An angel brought the kiss of death
With the scent of decay heavy on her breath
Hair strands like razor blades
Cutting deep into my flesh I began to fade
Heart palpitations made me panic
As the illusions in her eyes made me manic
The curse of her black magic
Brings death and despair so tragic
Her lips are carmine red
Painted with the blood of the dead
I could have set her on fire
But I'm a slave to my own desire
Her claws dig into my chest bringing pain
Covering the floor in sin and stain
Our muffled breaths are brawling
As my will to live keeps falling
Brought down to my knees
Broken and beaten I plead...please
But an angel brought the kiss of death
With the scent of decay heavy on her breath
This little fleeting fleck of time we share
Suspended breath caught in frosty air
The Morning Glory trumpets the dawn
But withers and wilts by late afternoon
And we too are but a sigh of a moment
Lost in the passing wind sojourned
A momentary glint in Nature’s eye
We carry our burden of ephemerality
Like a Mayfly circling its solitary day
We flutter and flap between birth and
Death our little gains and tiny failures
Buried in the deep earth of nothingness.
Round and round the seasons blink
See the corn turn gold from green
Touch the silent river eddies
Twisting down to the brawling sea
The surging marauding bully surf
Molesting the stubborn granite rock
These primordial foes will never chime
Trapped between lightening and thunder
Their tussle is the earth’s oldest paradigm
And we in our little moment stand small
On the shifting sands all our endeavours
Are dissolved by the folding waves of time.
Written on human vellum, He’s scrawling
To each heart The Spirit is calling
This pariah of Jeremiah
Calvin's idol producer a seducer
A place where Satan does his brawling
Jesus fulfilled, The Threefold Cord
The Holy Spirit with you will ford
A veil lifted from each face
In the human heart finds His place
Don’t hinder the work of The Lord
This same Spirit was at Creation
Through peace work not aggravation
Is the work of The Spirit
Please sinner hear it, endear it
His fulfillment is not degradation
So be careful who's work you build upon
Be mindful of the shoulders you stand upon
Of those who went before
Those who've opened a door
To a brighter future, He’s already won
The town fathers
are long neglected by scavenging vultures,
locked up as they are,
in the wood cabin, we call the town museum.
Inside the shack, there are old tintypes, sepia
photographs and the usual rural relics.
Outside, a small patch of lawn
divides the past from a main road,
one that bridges our hamlet
between two swelling and brawling cities.
Those cities also have their metropolitan relics,
grand achievements forever displayed
for groups of bored schoolchildren.
Outside, vultures are shood away
by men in HazMat suits.
Our community fathers are black-suited
grim featured farmers and church dignitaries,
even the mayors that are still alive
look out from their portraits
as if wishing for the odd vulture or two.
Nothing else around here bothers
enough to matter much.
Fields are pushed back beyond backyards.
We killed off all the rattlesnakes years ago.
Whack went your head
Sand in my eyes
Scissors sliced your hair
A push from behind
Yellow crayons flew about
Pencils snapped in two
Kindergarten was not easy
Brawling, me and you
Your tongue stuck out
I rolled my eyes
My mother pleaded please
Nope, not sharing pie
We fought like devils
Each our arch nemesis
Fast forward twenty years
And then, we kissed
Fisticuffs
Miracle Man
12/23/2024
Brawling is only for the young and foolish,
those with a yet to be developed brain.
Instead of taking their cue from cupid,
many minds are centered on raising cane.
Advanced years
transformed me from “Pit’” to chihuahua,
I bark from the porch but age stole my bite.
I’ve now become as “yellow as mustard,
and couldn’t be poured into a fight”.
Brawling backrooms
swirling in smoke
Bloody negotiations
served up smart folks
Like Ike, JFK and
Harry S. Truman
No Hillaries or Bidens
~ or other clueless humans
Are not Irish Eyes
always smiling?
IN the Blamey
at the stone – at the family
pub, celebrating life’s cheering,
brawling, grinning, deeply etching
proud ethnic tone – in the
lilt of his sweet tenor; even in
the brave sorrows, those many fallen
heroes of war both near and far --
blue as the deepest sky,
the even deeper tears,
the royal azures of our stars --
surely eyes are brightly
smiling, for no stouter
hearts have times born – in the
darling twinkles, that steal
hearts blissfully away, merrily along –
where the lass I kissed in the meadow, the
sweet child that comes to me
her giggling shamrock song --
allow those eyes forever shine!
