Vent sweet fury
in a burst of halitosis,
fling “Fuck” at reason,
and revel in rage.
Category Archives: Original Poems
Us
“Who are they?”, we dare not answer,
they and we are much the same,
we, a name for claiming credit,
they, for when assigning blame.
For Mark T.
Into stark night frosted black with fate we slip,
conditioned to deny the western progress of the sun.
Awake but for a while to wonder,
we fan our fleeting passions to flame
and embrace each day in willful ignorance,
blind to the inevitable—
Love’s sweet prelude to loss.
All In
I tripped and tipped
my cards too quickly,
well before the call.
No bluff, no draw,
no cuffed-card option,
two plays remain
and I won’t fold.
Home
This is my home,
settled in the saying—
a common abode
and comfortable:
A foreign sensation,
for years unknown.
Passersby,
Do you notice?
Do my windows leak light?
Do silhouettes dance
their way to your eyes
in the glow?
I think it, but
I think it, unlikely.
I imagine you pass,
and I go unnoticed
as you make your own way
along your own road.
Skyscraper
A tower stands among a fist of smaller structures,
middle finger to the sky—
Man’s “I am” answer to the world,
set against a lake and manipulated river,
immune to the wind.
What bold madness moves our hands
and drives our actions?
Surely there is no need,
no evolutionary imperative—
This is pride, pure and magnificent,
a child’s name carved in a tree.
Let the earth reject geometry,
let her bear our straight-line scars
and structured insults—
let her send her vines of promised reclamation.
We all know how this ends,
but by God, we are here.
Bahhh!
We exult ourselves in adopted causes,
justice be damned.
Truth is the putty of pretension,
vanity moves the mob—
indifferent to trampled pastures,
led by barking dogs,
comfortably sheared,
content with fallow fields
and slogans overgrazed—
We enact a shepherd’s will
or are culled by crooks of doubt.
Straw Man
Bright is the light of
a straw man burning
and briefly warm.
But ash makes a poor foundation
and anger needs fuel.
What will you burn tomorrow
when the effigy is consumed?
A Casual Prayer
God bless every cause
and every contradiction,
every asshole with an idea.
Give them bullhorns aplenty
and acolytes.
Let their visions take root
in the face of ridicule
or fall under their own weight.
Give them freedom always,
but grant them no power
greater than their voice.
Gone Fishing
Lone spearmen walk the banks,
Sharp-eyed and selective,
they choose their prey:
A meal reserved for few.
The act itself, exclusive.
Others prefer hooks,
taut lines, and sinkers—
bells on their poles.
They wait in lawn chairs
talking weather.
Bottom-feeding
at the sound of a strike.
Ships, less particular,
use nets. No time
for shoreline discrimination,
they sort their catch later,
or not at all
then sell it to the masses
by the pound.
I prefer a bobber,
red and white,
rhythmic.
I can go for days without a bite.