What the world needs now:
A new government program;
Free Billy Goat Bongs for all!
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Step Right Up, Ladies And Gentlemen
Spectacular circus!
Excruciating portrait of pain,
drawn in shades of rage and shame.
Bold brushstrokes of righteous indignation,
thin, tawdry, whitewash
applied with a heavy hand
covering the abraded grain
of ancient, weathered timbers;
old raw bones baring charred scars,
tangible reminders of distant burning fires
fueled by youthful indiscretions.
Will grueling wheat paste,
splash of monochrome graffiti
enhance the value of this dark alley?
Or, rather the contrary,
highlight deeper dank decay;
cracked and tattered signs
of long repressed neglect
of thoughtless disregard
so callously concealed
beneath fresh wet glistening veils?
Usher in the blindfolded.
Let them breathe the fumes.
Imagine, with sightless might,
a glorious manse upon the hill.
Caution! Wet Paint!
Don’t breathe too deep!
Black mold lingers
hidden just beneath!
Blindness
How can he deny
even the least scintilla
in these women’s claims?
On The Borderline Again
His smarmy tongue waggles,
weaving glowing gossamers, clouding hearts and minds
with mists of glittering unreason.
His garbled glossolalia
explains inexplicable,
defends indefensible,
justifies vast injustices.
Before his words, miasmas
of fecund decay shift,
begins to resemble aromas
of lavender and roses.
Venomously,
crass caresses
of slimy snake oil
conceal cuts of serrated steel.
Hope and reason succumbs
to resignation and despair.
Luminous hope drowns struggling
in seas of gilded sludge.
As growing thick dark shrouds
envelop all, he pauses,
draws breath, smiles.
In that instant his spells shatter!
Plug your ears, Ulysses!
There are no second chances.
Stormy Countenances
This post-storm palette;
so outrageously orange,
salmon, scarlet, and sanguine…
~
Oddly, the same hues
that fly across his visage
when Hurricane Donald blows.
* I try not to finish the mondos I start with my poetic partner at mondosedoka.com but tonight I just could not help playing with the theme… sorry, mom!
A Very Takei Verse
Who knew
Sulu
Owned Hulu;
Did you?
Healing Ills
Sometime’s there’s no pill
to quell the ills that plague us.
A stroll in nature
or a toil of passion
may be better medicine.
Haiku 11 Sep 2018
Beneath willow boughs
Stirring in an easy breeze
We’re a feast for fleas
Senryū 7 Sep 2018
Fate is unconcerned
with our petty preferences.
Smile and be glad.
Neither Poetry Nor Prosaic
In the course of my professional day, I spend many hours talking with, and more importantly, listening to people describe strongly held beliefs that are not rooted in any objective reality. Frequently, these people feel that they are superior to others, like myself, and therefore can not be understood by someone who is not equally superior. I hear people describe feelings of persecution that are not supported by observable facts. Sometimes they describe vast networks of conspirators who are struggling heroically to do them harm. I often find myself wracking my brain trying to follow a lengthy string of words looking for some thread of logic that holds together an incoherent collection of free flowing ideas; desperately looking for that one unifying idea that binds together an otherwise unrelated whirlwind of mental flotsam. I often feel profound sorrow when I reach the conclusion that no such thread or idea exists. Such is the nature of my day as a mental health clinician. Tonight I read the transcript of an interview what held many of these same characteristics.
To say that I am concerned would be an understatement of unimaginable proportions. May God have mercy on us all.
Happiness Is?
What is happiness?
Mysterious state of grace?
A choice that we make?
Artifact of diligence?
Something else altogether?
Ode To A Blank Verse
Their empty parchment,
Unsullied by pen nor ink,
Holds boundless meaning.
Or so learned scholars claim.
Readers remain skeptical.
“How About A Nice Game Of Chess?”
In those hallowed halls,
speaking harsh truth to power
is a real career zugswang.
~
Given that climate,
heed “War Games” sage advice, “the
winning move is not to play”.
Long May It Wave
Battered tattered and torn,
This banner proudly stands,
A tribute to hope and love.
