Why I Bother

I offer apologies in advance.  I was playing with iambic and rhyme scheme for this sonnet. I wanted something less fluid than ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.

This is definitely not fluid but it may be too syncopated for what I was after. You be the judge.

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Sometimes it seems that my profession

Serves no purpose, much, beyond

Providing ample lyric fodder

For my poetic avocation.

Why not sit, in comfort, ‘neath

The shade of verdant green palm frond,

Sip a drink, and idly ponder

The depth of snow on distant Heath?

Would fate differ one iota

If I drowned in some dark pond?

These are the thoughts I often wonder,

At month’s end when seeking quota.

But, for now, I’ll keep on wading

Into battle for those worth aiding.

Blessing’s Curse

But Aware, I am, of

His sequential now:

This horrible, 

Unending rut!

And troubled, I am,

Recalling his past,

Before his illness 

And steady decline.

And worried, I am,

About what lies ahead.

It’s the thought that won’t

Lax it’s grip on my mind.

Angered, I am, by all he has lost.

I’m sharing his now, discontented!

Cruelty’s Blessing

Unaware, is he,

That life has devolved

Into an endless

Sequence of nows.

Untroubled, is he,

By the past unrecalled

Lost to distance and

Illness and time.

Unworried, is he,

By what lies ahead,

For this now is all 

He can hold in his mind.

Unangered, is he, by this turn of events,

Contentedly, living this now.

Mucosae Replies

It was not I, my giant friend
Who lead us to this grave impasse.
Take a look at what you’ve done
In recent days, you bloody ass!
You took us into dusty tombs,
And into the cold to grind up leaves
With no regard or even care
If all that crap would make us sneeze.

We’ve been running now for weeks
Dripping protest every day
But did you notice us? Not once!
You simply blew our concerns away!
Neglect is over; consequence at hand
We run no more! We make our stand!

Ode to Mucosa Nasi

What happened to
Our ancient pact,
Our long standing deal?
I kept my side of our bargain,
Did not assault you with Sudafed.
Yet here I am
Again betrayed,
With neither nostril open.

I’m not greedy- I just want one.
We could have lived in harmony
But your assault will lead to war
I’ll purge my sinus cavities!
Prepare for battle my old foe.
I’ve had enough. You have to go!

Mother! Please!

I was five when last she did it,
After dinner in some restaurant.
I remember throwing a fit
For receiving attention I did not want,
In went the washcloth, to the water glass
And scour away at some smudge
Upon my cheek. Humiliation, alas!
Am I that unclean? Who’s she to judge!

The alarm went off! Blessed relief!
Vile dream, its course had run!
That it could be true defies belief.
After all, I’ll soon be fifty one!
Yet upon awakening, I find a nightmare’d just begun.
What I thought was washcloth is Golden Retriever tongue.

The Proof is in the Placement

A problem of cognition?
That would sure explain
Why you parked a Suburban
In this special spot again.
Or perhaps within your brain
The basic rules of law and order
Are yours to heap with base disdain
Due to a Cluster B disorder.

At any rate, it’s safe to say
Whatever it is that leads you to
Always park that beast this way
Clearly resides on Axis Two!
Please learn to read or learn to feel.
Either course, will enhance your appeal.

Love Ain’t All That…

Some people claim that love is perfect.

Others claim it is divine.

They always try to hide their defect

in some way their love won’t find.

Imagine the unpleasant shock,

perhaps even their stunned dismay

at the sound of reality’s knock.

To them these are the words I say:

 

“Sometimes I will be an ass.

Sometimes you will be a shrew.

I promise that I will forgive you.

I hope that you’ll forgive me too.

I think that’s how this ‘Love’ thing works;

I truly hope you think that’s true!”

Choose Your Weapon

They told him he should be a writer.
That he had a lot to say.
But he had some issues with
commitment and he knew it.

If he had to tie himself
to a computer every day,
he’d delay, procrastinate,
waste time, until he finally blew it.

So to get his message out
in some easy, yet creative way,
He grabbed his phone & made a blog,
and thus, became a poet,

deriving endless pleasure, freely and expense-less,
simply by engaging in, narcissistic omphaloskepsis!

November Madness (It’s That Crazy Time Again!)

Does TRAMMELL really
plan to trample
our freedom like
that BRAT insists?
Or is it all just all
smoke and mirrors
designed entirely
to fog our wits?
All these demands
that I must pick a
“color for my cancer”
gives me the fits!

Call the surgeon! Excise the tumors!
Enact and enforce real term limits!

On Gender Inequality

There must be secret woman jujitsu
A form of linguistic aikido.
It makes us do what they want us to
And often we don’t even know
That some mystic blow was struck
Until we’re doing what we wouldn’t do!

Some guys seem to have all the luck,
A kind of mental immunity,
That lets them seem not to give a fuck
And act with apparent impunity!
Or perhaps there was a vaccine found
And given out to them, but not to me!

A twist of thought, a bend of mind,
And my own desires, I can not find!

One Light Snack? Or the Whole Enchilada!

What can I say when people ask
About the nature of her “Feast”,
When I don’t know If she served him
What some may call “The Full Buffet”.
She sure did feed his Giant Ego!
Of this I’m sure, at the very least.
In the end it doesn’t matter
What people ask or what I say.
The die is cast. The damage done.
The sun has set, and in the East!
It doesn’t get more done than that!
It is over. No “Remains of this Day.”

Even if she didn’t feed him against his little will,
I am here to tell ya, she will not give us the bill.

Hellenistic Hellhounds! Or:(One Sick Sonnet)

On a day like this, it seems to me
My body’s just a playing field
For the endless strife of mythology
Intent on driving me to yield.

Achilles bane way down below
locked in clamorous mortal battle
With headache only Zeus would know
But can’t drown out the Siren’s babble!

The fume & din of Hephaestus’ forge
Beats bloody cadence in my head!
While Nosoi gather to raise my gorge,
I beg from Charon, the ride ahead!

That sums it up, this bitter rhyme!
I’ve had enough! It’s sleepy time!

Aeolian Allusions: Ode to an Unfriend

It seems Ironic that, in your conceit,
You alone remain enamored
By your tortuous machinations
And your subventaneous jabber,
Clueless that your intended audience
Bide their time with stoical grace
Awaiting the imminent harmattan
To flense your fustian deception
Baring just feculent poverty beneath.

After a decade of boreal exclusion,
Welcome we, a warming zephyr!