What do you do
when you’re riddled with riddles,
swallowed whole
right down the middle?
Music blares,
but it’s not me.
’Twas a toot or two
from a fiddle.
What do you do
when your riddles get riddled?
When you’re all alone
and you fiddle your diddle.
Nothing comes out
but a little
piddle.
Compulsively arranged
and out of control,
thought after thought
has swallowed me whole.
Riddled with feelings,
I pick at my mind,
looking for answers
that no one can find.
Can you connect the dots?
I’m trying to justify
whatever still rots.
Riddled with riddles,
discarded
like an afterthought.
Something’s not right here.
Something became
a knot.
It’s hard to clear your head when you’re the clutter.
I write poems compulsively
on elevators, in food service lines
most are rotten, some are quite fine,
you may have read ones unforgotten.
Do you look sad on the coffee shop line?
I give you a back-story and write you a tale.
How you loved, tried your best but failed.
My idle world is one of imagination
My mind’s a hummingbird of poem generation.
It's evening and we're at a fine restaurant.
“Are you listening?” My bf might ask.
“No, sorry,” I admit, chagrined.
I'd been making up a poem
and how I'd lost the thread.
Hey, I’m in on the joke
I embrace stupid things.
I work when I work -
I mean I study when I study
But the moment - and I mean the moment
that structure is overthrown
My mind is free to roam and poem.
.
.
Songs for this:
Can't Tame Her by Zara Larsson
Boyfriend by Mabel
(“Mrs. It Dances Through It”, 2014, original pen and ink)
Samsara is the wheel of rebirth
An endless cycle of lives in myriad forms
Endless as long as there is the ignorance
To fuel its engine.
The River of Life likewise flows
Ending up in the sea, to recycle again
Endlessly for beings compulsively carried
As long as there is the ignorance
To fuel its source.
The wheel and the river move in such cycles
An eternal stage for Life to play
And all its being’s enact their roles.
But what of the beings as they come and go
Struggle and overcome,
Drown and transcend their sorrows?
They are none other than us, and us, them
In their forms, parts and roles
Dog eating dog, and man petting man
As well as dog
We have been them all, married to the burden
Of all our wishes and deeds
In sickness and in health
Until death do us part
And we begin again.
(1/19/26)
Once is never quite enough,
Once again feels more like trust.
Once more, close to sure—
Eat, has eaten, ate, will eat—
Breath itself repeats,
A ritual done compulsively,
Yet never fully satisfied.
Like tasting twice, the second time charms,
Knowledge grows through shifting views,
Education’s pulse is repetition’s arms.
Sometimes, a new truth breaks through,
But the next generation—
History rewritten, old made new.
To learn just once is perilous, my friend,
To keep vital truths alive,
Stay curious, hungry—for what you think you know,
It’s not fresh facts, but the rhythm that thrives.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse—
Not enough, I seek a retake,
To still the mind’s restless whispering.
At its core, the brain’s a tireless gossip,
Finding joy in repetition’s simple act,
Without it, a vacuum swells with doubt,
So we repeat—to anchor, to trust, to act.
So quick to judge any breach of etiquette
Such breaches at the whim of the fickled herd
What is there to do but watch your back
Or compulsively stay in line
Or just say f*ck it!
And be on your way
Because no matter how hard you try
The cancerous cancelling crowd will lie in wait
To pounce on what was once their own
Just look at what’s happened to Trump and Musk
Each darlings of their leftist peers
Until they weren’t
Not for changing in any fundamental way
But just in their need to keep being themselves
Without allegiance to the fickled pickled herd
If anything the life of a human
Arcs from bound and dependent
To independent and free
Free to chose and free to lose
And so we grow
And can come to know
What it is to be mature
If it’s the last thing we do
(11/13/24)
What’s done is done
As the chips fall
And the die is cast
Each of us
Taking a part
Donning a mask
To play
Our allotted role
At each step
The road forks
With freedom and tyranny
The choice to make
And so we do
Instinctively, habitually
Compulsively or consciously
A choice that’s always ours
Whose world do you live in after all
One inherited from deceivers
Who apply bandaid visions
To your mind
Or one you find revealed
In each moment
As you joyfully sacrifice
All that has come before
(9/30/24)
You bankrupted us thrice
and closed our Libraries and pools
You created a property portfolio
and played speculation
Now you leave chasms in the town centre
Croydon do we deserve Labour ?
You compulsively bought houses
and turned them into flats
not respecting green uniformity
just a by word for affordability
The Party machine spins unapologetic
Croydon I feel very low
You played Russian roulette
and can't tell the truth
Croydon of now is very unflattening
("Citadel of Light Merit Badge" - #67, 2016, original oil)
Inside Out Outside In
The world is nothing
If not a continuum of beliefs and practices
Along a spectrum of consciousness
Within an infinite sphere of awareness;
It’s all light
And it’s everywhere
But not in equal measure.
In other words, that light shines differently
In each of us,
And so each of the cultures we create exist
On a continuum
From high to low.
We don’t see what we don’t want
But we see what we compulsively project
Not like it’s a choice
Just a given for the filters we bring
The ones we inherit
The ones we learn.
What differentiates the individual path
And progress of individuals along it?
Refinement, subtlety and internalization.
What starts big, grandiose, overwhelming
Eventually becomes commonplace and manageable
Until it too passes in its own small way.
It’s called growing up and growing old.
