, any one would suffice.
Whats that I see, a smile I guess, breath taking I must confess.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.
Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.
Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.
He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
I was
once potent, now soft
then twisted suddenly
like a baby thrown aloft
"Pull!"
and then shot
bad habits, tendencies
thinking about money
when I haven't got a lot
I used to think I was
pretty good looking
but
my self esteem took a knock
life is about finding your rock
I am
scarred, dangerous
and outright harmless
when I'm stressed out
my love turns me to calmness
overrated like chrome
a blade lacking in sharpness
turning away from peace
and reverting to the darkness
never liked change
always afraid of taking chances
thought I needed help
but I guess that I'm past it
looking for a home because
I was told it's where the heart is
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
Concerned with
The rapid pace
At which women
Are being
Disgraced.
I pray
Confused by
Their acceptance
Of the outright
Level of
Disrespect.
I pray
I pray for
Men to understand
You degrade yourself
When you dishonor women.
I pray for
Women to demand
Their value, worth and
Respect from men.
I pray for
Children to be
Protected and shielded
Able to retain a high esteem.
I pray for
Humanity
To return
To it's divine purpose.
I pray for
Love
To abide
In our hearts and mind
I pray for you
I pray me
I pray for family
I pray for harmony
Understanding we need
Whole men able to love
Whole women able to raise
Whole children able to Achieve
Greatness
I pray
©Tina Thompson 2012
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
The Bird is never still
Flying from one topic to the other
Her chatter loud and uncensored
Her friends twittering at her to be quieter
The Bird has many friends
But Birds always sleep alone
And cold
With their hollow bones
The Fox is the Bird's friend
The Fox is tricky
Weaving in and out of conversations
Gorgeous
And sleek
The Fox makes rabbits fall in love with her so she'll have plenty to eat
The Bird and the Fox are unconventional friends
Friends no one would think would click
But the Bird will chatter and chatter and the Fox will quietly sit
Listening to everything
Retaining information
The Chameleon is the Fox's and the Bird's mutual friend
When with the Fox they match their red
When with the Bird they match their blue
And so on
So no one really knows the Chameleon's true colors
Whoever you are
They'll match you
Blending in
A social camaflouge
That they think keeps them safe
And when together they are quite
A sight
Wandering loudly
Through the night
They are a strange group
And when together they're tight
Exchanging advice
Or judging each other
But never outright
You'll never catch the bird
But be careful if you do
If not gentle with your touch
Her bones will crack right in front of you
The Fox puts on a face
Bearing teeth and changing mates
But under all that glossy fur
She's scared that you won't want her
If you catch the Chameleon off guard
You might be surprised
What you see is never what you get
But if you look real hard
The chameleon will freeze and fall down to their knees
please, please, just like me
......
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:32 PM UTC
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
tears fall
your name i call
gone
frozen in time
wasting away life
heartbroken.
outright cry
strikes at night
lost.
always lost
confused.
anxious.
scared.
lies.
knife
acts like
gasoline , poured on me
cast a match
flip the latch
to the prison cell of lost hearts
murmur my name
before i slain
the wretched beast
whisper into
the dead alleyways
a revival unavoidable
n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶o̶s̶t̶.
c̶o̶n̶f̶u̶s̶e̶d̶
a̶n̶x̶i̶o̶u̶s̶.
s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶.
more deceit.
cold like a
untouched angel
away from the worst danger
i am born again.
purged.
regenerated.
strengthened.
renewed.
rebirth.
(b.d.s.)
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
It was great for a time
*** and wine
Wine and ***
Then commitment and open and shut curtains.
Special delivery of child made the bond complete
Six months down the line
Breast feeding was action watched from a distance
Intimacy was a tired look
The neighbours cat looked hot
Killed the lonely nights
Killed the commitment outright
Got to know the lawyer through rapid bank withdrawals
Weekly child visit watched over by Brutus
Bar visits watched over by the world's condemned
Special occasion became a twice yearly treat
Birthday and Christmas, bit of hate thrown sideways.
Then the new man.
Felt good for her.
Maybe some pressure off.
Maybe missed that lobotomy bar lecture.
Years dragged the hate forward.
Time moved on.
One day I wrote her a letter expressing my anger.
