Ghosts walk on words
no mere echoes beckon;
theses are the real,
unaltered by time.
On solid pages beyond revision
they pass through the walls
of style and of age.
Sing songs, Old Ghosts
beyond carnal corruption.
Speak now the the remnant left
here in the realm
of the fluid and living
who clay-footed trample
on the ground
where once like them you tread.
The right hand attacks his brother
while the head lends watchful eye
who questioned by the heart
say’s simply everything must die
Dick in hand
survey the land
declaring it worth ruling
while sky and stream
observe our scheme
and wonder who we’re fooling
Leaves and bark make up the dark
that no one ever sees
we shape the wood and pick the fruit
but still don’t know the trees
(tweeted 01/23/2014)
Comfortable bed
on a cold winter day
Duty is calling
as I drift away
Heavy hearted days will pass
leading to the morrow
when apprehension’s conjurings
turn to anguish and to sorrow
Casually killing our limited time
taxes all imaginations
while carried to passion on currents of thought
ready made and unexamined
Thoughts, too many
options abound
I don’t need inspiration
just help finding the ground
Sanity crawls on a tightrope of reason;
fibers of faith
anchored to the unknown
leading to darkness.
Stem to stern and ship to shore
Composing rhyme is not a chore
no plot required, no complex scheming
the magic lies within the meaning