Still Foreign
No matter
how much love
is present
My feelings
truant reign
The ghost
inside me
will not leave
Inducing
love’s disdain
All joy
a vagrant
along the tracks
where distance
holds me sway
And love
still foreign
wherein I roam
and where
— I’m doomed to stay
(The New Room: February, 2026)
Blowback
Judge
lest thee
be judged
Harm
lest thee
be harmed
Steal
lest thee
be robbed
Kill
lest thee
— be dead
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Somewhere In The Queue
We’re all going
to die
Only the order
— stays undetermined
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Above & Beyond
Fire cannot
burn
Nor water
drown
The truth
at its essence
Immortal
— resounds
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Owning The Moment
Pain on the front side
healing out back
Earning each scar
that my memory attacks
Writing uncensored
no words in arrears
Owning the moment
— unburdened by fear
(The New Room: February, 2026)
TRUMP YOU WENT TOO FAR
OBAMAS AS APES BIZARRE
LEFT A RACIST SCAR
Saying
something witty
while having nothing
to say
Is like
spitting in the wind
to stay out
— of the spray
(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
Avoiding taboo and chasing followers
has taken art in a bromidic direction;
Everyone’s so worried about blowback!
Creativity is now clouded imagery;
Softened up playing to the masses,
no longer willing to be a little offensive;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up;
Left without fiery creators or leaders,
now we are starved for open discussion;
Frustration will find a nasty outlet
rooted in everything except logic;
Blessed with a much broader reach
but the artists sit locked in a chokehold;
What does an empty vessel lead to?
A feverish rise of audience aggression;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up;
Where are the actor’s grandiose roles,
don’t you see something is missing?
Not just the backdrop music is life,
what is the future of rock stars?
Armed with words chosen to intrigue,
writers will take hold of the reins;
If the musicians won’t sing about it,
if the Industry won’t make films about it?
The poets WILL speak up.
The first visible ray of sunshine
Is snatched from the unyielding sky
Murky waves lurking in a single line
Turns the tide in a significant way.
Hymns are sung to the melody of water
Bedlam with elapsed goals and dreams
The cloak is the tackle of rhyme matter
Repeatedly downrush freely at the seams.
The cliff is painted by the morning light
Also, the stones there are truly talkative
A calamity that was merely sketched right
For ancestor's bones, there's no alternative.
Word conflicts hump my tongue twitch
So I'll never be able to satisfy my hunger
Notably, when one has multiple switches
Blowback with a clap of fury and thunder.
The pen in my grip has me feel like a judge
with no verse left to the whims of chance
If I'm the blaze, no one can hold a grudge
Indeed, I was conceived for a floor dance.
Written: April 28, 2023
"Strawberry Kisses"
temptation
covert operatives
brush contact 99
coquettish Smart near misses
flirtatious crispness
in the velvet time sliding
softly persuasive
dead dropping
hungry ghosting gumshoes hubristic
dangling dripping words delicious
on tongue twisters
birdwatching the blowback
poiesis ripe
for swallows and ravens
chasing bell ringing
black buried au courant bluebirds out
better than late
Merry Christmas
lips for speaking
freshly plucked
smiles
succulent kisses
cool spooning
for the slightly touched
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
You got your patsy finger
pointing at me,
but what about your
other three pointing back
I don’t have to be
a math genius
to thumb my nose at that
Always trying to spittle throw
the dung blame my way
Funny how it Pinocchio nose
blows back in your face
Foggy be the pale moonshine truth,
misty spoken by you
Ear noise, so 100 decibel fool proof:
Murmuring telly boo
Wave the crooked finger,
lip foist the fall guy
Foul windpipe harbinger,
guttural gloomy sky
Pirate odds is pigeon dropping,
parrot dice blowback
Polluted cheeks botox flapping,
brumous noise attack
Disingenuous index keep spinning downward,
how retrograde
does your ill swarm tongue flies
But[t] the puff evidence is blowing backward;
murky lip trade
always traffic in constipated lies
Events beyond our ken and control
trigger nausea in our soul
Incidents of abusive police attacks
lead to destructive civilian blowback
Feelings well up from deep within
that media hucksters know how to spin
Those who'd like to offer solutions
drowned out by violent voice pollution
Peaceful towns reduced to rubble
America's heartland in grave trouble
Words,
a mouthful of sonic projectiles,
little payloads of hurt,
rage-tipped,
enough pain
to stop any assailant,
ready to explode into the
few feet of air between
you and the target,
punch through,
expand.
No entry wound,
no exit wound,
all internal trauma,
capping verbal crossfire
in a little
domestic drama.
Split-second decision.
Do you pull the trigger,
claim victory,
and concede a kind of defeat?
Or do you uncock the hammer,
knowing there'll be
casualties,
one at
each
end?
Some times I think by failure,
we land on our feet.
Not because of trial,
but because of the deed.
It seems we lack at that period
in time, a strength that is with us,
is not.
Causing all sorts of trauma, and pain
too much blowback, over again and again.
What is the count you ask,
The fundamental cost to one's soul?
And, yet it takes its toll.
Hundreds have been lost,
to its power - like thieves in the night.
I see no gain and yet you draw me in.
What is this course I paint in the blind.
For I have seen space of a different kind.
Natural is the lesson learned.
Basic as a writer's turn to fail and
try again.
You live a fairytale,
you live a folklore,
you live a dream,
behind a door,
you take what is not yours,
what others have built,
we claim to be reasonable,
in the secret of guilt,
I have seen my future , it is gone, as is dead,
I looked at the carnage was painted in red,
my heart it is blackened by all I do,
I new I lived a lie, because all of us do,
we set a stage, if you only new,
what he has shown me will come true,
sometimes I think and it makes me all so blue,
from a boy to a man, the temptation had grew,
the truth will come,
only for a few,
be very careful in what you do,
imperfection is a medium,
I set a sail,
as the winds blowback this unearthly veil.
Time will tell,
it comes with a price and a rotten smell.
we have chosen the path to bring hell to earth,
I know it will come as certain as birth,
even if you beg you will not see for it is only one gift that he has given to me.
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