She wrote back in triplicate.
I wrote back in double triplicate.
She sent a thesis on men and *****
Suddenly without thinking, we had dialogue.
After a while, we moved on from the anger.
We became human again.
I actually liked writing her letters and receiving them.
We never got back together.
But the letters kept us close.
Sometimes there would be a kiss at the end.
The little bit of love I probably never deserved.
I would mention it to her in my next letter.
Even an *** deserves a solitary kiss now and again.
The bar room lawyers would probably agree.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
what will it take? 20 years of outright lies
and denied mistakes?
watching you escape on a plane set a thousand miles away
or at home screaming in pain
we're both here, both alone
both sorry, both stubborn
overcome with disappointment
and it'll **** us, we'll die here, we're done
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition;
and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner,
the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful,
obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing,
the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup
Free Tibet your sticker tells me…
Yes, I think, perhaps I should –
and the noble thought compels me,
uninformed, half-understood.
Will their freedom help my Karma?
Upgrade my reincarnation?
(Soul who could not dare to harm a
fly… much less a Buddhist nation.)
Not to justify aggression
by the ever-brutal Commies,
let us grant no glib concession
to the Maoists – or their mommies.
Slogans echo in the void,
shining in bardos of the dead;
stopped by the light, I am annoyed
impatient for the change from red.
A bumper crop of human woe
beams forth a mandate to my brain
while red Dakinis circle slow
in Buddhist hells of karmic pain.
The eastern concepts here diverge
and bow before brutality.
They make this driver long to merge
with incorporeality.
Then I glimpse a monkish fellow
swathed in saffron, calmly seated.
His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow;
mine the traffic; stalled, defeated.
In his gaze of stern displeasure
I perceive the orient stars
calculating man’s mismeasure
trapped, exhausted, among the cars.
Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire
he extends an accusing hand:
Western slave of base desire:
come and liberate my land !”
I meditate before the stop light:
am I ready for the task ?
Should I just refuse it outright
Can’t it be someone else ? I ask…
Must I free this mountain nation
from the Buddha, demons and Reds?
Shall your sticker’s declaration
shatter the yoke and raise their heads ?
Somebody ought to free Tibet,
and heed this Himalayan cry.
Maybe we should get upset…
The red light changes. Cars pass by,
predestined for benign events
and unconcerned for persecution;
oblivious to dissidents
awaiting execution.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
it is grief and rage all at once.
and there are never any words for this—
simply a scream,
a howl,
an outrage.
in this I have never felt more helpless:
my apology will never be enough,
but staying quiet will mean silence,
and silence means consent,
and no—
I do not consent to any more of this injustice,
this farce,
this outright lie.
there have been enough stolen lives.
my love,
my black brothers and sisters for which there are no words:
I am so sorry.
you will always have me in solidarity.
I feel as if I can do so little,
but lead the way.
send me your voices, send me your battle cry:
and I will do my best to be your megaphone, your ally,
if need ever be.
and my love,
these children,
good men and women who have been lost to this earth,
who this earth does not deserve:
I am so sorry—
but you deserve far more than my grief.
may you find justice. may you find home.
may you find rest; may you rest in power.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
I'm sad and alone and everything I touch turns to gold,
but that's the life,
amirite?
Money's the only matter that matters and some kids three worlds away are getting kidnapped and killed for quotas while these kids are worried about their quote of the day. And,
by kids,
I mean little girls at age three being sold on the streets and in between sheets in countries that aren't all that far away, and little boys whose coloring pages are filled with explosions and guns cause it's literal
war
they're waging. But down the way, parents are posting posters in their children's rooms prompting inspiration: it's something about peace and love-- I mean, that's what they all say.
Well, I've made my peace with the pieces of this prayer, a priest standing golden over me as I throw my diamond-encrusted hands to the air and scream, "Someone
save me."
But these people don't care.
I am a man of gold with a heart of stone and no one cares because, frankly,
Neither do I.
Statistically speaking, everyone in the States clings to the belief that if they just earned an extra fifteen percent wage annually,
then they could live happily.
But,
darling,
when everything you touch turns to gold, statistics don't
quite
fit
the diagnostics.
