Oh, my son, I know
This agony you’re going through
Does it help in some small way
Knowing I’ve trod that path too?
Identity
Why let introversion
Excuse your isolation
When inclusion is
your heart’s great desire?
Why set yourself apart
Acting as if no one knows
The truth you hide within
The thorns of your appearance?
You need not pretend
To be some Eldritch Horror
For people to take notice
And seek to understand you.
Just be yourself, and in due time,
The world will meet you as you are.
Shadow Phantoms Alight
Sunlight and shadows
dance about the eyes, the mind
capturing phantoms.
~
The eyes dance about
lighting the shadow phantoms
conjured by the mind.
~
The mind, too, dances
shadowing the light phantoms
captured by the eyes.
~
About the light and shadows
Phantoms also dance
conjured by minds eyes.
A Dirge of Hope
A mournful basso chorus
One dare not call it song
Echoing from nowhere
Across the waters calm.
The air, damp and oppressive
Mutes their somber tune
Like a dirge, repressive,
A beckon to the tomb.
Dispute their somber bellow,
In them we find our hope
For when our sight has failed us
Their rumble is our safety rope.
Though On the sea we ramble, through its fogs we roam
The Harbor horns resounding, guide us ever home.
Theoretical Existentialism
Beneath this ebon canopy,
Shot through with auroral light,
Pocked with distant stellar fire,
I drift in silent introspection
And contemplate my journey here.
The stark improbability
That I would come to this place
By some all knowing grand design
Argues both for and against
Destiny and randomness.
As I stare vacant,
Heavenward,
Into this vast firmament,
I ask my self if I’m a fool
To imagine I can find
The guiding hand of some divine
In this cosmic drunkard’s walk.
A Poet In A Dry Spell
As the waters fail from the earth
And the flood decays and dries up
So too my Muse lies down
And rises not up again
Til the stars in their travels cease
And the heavens be no more.
How Can I Explain.
I’ve come to adore
that scant moment of the day
between dream and wakefulness
when the mind is free
to associate at will
and all things seem possible.
Transitional Phantasm
Jörmungandr rolls
Beneath the waves, circling
Endlessly gnawing.
His tale continuing on,
a ceaseless sojourn,
dragging with him, in passing,
the sun’s blazing heat
downward to the frozen deep
to warm Yggdrasil’s cold feet.
Burnt Offerings
One still April evening
Drones of peepers,
Getting an early…
Hop…
On summer,
Startle to silence
At the first report.
~
Fireworks
Flashing heavenward,
Through the trees,
Echoing
Across the vale,
Punctuating
The wedding vows
So recently given;
So fervently retuned.
~
As the car departs
And the adoration
Of friends and family
Fades
Yielding to fatigued
Satisfaction,
One brave peeper peeps
Asking, “Is it over?”
And slowly
The peeper’s party
Resumes,
Droning again heavenward
As if never…
Interrupted.
To The Future
Keep the one that makes you laugh!
It’s all that endures.
The rest is transitory.
Money comes and money goes.
Beauty’s sure to tarnish.
Muscles, in time, atrophy.
Passion’s fire burns to embers.
When your shriveled, weak, and poor,
And holding hands is all your after,
That wry grin and mirthful twinkle
At some triviality
Is sure to bring a belly laugh
And a flood of memories;
A lifetime of happy moments.
One Man’s Comic Vestment
They say beauty’s just skin deep
But humor permeates to the core
So perhaps you’ll understand
When I pronounce,
With lilt sarcastic,
“What?
Did you not quite comprehend
the palpable inherent mirth
evident within the girth
if this tattered black t-shirt
meticulously unadorned
by pithy phase or imagery?”
Then, my friend, despite your wealth
You must be poor, indeed.
On this day; 19 April
This day breeds revolt
Concord and Oklahoma
Eleven score years apart.
A Mirror on the World
Dear Man with headphones,
Gesticulating widely
Outside my window,
All your evident fury
Is largely wasted on me.
…And Lo, Murder Hornets Come
This week, The City is
Abustle with a buzz;
A bunch of busy bankers
Gathered at their hive
Ostensibly to try
To relieve the canker
Coring the economies
Of oh so many nations.
They believe they are
A part of a solution
When, in fact, they are
At the very heart
Of the vile problem.
Every word they utter
Past their aphthous ulcers
Spreads the rot around
To ever distant crannies
There to dwell and fester
A pestering annoyance
Beneath their lofty goals
Undeserving their attention;
Another triviality…
Like warfare,
Or suffering,
Or starvation.
Aroil in Pain 