Let such hearts lift a glass
give fond toast and riotously play --
God cherishes His brawny Irish
Even in heaven, all are Irish today.
When I said women are stronger than men
Everyone started asking when?
I said some women have their names for centuries
Then one said they only know to pick blueberries.
When I said about J.K Rowling
Everyone started brawling.
When I talked about Emma whatson
They got confusion.
I said about Kalpana chawla
They said hola
I was confused.
When I said mother is the best
They said she is the queen of her nest.
I understood no one can be like a Mother
I'm a native born morning in Appalachia,
smoky mountains surround
my holy ground.
Life in a single-wide far from the road
never gets old.
nor do two ducks trying to mate
in my leaky rubber pool.
Yesterday's wine bottle is empty again
yet I pour myself out
sip the chill mist
light up, let the hot tobacco
heat the dew on my lips.
The birds are making a fuss.
The Blue heelers are whooping it up,
and the goats are high brawling.
Wife's gone to Cookeville
to work at Walmart,
says she ain't coming back.
Figure I’ll go back to bed,
rest my head till whenever,
then
drink a warm beer for breakfast.
A man with five personas
coming together to protect the innocent
First there's Jake Lockley, the cab driver
down on the mean streets gathering information
Second there is Marc Spector, the mercenary
carved from stone to right all wrongs
Third there is Steven Grant, the billionaire
overlooking the city with pride
Forth there is Mr. Knight, well suited
comes to answer the most difficult questions
Fifth there is Moon Knight, the vigilante
brawling as the avatar of Khonshu
Five becomes one to what we collectively know
as the Moon Knight!
It was called “Spy Rock” in my day
Said you could see for miles around
The encampments of Confederates
From this large rock on higher ground
When the men in grey invaded our land
Brawling, looting, burning, and pillaging,
Everything got completely out of hand.
One-hundred fifty and eight years ago,
Much blood was shed in this community
To maintain the union and our liberty.
I wonder how much we have surrendered
In the past decade to give up being free.
written November 8, 2021
Your life’s but a shadow
he’s a king of the earth
he’s secure in his place
he knows his own worth.
He‘s lacking all burdens
his smile merits bliss
by the King be commanded
you’re deemed worthy young miss.
The lady‘s so lucky,
as a rose meant for plucking,
this brawling, rough rogue,
- this heir to earths throne,
deems her worth the f—king.
I chuckle demurely,
“Be away drunken sir
- leave me to my studies
- go chase other skirts
with your fraternity buddies.”
.
.
boy, the weekend festivities seem to start Thursday afternoons on fraternity row.
The future holds no premium
For a person brawling with their past.
There are no birds in last year's nest.
There are no rememberings to unmask.
Memories are the fruits of our existence
Where some bloom and some may die
When exposed to an aura of understanding
Life's lessons shall provide.
'Tis Human to learn from our mistakes...
Making bold of life's infections
Slathering a healthy dapple of forgiveness
As we sinners surmise a new direction.
We should freely right past wrongs...
Banishing past transgressions to the night
As the journey may task our very soul...
So it's best to travel light.
I no longer fear a backward glance
Or the breeze of yesteryear.
I have made my bed and here I lie
With a spirit crystallized and clear.
I ignore the minions who dredge my past...
Casting forth their hellish stones...
As I eagerly embrace one of God's greatest gifts...
Which is a future yet unknown.
The End
A crocodile-hide sunset,
a ferrous squall;
somethings boiling up there.
Storm gulls
beat mosquito clouds away
as they flee.
Ten wild horses corralled in a dumpster
hammer my fearless heart.
An anemic sky gulps for breath
near or far
a brawling trample scuffs the earth.
The dimming light drips strings
of gelid spittle.
Vaporous stalactites shred an acrid air.
Now a ferrous rain cuffs and pelts.
I hide my face from its eyes,
follow a screaming ghost
into the house.
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