Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness’- Isaiah, 5: 20
Topsy turvy is the world, we live in.
Man claims to be advanced and civilized,
But now he has more of animal instincts
With all human qualities paralyzed.
Seeds of goodness our ancestors sowed,
Have fallen on rocks and in arid soil.
Cracks are deep, our moral structure weak.
Race after wealth and fame sadly recoil
Wars and bloodshed are too frequent,
Scattering the pristine peace and calm.
The bedrock of values we once held,
Has disintegrated raising alarm.
We watch the crumbling of values nonchalant.
Have begun to take everything light.
While the soil is slipping from under our feet,
Without the least resistance, we yield to might.
Fact and fiction morph into each other.
Evil has become good and good- evil.
Woe to men who turn their back on goodness.
Sad, we have mortgaged our lives to the devil.
We should reverently turn to our Creator
Respect nature and everything created.
Prevent the quiet erosion of our values,
And blow new air into the tiers of life deflated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
first came the thump—a physics hiccup—
then gut-drop through cumulus like wet paper.
no parachute—just October sky’s blue yawn
and the sudden, intimate smell of stratosphere.
the sky inverted, gravity dissolved—
the sudden plunge through amber, ochre, rust.
brittle bones of oaks, surrendered, disintegrated
into this yielding riot, joy where autumn lingers.
We are too far gone there’s no right and wrong
Nothing we do is purely good or bad
All our innocence has disintegrated
Our souls lost to the Abyss
But would you give me one last kiss
I could make a sandwich.
Or couldn’t.
It can be both ways.
Lettuce dances around the kitchen.
Gasping as if you just woke up.
It’s noon but nothing is real.
I couldn’t make a sandwich.
Just grabbed a snack like a vampire who can’t sleep ever.
Dancing around like a spider bouncing.
Or like gravity pulling every way.
Spirals are like corn on the cob.
Nothing is like lunch except food.
And there’s dishes everywhere and no food sometimes.
Or food but it’s too tightly packaged.
There is no reason why I can’t make lunch.
Just getting bored of hunger.
Dried up feelings of boredom.
And lively jumping around dancing feelings.
Sparkling non-cooking, non-cleaning life.
I could make a sandwich or not.
I could untie the knots around me.
Invisible, dancing feelings.
Noon and I just woke up too disintegrated crumbs.
I could.
It’s both ways.
I could and couldn’t.
They don’t know growling hunger.
Like me.
But I got lazy.
My process is like dots.
Not stars, just nothing dots.
Rearranging.
Tangled netting and dragonfly parts.
Whatever I can grab and throw in the shopping cart.
That sinks through the tile.
I thought things were solid for once.
Then the holes got torn up.
And the dragonfly eyes too.
Disintegrated.
In such a poem which is made of sentences and more.
My process is like dots.
Spiky, horned dots.
Maybe a few blobs and globs enticing.
The end of a poem isn’t scary.
Or strange.
It's thirsty, but the end is that drink.
My process.
Like a pen that doesn’t worry about anything.
Nothing dots and dragonfly parts.
Wheeling me away.
Like they did five years ago.
The wormhole led them to a desert,
where they could see dunes ahead.
The elf looked at Alice, nodded, and smiled.
She understood what his smile meant.
A few hours later, they stood in front of the dunes
When suddenly sentinels appeared around them.
Alice looked at the elf, and he smiled at her again.
She wondered why he smiled at every encounter.
The elf whispered some words,
The sentinels merged into one another and disintegrated.
He stretched his hand toward the dunes,
and they all flattened out.
Alice's eyes widened in amazement as cacti sparkled like diamonds.
As they approached,
The cacti grew tall and large,
and water gushed out from them,
And Alice and the elf were carried to the shores of an island.
They were lifted by giant birds to a rainbow castle.
There, Alice saw the book of seven seals,
a powerful book that restored the seven lost kingdoms,
where Alice would continue her adventures.
July 21, 2025.
Three days ago.
43 minutes began.
To count down.
I hear it.
Time continues.
And holds on.
43 minutes ago.
Was when I started my day.
Days, and days, and days.
Eyes endlessly blinking.
Then the prodding continues.
46 minutes ago.
I remember things.
Like hanging up my coat.
Again, and again.
My coat is probably disintegrated by now.
I hate how minutes.
Are trying to deceive me.
Five days ago.
I ate breakfast.
So clearly, I had pancakes.
I ate a hundred pancakes.
I’m convinced that a pancake is following me.
Five days and four hours ago.
I was driving in my car.
I didn’t die or something.
But something happened.
The eclipse or something.
It followed me home.
43 minutes.
I stood a few feet from here.
Looking at myself hanging my coat, I am glaring at my future self.
Getting nothing done.
My feet are holding me up uncomfortably.
Feet going numb.
She gave me a call.
Two minutes ago.
When the 43 minutes started.
I let it go to voicemail.
I think they are evil and about to come through the portal.
43, 46 minutes, 4 hours, and five, three days.
And I still haven’t hung up my coat.
Does your world hang low?
Does your humour ebb and flow?
Do you feel like you’re a flop
And you’re drowning down below?
Are your moods like running water
Won’t stay stable when they oughta?
Does your world – hang – low?
Is your life a drag?
Do you feel like a rag?
Does it seem as though you’re flound’ring
Through impenetrable slag?
Is the whole thing never right?
Not worth keeping up the fight?
Is your life – a – drag?
Do you hide your face?
Do you feel a disgrace?
Are you constantly avoiding
Being with the human race?