The Universe will have us all
Swallowing us whole
Kicking and screaming
Or smiling and laughing
It matters not to that final hole.
(6/21/24)
Jackie who was permanently stuck in the twos after
a childhood vaccine that was due..
Larry's addiction and prior crimes that led to his
affliction and wheel chair confine.
Bill who struggled with his c.p., only hoping that
others could see beyond his disability..
Joe whose institutional blows caused stuttering,
frustration and angry explodes..
Carol whose Asperger's left her obsessed compulsively
dialing strangers on her ex boyfriend quest..
George who got an inner thrill by chasing trash trucks
until they turned on the hill..
Phil who in public would stop and beg to touch the
calf of a woman's leg..
Barbara with her theatrical flare who craved full attention
every where..
Howard who lost his serenity when any change occured
in his vicinity..
James and his life long obsession with Marlboro lights
and fake wrestling..
Our society labels them developmentally delayed but
many were the best friends I've ever made..
While we were sleeping
Snug in our beds
Lost in our dreams
A black spirit stole across the land
And by dawn had merged with every shadow
When we awoke
We took for granted the lingering critical sensibility
- as if awaking with a hangover
from the spectacular successes and excesses
of our civilization –
And before our morning cup
Could clear our heads
Had embraced this dark spirit
With the fervor of the newly converted
Impulsively, compulsively taking yin to yang
As if reborn from our primal roots
But when civilization falls
And is abandoned
- and undermining eventually always leads to collapse –
What is left is tribalism
But without the innocence of its youth
And youth without innocence
Is just tyranny without conscience
Shadow without form
Woke won because we became soft and sloppy
Ungrateful and guilty for all the pleasures and abundance
The hard work of Life bestows
(5/6/23)
East sea capricious invites frolickers
Lose all resolution fighting her euphoria
Entry to her anger ensures exit involuntary
Megalithic Pacific mounts with power superior
Eruptions, edge gumption propel folk
Nautilus chortles her lapis lazuli laughter
Thrill pulled paddlers contest for echo evoke
Suction eroding floor swept compulsively faster
Monstrous Nemo swims rhythm erratically
Elevates victims in lifted lemonade chamber
Elixir tips her fizz in eyes, ears unapologetically
Tumult assault sends sand spun fun to ocean chasers
Aussie beach, nothing beats it!
26th January
This distortion I reek of
Is seeping
Its not under control
Im forced into believing this bed is too big for the small room
That the walls of this small room is a way of containing the things I hold
Maybe if my hands weren’t heavy with the burden of myself id be able to see past this small room
The room wasn’t always so small
I was not laid into the room the second I was born
But I somehow built these walls compulsively
I thought it would hide all the things I didn’t want anyone to see
If I keep painting over the scarred walls no one will notice the exist of their presence
If I mend the cracks you won’t be able to see how disproportionate everything is
I hope you’ll see past the roof caving in
Or the water damage from nights of my tears
The messy clutter from my anger
Stains from my mistakes I didn’t bother cleaning
If you can see past all of these flaws maybe you can see me
And save me from the deceiving distortion I’ve built
And the hollowness of it all
Pleasantly radiant, tranquil weather
blue skies & gently benevolent wind
a shimmering gift from Mother Nature
(a smoldering summer lurking in the distance)
Compulsively tracking an unquantifiable self:
steps, exercise minutes, calories, symptoms, etc.
stoical statistics dutifully logged into tired devices
(a futile endeavor to control life)
Cacophonous news oozing from the Malverse
menacing memes ricochet around the planet
updates of a horrid war threatening to devour the world
(a looming nuclear apocalypse)
Occupying space in old unedifying edifices gathering dark energy
running out the accelerating clock as civilization nears its breaking point
desperately seeking diversion while doling out doggerel
(a quest to imbue a desolate existence with meaning)
How long before it all falls apart?
you are a very fast car headed for a brick wall
and i want to ride
you are a beautiful hell-bent guilty
feeling i have inside
you are a fistful of strange pills in my pocket
that i finger constantly
you are a bottle full of dark red wine
i want to drink compulsively
you i could never save
but i'm done playing superman
i never knew how to fly, anyway
i only ran
i'd like to see
what messes we could get into
and watch how we get out of them
i'd like to stick around for just a little while
then run away again
you are the badly written poem
that's been hidden deep for years
you are the bad friend i could never count on
yet you held me and wiped my tears
you are the ominous storm clouds
slowly blocking out the sun
you are the horrible wreck
i just can't turn my head away from
i see the worst of me in you
and the worst of you in me
we mirror each other tragically
"Blushing is the color of virtue."
You're done.
You melt like a sigh
on the lips of angels.
You've drained
the paleness of injustice,
your own hands tangled up,
aw, the square stare of the truth,
impassable duel of the pupils.
Your hands are filled with the face of our tragedy,
witherering among the sidereal flowers,
a cursed sunset,
a lamp lit in the wee hours,
no truce is better than advancing to the edge of yourself,
throwing yourself into the fire of the stars,
crossing the hard core time;
with flimsy memories
descending into a blessed hell.
You want to die with the lamp lit,
not talk about anything that gives you away
when you smoke compulsively,
tramontane and bold,
you know how pliable is the scroll of fear.
You are bad, Diogenes,
with your airs of moldy poet,
twitching the neurons of those who feel
that Truth is even more pliable,
Come here, my ox, my friend.
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