I
am the outlier, the outright liar, the purveyor of pride that cost me my life but
who cares? I mean,
I've got my money.
I've got my money in a capitalist country that feeds off circulation and circumstance that leads brains to short-circuit short-cut economic politics and slaughter chances, rather than enhancing the value of a life that money can't add up to.
Welcome to the slaughterhouse.
Welcome to the tolerance of intolerance of humanity. Welcome
to the closing scene, where we can be seen on the Globe, on William Shakespeare's pun-fully named stage cause that's what all the world is,
and so's
this gold.
It's a play,
cause some day the curtains will close and all my props will remain on the stage and I am sad and alone with my heart still fo stone but without any gold. I've
lost
my
touch, and
without this cash I'll be nothing but a ten second news flash announcing to the rest of these underpaid actors that I've been knocked off my throne.
I don't think I was ever a king to begin with,
just a man who could forge
fool's gold.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Not too tall --
Don't want him towering over me
Looking down on me
Humiliating me
In more ways than one.
Eyes should be dark --
Not pale.
Don't want them
Cold, empty, icy
Don't need
A shark-like gaze
To chill me to the bone.
Not too large --
Don't need him to tell me
Just how big and strong and intimidating he is
Can't have him saying
Outright or otherwise
That he could hold me
Or anyone else down.
What else are arms for?
Not too crude --
In fact, I just might want him to talk
Like a woman.
Don't get me wrong --
My vocabulary is colorful enough.
It would be hypocritical to rule out profanity.
But, as soon as you call me or her or him or this or that
'BITCH'
The bile will surely be climbing my throat.
Not too proud --
Yes, confidence is attractive
But conceit is certainly no match.
I don't care if he thinks he looks good --
I will most likely agree that he does --
But one who can not admit to his mistakes
Let alone answer for them
Is a frightening caricature of humanity.
I am so flawed, love
But my flaws are not the cause of yours.
Not too dense --
Anyone who reads this
Male, female, or other
And calls me a 'man hater'
Or asks what I would think of a man
If he wrote something like this about a woman
Should run along
For that is not what I'm saying
Not at all.
I know what I deserve
And it's just what everyone else should get.
I just believe
That 'do unto others'
Should not die
Once the ring is on the finger
Or the name is on the dotted line.
I just believe
That 'love' should not be bastardized
To mean an unconditional, everlasting loop of
'Whatever you want
Honey.'
Only give what you'd want to get
Only take what you know you need
No matter the giver.
Bestow and accept nothing less
And as much more
As you can manage.
Believe me
I'll keep doing the same
No matter what you say.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
NEVER give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy. Kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
3.6k
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
perhaps our cause is selfishness, but in the most honest way
we say it
we do
our thoughts are released, and yes, mingle
always interjoined, like two separate words sewn together into one
we share, and also
we justify each other
i am selfish, about you
i admit, i give in, you are the one to whom i exercise no charity
to myself, kept to my breast, melt between into my liquid soul
my heart will pillow you
with its thrum
don't you find it rhythmic?
a selfish question: i need you to say 'yes'
you are gravity
and i slam,
hurried, sped through the breath of masses who slip out of sight before even being passed
into your body
press my face to yours
lips tangle
in sentences, in action, in smiles, in outright cackling laughter that somehow you
find adorable
and i say again, i am selfish of you
i crave you to myself, all my own, become unto me
for i cant do without you
now that i have your taste
and the same is said for you; from you to me?
you need me?
you crave me?
mind mirrors mind, and you become the meteor?
i, your destination
i to fold into your soul
(gladly gone, meet me there)
so we both hold the other in selfishness, no love to share but
love to keep and be kept
and that is magnitude
our gravities combine
single form, single line, singular to the last freckle and toe
you and I are an Us
and we're selfish together
because love
is need
desire
selfish want
and so, so, so very splendid
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Some have tried to tell me
not to write as I see fit;
they wish to impose their rules and their taste
onto and into my personal expression.
My Art.
While I do always seek
honest and fair critique;
attempted Censorship
is outright offensive.
At heart, I'm a ******* Artist,
a slave only to my own Will;
not some ******* demagogue
merely sacrificing his own Quill.
