Do you see this home I made,
as well, the streets, houses and moon?
You are just a game I play,
ceasing to exist very soon.
Once out of sight, out of mind;
mere puppets dancing on my strings;
Life is illusion, you'll find
no magic with what freedom brings.
I will create the rainbows
or thunder as my mood dictates;
My rules, nobody knows,
along with all your future fates.
If you deign to interfere
I'll fill you full of distraction;
Better say your prayers right here
and give us both satisfaction.
A clickity-clack against the glass
And the ascending tones of the motor,
Meant mother was going to bake
And the scents would fill every corner.
Whether sweet or savory foods to come
The Old Mixer announced a beginning.
Round and round mother's hands carressed
A batter or dough yielding family grinning.
For years, the Old Mixer sat in the cupboard
Whose worth and purpose to some was deign
Yet many young hands and a few older now
Send generational recipes forward again.
While advancements abound today
That do more than the Old Mixer could,
It isn't the tool, but the heart and love
That nourished our lives for good.
This old, simple servant I smile at now
For it brought us together to feast.
It had no small role in our family bounty
Raising lives, as to dough with yeast.
Lucifer: "If I am unable, to have a ritual with you before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will make your communion with the oblivion as unseemly as possible, when I arrive."
Aurora: "should we deign, at least the moon sooths brightly, rapidly fading the horizon meanwhile grows voracious, veraciously blotting out these of kindred spirits shouldn't relent."
DR dragon: " the plaintive field is course and bracken ties me to the pumpkin sun and every fourth night each meld and create the harvest moon in which I blithely contrive."
PW 1: *silently crosses the foundry and springs into the well of sorrows*
---End of act IV---
Hatred, see the world with love?
Sure. That can't be helped.
Agony, arc. O alcove:
Wendigo is whelped.
Sickening loss, tempest toss.
Hard work, go to waste.
No use hanging on the cross!
Bitter is the taste!
Caiman, the gulf floor. Abhor?
Oh, good sir, you bet.
O computer, where's the door?
Aren't we fancy-fret.
Thrashing round the thresher?
O chaff blue, from brown grain.
Cannibal, refresher?
That flesh, sir! Deign to drain!
Red mountain, yellow forest.
Wild will be that fire.
Lava, ignite. Pray, poor pest.
Sad thy sprawling sire.
Parents, clutch thy offspring?
We do the best we can.
Sacrosanct? Sick? Silvering?
Reconcile run? Ran.
Ghastly gale. Green gibbous glow.
Cobalt blue bad moon.
Captive, open door. Let's go?
Well, it's none too soon.
Tiny crosses. Metal.
They fell straight from the sky.
On that cliff? Gas pedal!
Eternity, odd eye...
THE FOLLOWING
You're a good little follower,
loyal as can be found
You take the side you're told to take,
let the vile lead you down.
Never tried to think for yourself,
it matters not the course.
Incompetence is held most high.
The cart before the horse.
They would not deign to know your name
or spit upon your face.
They give you nothing in return,
the sycophants disgrace.
So effortlessly they play you.
They've trained you from the start.
Ignorance, faith, malice, and fear,
forced down deep in your heart.
You're on the bench and there you'll stay.
You're just another dupe,
a thing to use, and lick thier boots,
you loyal nincompoop.
TORTURED HEART
With tortured heart and hollowed soul
and head hung deathly down,
his feet cemented to the floor,
guts spilt upon the ground.
His blood runs hot and cold alike
betraying his commands.
his face the shade of rage and shame,
crimson and cloaked in his hands.
Sullen and silent he will not deign
to speak her name aloud,
as new reality staggers in
neath desolate dark cloud.
T'would not ease the pain of jagged gash
where heart once beat in chest.
Nothingness has no end or cure,
yet lives at his behest.
Embracing endless emptiness
is all that's left to feel.
Combing over memory lane,
forbidding wounds to heal.
Make a noise
Admonishing the Eroding
Staged by all the cool ploys
Behind gathering to fishing
When you build in silence
Confused enemies of what to attack
Not you, let success make noise
Successes need arcane
Be positive strategically sitting back
Not either Cain or deign
Make a no mean noise
Rather be elan
Make moves
While you get them feign
A sommelier was known to whine
at pairings made with pork.
The shoulder was in fact divine,
so tender, lightly forked.
Yet she was deign to recommend
a cab or chardonnay.
Esteem I’d had came to an end
though, just the other day;
I saw her swilling Boone’s Farm wine,
complete with plastic cork.
Like the petals of a rose receive the dew
My ears tingle with the voice
That calls my name.
As the sun with the dawn
I arise beckoned by the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
I return to my ease.
Simply mistaken.
Like the willow shimmers with the breeze
My ears dance to the voice
That calls my name.
As the leaf turns toward the light
I seek out the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
I return to my ease.
Again mistaken.
Like a colt greets the spring
My ears leap to the voice
That calls my name.
As the lamb to the ewe
I respond to the voice
That calls my name.
Here I am.
I called you not.
Tis the Lord you seek.
Should He call again
Say oh Lord speak
For I am your servant.
So oft mistaken,
How could it be
That the Lord would seek
Or deign to speak?
To one such as me?
And then…
He called my name.
Not once or twice
He called until I could hear.
He called from afar
And He called from so near
He called my name
And joy of joys
I listened.
Sun dog, sign.
Belladonna, breaker point, fine wine.
Deign? Design.
Grimace, Guelf, and Ghibelline.
Young? Yes.
Grind gears, golden guess.
Torment?
Foment... Wilt, flower.
Master of Fate!
Fortune, ply pace. Lower the rate.
Petrichor.
Soar, heart within. Love, adore.
Forge? Pore?
Abyss, chasm, gorge.
Ravine.
Stranger, thy mean scene.
Meter? Reader.
Bottle, classic cola, fast cars.
Greeter? Leader.
Out on Mars they counted stars ..
Codex.
Manual, inform.
Quahog.
Quagmire escape, ape.
Tympani, roll.
Backward black, somewhere in time.
Dole? O'er soul?
Cumbersome cucumber, coal.
Storm, reel.
Elysians, feel. Heal.
Night? Sight...
Hurry to do, seal.
Sproing!
What's that?
Joyful sun,
shining brightly,
ready for some fun,
radiant and sprightly.
Will my mom make me pancakes,
or will I scarf down Frosted Flakes
before I romp 'neath your warmth all day
to find out just how much one boy can play,
and before I grow tired, at last, and rest,
but first reluctantly get undressed
to avoid mother's frightful wrath.
I deign to take a vile bath,
and then it will be soon,
when, from my window,
I'll ask the moon,
will I miss
my 'night
kiss?
Axion, gone actual?
Energy low? Mass?
Sing within us all, moon full!
Shine in colored casse...
Opopanax, gears a-grim?
Young people these days!
Teeter on the crater's rim?
Success always pays.
Tamarisk tree, waking up.
Dreams from this one fly!
Covenant of drinking cup?
Do not deign to die...
Squirrel in deepest burrow?
Not this day, O my friend!
Fields with salt a-furrow!
Broken past the bend!
Winter snow, thy undertow.
Cold, take hold. O spring;
Which way leads to warp? Which woe?
Serpents, how you sting...
Gold on floor of old ravine?
Better leave it there?
Yellow eyes in skull, thy scene...
Press but don't despair.
Hope, tragedy. Rail or risk?
Horror, right this way!
Hell and Heaven, in a whisk!
Hatchet, who to slay?
Angels, demons, sacred art?
Cherries taste a-tart.
O explosions, tear apart!
Arrow, seek the heart!
End Times, tunnels, breath. Wind chimes.
Doubt, do not fail now.
Doom and Death dance on the dimes!
Best not to ask how...
Take of a turn of three
time to talk of penumbra tales
beneath a taramond tree
trials and wailings of two lives in the vale
The life of young from it infancy
thence gradual, conventional neither fantasy
the sweetest of them all to behold
incomparable to an undelectable life of old
The sun and snow that oldlings won't deign
in them, we striplings all times do reign
like the suns of Africa, stronger shining wards
young wild eagles of Amerie, freely soaring beyond word
Dearest mates from the state of mine
move not like king Solomon's mine
who danddied, drove so great and high
cruising, perusing our skin into prime
yet says its vanity, a full of crime
we chaste conquerors, with wreathe all nigh
~ 2024 ... 2025 ~
A time to take stock
to delve deep
One glance in the mirror
does not suffice
The old year wanes
the new one waxes
Time to bury axes
time to rack your brains
Where have I been
Where am I going
Am I shrinking; am I growing
Do I deign to sin...
A time to take stock
fast beats the clock
Pave the way this day
~ should you like a say
suddenly bare branches
sway and shiver
shiver and sway, outstretched
in vain
to December's flares
stunted grass shoots
deign not wave
to howling winds
their lawns daily prowl
icy slants of rain
piercing bare heads
autumn’s roses gone missing
color them dead
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