April plays a foolish part,
A warm embrace that tricks the heart.
While showers promise flowers soon,
I find a hundred thorns by June.
A chaotic peace, a subtle clash,
Bright tulips turning into ash.
Where silence wins and pride prevails,
The sweetest dream of summer fails.
The morning dew drops to the past,
As everything is moving fast.
I finally untie the knot,
To treasure my own solo shot.
In the midst of grace, hope, and fear
I hang myself on one and clipped to it
And hope seems the best one to veer
But hope can't be fruitful arid grace even when fear had quit
I relent on grace to ace my pace
Now I find myself traveling in my desire's grace
I lost to my ought self trying to be me
I wasn't sure if I will ever be
Until I rest not on all works forlorn
Poetry becomes an attribute of me inborn
Ego and pride.
Consciousness and insecurity.
Why must they clash?
Everytime I think.
I have the ego to believe myself.
I have the pride to defend myself.
I'm loud.
And I am proud.
And everyone should hear me.
I've got it all.
Nothing is out of reach.
But then why must consciousness exist?
Why must it whisper?
Am I too loud?
Is my voice hiding all the others?
And then insecurity burns.
It's like a fire.
A rabid bird in a cage.
Do you free it?
Insecurity holds me back.
Keeps me from talking.
From moving.
Where is pride?
Where is ego?
Clash of the titans
Need you like
Storms their flash
Titans their clash
You’re the enraptured
Metamorphosis
Loud confusion of
Chattering ants in trees,
The thirst of bat camps
The howling of wolf packs,
The writhing of lion hordes
Resting of satiated tadpoles
Crumbs of grains
In varied wild visions
The holiest saint
The bravest champion
The wildest beast
Of its prey in storm
My blade is sharper, so they claim.
And his hoe is blunt.
Each voice raised is struggling to rise above the noise,
eyeing for supremacy,
living to convince,
competing for dominance,
quarreling to belittle, demean, and degrade.
I found that armchair broken and fixed it.
The chicken you ate when you paid your dowry was mine.
So it goes.
But both are travelers.
Come harvest time, behind those bushes they will disappear.
No inheritance, pension, or gratuity—except what they sent forth.
Had we not wasted our time,
we would have been of paradise.
But we departed with enmity.
We are now roasted in grief.
Across the aisle, a chasm loomed,
Reagan smiled, O’Neill boomed.
The Gipper’s charm, the Speaker’s grit—
Two titans clashed but never quit.
Ideals at war—left against right,
Taxes and spending, day and night.
Yet through the storm, respect held fast,
A bridge of trust, built to last.
Barbs and backslaps, sharp yet kind,
Irish fire, Hollywood's shine.
Deals in smoke, with laughter's ring,
A gentler time, when truth could sing.
For common good, they found a way
To heal the rifts and clear the fray.
Through fiery words and firm debate,
They shaped the nation’s course and fate.
So raise a glass, let lessons soar:
To Reagan’s wit, Tip’s Irish roar.
May leaders learn from their accord—
In compromise lies our reward.
Beyond the hills, the storm,
oh, yellow queens they quake;
poor Autumn aspens feel
old weight of weakened leaves
the hostile winds will steal.
Beyond the hills the storm
it brews, like coffee black.
A bitter sky will fall
—dainty saintly sunlight
a martyr for the squall…
Beyond the hills the storm,
My dreams in strobe-light flash.
Engage in shadow dance
the clash of sane and bane;
a silk and burr romance.
Beyond the hills the storm—
yes banshee gonna wail!
The gray steel rain a strafe
a suitor six-shooter.
My tongue; a silent waif.
The Mesopotamians,
The birthplace of writing, building the ziggurats and palaces.
The Greeks,
Warriors and philosophers, diverse in their ways of thinking.
The Romans,
Masters of conquests and destruction.
The Egyptians,
With creative minds and architectural prowess.
All are different and diverse.
But they still all believe that they are the one.
They believe that they are the protagonists of our world.
Portraying their stories in their own immaculate light,
Shining in their versions of stories mixed with lies,
As the centre and hero of the story.
NO More day NO More night
Rainy sun and blue moon in the half-light of day
Dancing with green silence
NO more music caught red-handed
by the simultaneous clash of lives
in the middle of the orange street ablaze
by the simultaneous shock of lives
exploded in he middle of the yellow glowing night
by the glare of a dark haystack
There was a day set aside for the wedding
but the groom was very much dreading
it would be the same day
his grand final would play
and that’s where it looked it was heading
Alas his worst fears came true
So what was he s’posed to do?
Change the date
he’d marry his mate
or send a substitute to say “I do”?
Of course, that could be done covertly
The team had done it before with Curtley
but if the bride found out
she’d give him a clout
and the next month he’d spend inertly
So I hope we have the real groom today –
shame on his mates for staying away
but he stayed away too
when best man for Stew
and the ladies can still throw the bouquet
The bride is also very fond of her sport
loving a good tussle on field and on court
It’s clear and plain
she knows Glen’s pain
and she’s the kind and compassionate sort
This wedding’s been the perfect storm
The bride’s team’s in awesome form
Today’s their final too
So what’s Jane s'posed to do?
Miss it, or follow the wedding norm?
I’m sorry the groom’s grumpy and pre-occupied
but the final’s on now and he’s not in the side
but Jane empathizes
with his sacrifices
having hired a substitute bride!
In a room besotted with lavish grace,
An expensive glass lampshade has its place.
Its exuberant glow, a soft hug warm,
But, somewhat less convincing is its form.
For a bruise on the heart, a hidden wound,
Belies the way the stained glass is attuned.
Lead and glass are immiscible matter.
Dull and gray vs bright, color splatter.
The lampshade's design is a compromise.
With horrid thick black lines through clear blue skies.
With the wondrous glass insulted and demeaned,
To fill the gaps among the lines between.
Expensive trinkets can't mend bad form pain,
When deep within their sad souls, scars remain!
That was why I had to smack your cheek:
Always for our James the Biggest Smile;
Scored tasks from school untouched every week:
On one subject had he gone some mile.
God knows that James clothes of whisky reek
And he washes them not; up they pile;
Last week on his forearm a streak:
A Dad should refuse to excuse style...
I see things reaching the Devil's Peak,
If I don't their school's phone number dial
You may Lord God's face through prayers seek
But If James joins you it is as guile!
No need now to pretend the Good Knight,
Right under my roof a pitch-black night.
James junior you joined for roles not right,
I no longer glimpse a future bright...
Like cops shall open for James a file,
His phone by me purchased hold a while.
Wedded Bluff
You've made an invalid selection
The gal you picked was once nice
And she was once good in bed
Now it's all **** up worst damn way
You're stuck with a complaining wife
Three decades of pure effing bliss
SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister
out in 23
Stars glare at the twigs,
darkness begins to settle
Forlorn dreams of stars,
moonlight covered them with clouds.
As clouds expressed its thoughts,
Moon strengthens its mettle
Dreamy stars infuriated,
with flares, bashed clouds.
Stars and Moon clashed,
deleted dreams covered by ash
As clouds watch over,
comets ignited so fast.
Dwindling down are sprinklers of dust,
speeding with lash.
Titans collided,
Clouds wept like a torn outcast.
meteors
collide in conflagration
clash of titans
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