**** 'em,
and their illusory book of unreal rules;
I'll write as I ******* please:
I'll write how I want
about what I want
as often as I want
on what I want
where I want
when I want,
and so can anyone else,
*or so I think.
It can be so hard to tell..*
I really hope I'm not special in that regard.
The pen is mightiest
when it refuses to compromise.
**** 'em
and their failed dogmatic domineering.
**** 'em
and their fake-ass, ego-inspired rules.
**** 'em.
Once more:
**** 'em.
And, *lest we forget;
****
the living hell
out of
them!**
(Though it would surely take a good while!)*
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
One thing I love to do
Is write letters to Grandpapa
Because
You never know where it’s going to take you:
Octogenarians are a real wildcard
And that makes life interesting.
For example, I was writing a letter
To Grandpapa and he likes to imagine things
Because he can’t get around much
So I give the cat meat to feed on.
I embellish a little my romantic situation
And I tell him about M; little M
How she reminds me of my little mama
And that boys tend to look
For someone who is like a mother figure
And we grow into this role
We become more dependent on the girlfriend
Til she becomes like a second mother
But it never starts out that way.
So I was telling him about little M;
And when I receive a letter back
I notice a rather odd sentence
That I cannot help but laugh at:
“Dan, you say M; is smaller than you
All the easier to back her into a corner”
And then it follows on with some
Incongruent sentence about ‘me driving a car’
Now I’m not sure if we got lost in
Translation
I don’t know whether Grandpapa is thinking
I’m going to run M; over (she’s not that small)
Or whether he’s suggesting I invest in a booster seat?
Or whether in fact, he has made an unwholesome
But wholey funny link
Between me staying up all night
And my young ****** prowess
(Which is the same thing I suppose)
But I’m not quite sure why I’d be backing her
Into a corner
That sounds like outright pressure
But I have to laugh
Ah Grandpapa
Maybe one day I’ll show M;
Or maybe not
She may develop an irrational fear
For tight spaces
Which is something
I will never have a problem with...
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
You may search for kin in the blood that binds,
The haemoglobin of heritage entwined.
Or you may wade your way
Through the rich and meek
To find those of whom you speak,
Those so oft' hidden in plain sight.
Trust not all that you can see
For disguised treachery
Can lie in the softest of smiles.
Devious plans of mental mockery
Executed with cunning and guile.
Look instead then to the conquests!
Not to those we won outright,
But to the ones that fall to unions
Under starlight, under night.
Perhaps even then we will find
With our silent siege of time
That the Kinship sails on blind.
When the mindful heart
Meets the heartless mind.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
it turns out
Mother Nature is
just as indecisive
as the rest of us
it seemed that
she had finished
with her winter
her day-long frosts
and biting winds
no longer the need
to cocoon oneself
in protective layers
when venturing out
for nothing more than
a bottle of milk
of down-stuffed coats
and twice-wrapped scarves
woollen hats
and thermal socks
it felt like
we had moved on
our spring had arrived
just in time
we could enjoy
the brisk early mornings
despite their chill
safe in the knowledge
that the gentle touch
of afternoon warmth
would shortly follow
the biggest setback
to be expected
was an intermittent
morning-to-evening downpour
dampening our anticipation
though only temporarily
of any plans we had made
until the puddles were dry
or had drained away
it may have been
a false start
but i'm loathe to say
we were tricked
or call it
an outright lie
those brightened days
were a welcome change
enjoyed by all
we were simply
carried away by
the primaveral allusions
lulling us enough
to forget the cold
and its significance
catching us unprepared
and exposed
like those delicate flowers
so recently bloomed
buried for now
beneath this weight
of snow
Mar 10, 2023
Mar 10, 2023 at 11:29 AM UTC
A fluff of feathers
Black and white,
Hide the scrawny scavenger
Whose "Rick, Rick, Rick!"
Identify some place of death,
This careful bandit's visiting.
He leaves outright robbery
To his cousin jay,
And flits,
One disaster to the next,
To see how he may capitalize.
Dead carrion, his usual fodder...
Yet one subzero winter day
I saw a magpie perched
Upon a shivering cow
Belly deep in snow, and
Chilled in minus 30 air,
Peck-scratching through a healing scab
And pulling living flesh away.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC