Corruption

Here in the verdant meadows

All on a summer’s day

The dreaded army of the dark

Met with the noble fey

They fought until the long sundown

And the lost blood of the dead

Soaked into the sacred ground

And turned the roses red

When the fight was over

And the legion of the flies

Had swarmed across the corpses

Stealing hope from sightless eyes

...

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What I am is wrong,
This is not me,
The entire sum of my life has led me to this fact,
I cannot be who I was, nor who I am,
Not even who I am trying to be,

The end is but a heartbeat away,
And there it will begin,
Life lived as a puppet,
Is life ruled by the puppeteer,

Cut the strings,

To fall to the ground by your own hand,
And then rise of your own accord,
Is what I long for,

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As I recall, you cried the first night we met

I found it unusual though charming

Soon it became clear you cried too easily

That daily weep was something alarming

Tears should be for special occasions

Justified by unmitigated joy or grief

Not turned on like a tap by ephemera

But controlled, orderly and brief

I decided to give you something to cry at

Began to roa...

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He was generous he was sweet
He fed us well, we were meat

Yet somehow as others hobbled towards his call
To feed, to fatten, to round, to fall

I saw myself getting sick and more frail
I felt death near, I felt pale

I saw the colors of existence washing away like dirt in a shower
I saw Him as he was, generous with the meat yet not generous with His power

Thus this was the cu...

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What would I wish for, if given the chance?
For a start, I'd wish I could dance
Wish I could learn without having to repeat
Wish I could earn my depression's defeat
Wish I could do all the things I want to do
Wish I could prove the love I have for you
Wish I could act on all these wishes
Wish I didn't have to do the dishes
Wish I could be the person you need
Wish I could resist the sin of...

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Entreaties

My gums are bleeding again.

There’s a stack of papers that need attention

But I can’t find my glasses.

My truck is making that funny noise.

I sleep too late

Because no one wakes me.

I don’t write

I feel it’s all been said.

I find I’m repeating myself

No one takes me seriously

Your point’s been made:

I am selfish and fickle,

Say whate...

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Michelangelo said the work of art awaited him beneath the slab of marble, merely for him to uncover it. In my own small way I understand that as I write these days. The poem I know is possible waits patiently at the other side across a murky divide and with luck and patience maybe I can reach it, reveal it.

Here is  one I wrote about a barbecue years ago in the small town where I lived.

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We track the oblique, sly fireflies
that keep popping fitfully by.

While life swarms invitingly by the side
we remain rabidly hustling
recklessly trailing
those brusque cracking stars
      ...shifty, deceptive, volatile
in onyx-bronze, raven nights

❋

We: the tenderfoot novice
bulldozed on many a graceless trip
half-cocked, peripheral, stoned
and profoundly ill with pitiful

sh...

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