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.
Tag Archives: poem
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.
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.
Sweet
This patch could be any other:
A spot of grass below
a blue and clouded canvas
and I, an ancient king
eating apples from a nearby tree,
reveling in my royalty,
or the simple glory of the day.
In fact, I could be most anyone,
from any time or station
and the fruit would be as sweet.
Mephisto & Yahweh Bounce a Spliff
Mephisto:
Hit this, Bitch… I mean, Your Honor.
Watch your monkeys dance,
when I pull their strings and dangly bits
and offer them a chance.
At what? Who cares?
It hardly matters.
Offer one a crown.
Some will fight and some will follow,
but all are going down.
Yahweh:
Bitch?, your best?
You never were creative,
but I guess that I’m to blame.
‘Mephisto’, though’s a disappointment,
You’ve shortened up your name.
A ganja conch, how quaint. Oh blimey,
have you got a light?
Of course you do,
what was I thinking?
Damn, dis stuff is tight.
Mephisto:
Man, Oh Man, what are you saying?
Gimme back that shit.
I had them in your little garden—
She for apples, he for tits.
I’ve LoL’d throughout the ages,
delighted in their wars.
Helen launched a thousand ships,
but I invented whores.
Yahweh:
Dude, pass that back.
I’ll make confession—
One you need to hear.
Those monkeys are your own obsession.
I’ve moved on and
I don’t care.
Love Redux
And you would have me share—
Are you crazy?
What don’t you get about insane?
My will is a warm straight jacket
Lending steel and spine—
Invertebrate,
a jellyfish of eyes
and quick emotions.
I jumble my words
and choke on anger.
I can stare down the devil
or wither at a song.
Duty, I understand,
and obligation—
I am my word
and my word can be anything.
My creditors can be angels or whores.
Once upon a time I wrote you a hero,
A virtuous knight, a champion.
We enjoyed the fiction,
content to play fools.
Only, I wasn’t acting.
I have always been a fool.
Let me lie to you a lifetime.
Don’t ask me to share,
Just pretend that you still need me.
I am lost without this role.
Love
She asked me what I meant and I fell silent,
and falling dumb, I fell upon my knees.
To mean is to maintain in spite of violence,
a steady and illusionary peace.
I battered her with doubt, I begged for something,
anything by which to be defined.
I am, it is, they are – Dear God, have mercy:
A stranger in a world to which I’m blind.
“Love”, she said, distressed, as if an answer.
I lost myself a moment in her eyes.
I rose both to her need and to embrace her
and spoke a gift of comfort and of lies.