The stream (all workshops)
How can I describe this?
Blood is no more running
in my veins,
but ink.
If water stopped to exist,
I won't panic, I have words
to drink.
The crumbs of metaphor
and imagery satisfy
my hunger.
After today I won't rage,
the "iambics" would calm
my anger.
If no more air existed,
I won't care, I shall inhale
my rhymes.
It's okay if all deserted me;
poetry is all I need to fill
my times.
I feel the Christmas spirit
and wonder why just now?
Is it the festive decorations
do they bring it out somehow?
Or is it merry children's faces
sitting on Santa's lap?
Maybe it's a dog wearing
antlers on his little cap
Is it buying X-Mas presents
or receiving some?
Feeling songs and music
about a kid and drum?
Maybe Christ and someone's savior
has come to deliver us
from the Devil and his minions
want to throw us before the bus
Headlong toward the final analysis,
where life is in summary.
A series of snapshots,
moments, stacked up against us.
But when the light goes
what will have been the point?
Where will we find an ending?
where will we lay our casket?
And as of now?
three hundred and sixty five pages book
this syllable with twelve scenes
each scene with four acts at least
read with determination
though nobody knows the end
it's known only by the author
I try reading all the pages
word by word from intro-
through the appendix
version by version both the old
the more I try to catch up the words
they disappear and the faster time flies
hoping to understand the past,
present and future more
yet the result's always different
I'm full of speculation
on any topic under our sun
for which I'm not fully
edified or apprised and
you're no exception
I can feel you in moments and
I can tell that pain you harbor
you don't pass on as so many do
making pain stop at you
is hard to do and
you do it with grace
it is a mix of
the energy from the
parts where life broke you
and the places where
you wouldn't let it
that creates the best
I've seen in you
The mother
The writer
A man partially died, because of his lies
But he lived to tell the tale
He died inside, on so many levels
Perseverance sometimes prevails
And his guts were in knots they were tied a lot
To live in this time, is to not tell the truth
Keep up with your lies, or you might be shot
Inside your mind is an acrobatic spasm
Racing thoughts, hard to fathom
They are formed by judging others
In order to lie you have to judge
And learn to not speak your mind
There’s a baby somewhere with bleach blonde hair
Writing the words that bleed on this page
Dispersing the anger and sadness and rage
Come now what may, this story be told
May all my musings be thoughtful and bold
If inspiration escapes me I’m lost
Stuck at the toll booth and can’t pay the cost
Reach back to stories both common and old
Teach me to transmute this lead into gold.
it is a beacon
in its dazzling gown
harbored in its home
designed millions
perhaps billions
of years ago
I reach to tap it with
the tip of my finger in the
naive hope that it will slightly sway
but it is far beyond my curiosity
reminding me just how small I am
reminding me that the diminutive dust
that sometimes rises from my brow
belongs to its brethren and I
have no greater purpose but
to stand here beneath its splendor
and make a humble wish for
Peace on Earth
***
This sculpted private, (of His own ego) garden set aside
from the surrounding wilder-lands, (as yet not trodden
and trampled)was gifted to them the first Man
and Woman, by a mysterious benefactor.
Asking only one small thing they must grant HIM:
In turn, they promised not to partake of
the fruit of "the Tree of Life." A knowing look
in His eyes, a cruel chuckle upon his lips.
Time would tell, it shouldn't be long...
I made your daughter laugh today
Sight unseen
We both know she loves me
I may have mentioned
Her mom loves me too
Is that a problem
We both know
She knew that
A long time ago
It caught me so wildly off guard
falling in love with her
while I fell in love with you
I miss nights I made dinner
And the games of hide and
Seek in the kitchen
She found me every time
I could make hidden
A carnival in a coffee cup
To see you both
Laugh like that again
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