Has your life degenerated?
And your world disintegrated?
Do you hide – your – face?
Are you fighting back?
Are you taking up the slack?
Will you give in and surrender
Or go back on the attack?
Tell the world it hasn’t mastered
THIS unconquerable bastard!
NOW you’re fight – ing – back!
the abandoned shack looks miserable and forlorn
standing amid brambles and weeds in an unkempt field
her porch boards creak ominously as we walk across them
Some of the end boards have disintegrated
she looks sad and gloomy; her front door is gone
she has not been cared for in a number of years
the upstairs windows are broken probably by rocks
her kitchen has been stripped of appliances
wires hang where her oven used to be
the floor is brighter next to these wires
a tiny creature scuttles across the floor
She smells like animals
She has probably been a haven for squirrels and mice
Maybe raccoons take up residence during the winter
Do you want to go upstairs? My girlfriend asks
I shake my head “no” not wanting to see any more
The paths of my mission would be rows of roses, I thought.
To my shock, in tipsy turvy twists and turns, I got tossed
Didn't I desire to know the known to know the unknown?
Each wish of mine, like worn-out shoes of a nomad, got torn.
The moon of joy in my gains should have been at the zenith.
Struggles, like palms, tall-grow. Bliss, like dried grass, peeps from beneath.
Like iron-rods in saline waters getting eroded
The weakness of my will, like pumpkin buds, is unfolded.
Virtues, as fallen scaffoldings, are disintegrated.
Absurdity, like the blood red moon, is reiterated.
My vigour, before my puniness, like a dewdrop, fades.
Apprehension and anxiety, like gems, I adorn.
Pessimism lifts its head like boom-slang cobras from burrows.
Coffins and graves compose knells. The deceased have no repose.
Death and decay have become the blessed norm of the day.
Despair and disappointment, like thorns, pierce through every way.
Self-confidence is erased like mud paths during monsoons.
Will the Times, like the rainbow chromas, bring multihued boons?
I am going, leaving to another world, my old and new world
You are staying, enjoy here, and remember, time is not coming
Time is far and gone with him. Don’t keep me in your memory
Just keep this, “ In loving memory of our lives, the future”
Our future is far, it’s disintegrated in a space of infinity
Yes, say thanks to your sadistic psychologists, and don’t cry
Don’t cry and don’t be sorry, I am already far, my soul flies
He said, Goodbye, goodbye… Enjoy your psychologists, bye
I follow my soul, he is alone and searching for a new mate
A new mate, a soulmate, a lady, who will be a good playmate
A playmate in our life. I will love her, the same as you or more
Bye, I am gone intelligently, sensitively, and elegantly. Bye.
Read Ted Kooser. Save your egg cartons until you have a fitted stack tall enough to be mistaken for an art project. Melt them down in a bucket of water. See how the float at first, then slowly succumb. Do not tell anyone about the egg cartons until they have fully disintegrated. Drink Rhubarb wine. Buy the straw hat from the old Vietnamese lady at your local Farmer’s Market. The smile she gives you will sate you for years to come. Fall in love. Do not be afraid to slap the five pound bag of rice in the supermarket. You will get looks, but you will be more alive than those watching. Write for someone else. Make them up, or pick someone out of a magazine. They can be your age, or not. It is up to fate more than your own brain. Understand that you are doing very well, and that there is value in waking up. Do not be afraid that you can’t remember dreams, or that you dream of a huge black wall moving in like a season. Read some more Ted Kooser. Laugh often, and easily. Die on a few small hills. Create a list of advice for young poets to discover who you really are.
Please don’t leave me hanging like that that, I hate to be in suspense, you piqued my curiosity and it’s so intense. Artfully teasing you know how to play, always one step ahead, leaving me dizzy and frayed, My head is spinning you think you’re winning, who’s got the last laugh? What’s all that ringing must be in my head, it’s giving carnival vibes, Clowns with balloons and daggers, cute little kittens with menacing eyes. Your destination, my fears, pulling me in and giving me sneers . What’s going on with the goat he just fainted, he stuck his tongue out and said blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah screamed and disintegrated, he looked kind of evil did I just use past tense? Is that mirror melting? What happened to his head? It’s so small and stuck to the bed. This ride is spinning down to the depths. I realize the ringing in my head is the alarm clock to wake me up. I turn over and face the clown in my bed. Oh geez, it’s just my lover Fred. What a tasty bit of drama, a midnight abracadabra.
Golf Cranks tried to see where his ball went on the course
The bird on his head was looking another way, his tweet hoarse
Which way did you flick it? His golf partners asked Cranks.
If I knew that it would be easier he said, not knowing their pranks.
They had given him a trick ball for his birthday, for fun.
It had disintegrated immediately as he started this run.
They finally confessed and had a laugh together too.
They are despicable friends said his golf caddie Bird Dew.
Trying to understand at such a young age,
She will have to know at some stage,
Transformed, changed, different identity,
Pleasing and pleading, needing to flee,
Good friends, more than friends,
Touch of lips into heaven it sends,
Trying to grasp tightly on self-control,
All a lost cause, swallowing me whole,
Key in the lock was hurtful,
Like banging your knee on a stool,
The betrayal lying right at my fingertips,
A lethal haven, tanks and battleships,
Muddled words on the tongue,
After that, it’s all just sung,
Banished from the Estate of Emotion,
Thrown to the sharks luring in the ocean,
Curses while on stage,
Into the microphone, caged,
Hateful glares pitched my way,
Soul disintegrated. Gone. Decayed,
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