Dissects Poems

In An Instant

The incisive probe of insight
dissects my life’s stratum of delusion, 
the shards of shattered pretense 
scatter as discarded debris, 
the mind reminds itself to forget.

The blizzard of discontent blows,
my desolate heart turns 
into a tree defoliated in wasteland,
far away from verdant thicket.
The sunburst day fades out fast, 
dusk envelopes the twilight sky.  

I don’t forget that the sun sinks
to rise again with resurrected radiance.
I wait for the heavenly hues of the new sun 
to suffuse me with the gleam of sanguinity,
when from the dust of distress
I felt the Phoenix, concealed within so long, 
rise in an instant for metamorphosis
in the divine dawn of regeneration.

alcides

Slide, barrel, firing
My life expiring

Carve peace into a bullet so its the last thing on my mind
'Cause what remains in the sky is our stars misaligned
The shrapnel from the meplat dissects my insides
My emotional integrity, treat like it was Alcides

I submit to you my mag of hatred
You load your gun and leave me berated
The echoes of metallic disparage on the concrete
Discard the magazine, rest it on my grave and replete

Disengage the safety, make your grip pirouette
In my mind you're already dead, your ballade des
Your body slumps, no longer recepts, self-sabotaged
The thoughts of us never escaped your mind, constantly collaged

The Poet's Pen

A Poem a Day
Seems an obtuse way
To bring blocked feelings out.

What can I say?
While alone,
Hidden away,
I seek meaningful rhymes to think about.

What is the plan here?
The mystery?
The Plot?
How does this mysterious game strategy work?

After all, playing with words,
As every poet keenly knows 
Can be rigged so that nothing comes out.

Is something more sinister in play?
Is there a twist in this plot?
A revelation, a purpose, only the game maker knows.
Or are we playing alone?


It is silly
How this poem a day
Dissects my mind, my spirit, my soul.
And in the end, this poet’s pen,
May have too much or too little to say.

However, this poet is sly 
And begins to suspect, a ghost player is playing along.
A Masterful agenda, with plot, twists unintended,
Hidden within this game.

Words wasted, let loose, and scattered;
When brought painfully 
back together 
Can reveal the games truthful intent.

The ethereal purpose and loving power
Of words lost, 
without order, 
abandoned,
scattered, 
unspent.
When set free 
Reveals Heaven's poetry resplendent
Residing within this poet’s pen.

Buzzards and Flamingos

B is for Buzzard under my hat,
my brain meaty and raw.
His talons cling like puppet strings.
His rabid teeth chew and gnaw.

Ye old Buzzard, nothing warm,
just a cold sentinel of death.
Not like the life-giving stork —
impervious to the stench of your breath.

Your buzzard form like a swarm of flies.
The maggots mirror your childhood.
The terror of your bulky brig —
weeping under my wing - your no good.

The psychiatrist dissects my thoughts.
One by one he pulls the seething strings,
whilst the buzzard glares at the Rorschach.
Irritated by the smell of ink and pendulum swing,

the suicidal creature flees to the window, succumbs.
The gift of happiness and flamingos, pink,
from my mailbox to the farthest edge.
Quite merry, maybe a bit wild, I sip a drink

of cherry cordial and admire the pink rabbits*
spiraling out of control but perfectly neat,
in row after row of planted fluorescence.
F is for Flamingo - now my crazy world’s complete.

1/9/2019
Contest: Buzzards and Flamingos
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Not a true story

*as rabbits multiply

Ballpoint Bully

The pen
is a sword
that slays

in skilled hands
it is a scalpel
that dissects

my own
however
is a blunt instrument

and it beats  the truth out of me

Cold Coffee

He slowly sips every drop whilst he dissects the morning news
Coagulating cream congeals in his china cup
Coffee coloured rings form with every sip
If the cup was a tree I could tell its age

Written from observing a local man in our local coffee shop
He sits for hours reading the newspaper for free and makes his coffee last...

08-30-17

A Wondering Eye

Belaboring visions so mundane,
a neurotic mind desperately dissects their simplicities
to the verge of lunacy.
Searching for answers to endless queries,
every banal image becomes an elaborate quest
as this thirst absorbs all rationality.
Frame after frame stored in limbo
until each pixel is analyzed for its significance.
Serenity grates this phobia of delusion,
this obsession of one’s visions.
The restlessness of it all brings on insomnia,
which leads to further dementia.
A coup de grace is contemplated,
but its reality lacks fruition,
for it too necessitates reason.
The normality’s of our days
languish in those with a wondering eye.

Hope Resonates

Youth doesn't stop to question if love is true,
they're eager to ignite passion's flame.
For; the need to belong outweighs their fears,
a desire so strong it's hard to ignore.

Sweethearts blinded by the aura of love
shun all reason as darkness zeros in.
For; the dazzling prospects of make-believe
tickles libidos; and mutes silent screams.

Doubt dissects happiness, exposing truths,
as reality tears your hopes apart.
And your heart bears the scars of betrayal
inflicted by promises, stripped of lies.

The hurt that love offers is troublesome,
debatably, more to shun than embrace.
And yet, under the surface of mistrust,
hope resonates with the beat of your heart.

The Instigator

The instigator relates, we cheer.
Deflates nay Sayers
The instigator retraced all fears
Detest all stares
The instigator dissects dialect
The instigator obliges his faith
What phase? The instigator 
Emblazed freeze gaze.
Counsels full LAWS.
Legal eagle at the cause.
The instigator  has
 FAME No game.
The instigator takes flight 
Ignites surprise
Do fly red eye
Nice GUY  GOOD GUY

GOOD BYE

Choice Moment

A moment comes along when talk becomes a whisper and give starts to take.

The moment dissects you wanting to know if your mind is weak and your heart fake.


You get a sneak peak inside yourself, a glimpse at what's at stake.

If you're unshakeable at the core or whether your core does nothing but shake.


The whisper is long gone leaving only all consuming silence in its wake.

You find yourself in familar company just you alone and a choice you must make.


Its possible you might buckle, or get pushed to the edge of near break.

Push right back or know the edge will see you again hungry for what else it can take.

Dead

Dead


Dead person does not harm 
Or love any one
Why people scare of them!
After death

Surgeon knows dead person 
Does not oppose
While dissects corpse

Difference between the dead
And slept is
One can speak
Another cannot.

All know this irony fact
Even cannot trust in that

Like in cinema role remains apart
People in life perform vast
With a fact along belief of act

Thus the life rolls on rolls on 
Until fate defaces task

So in time keep with tact of nature 
And forget to fear with dying act

Surgeon knows dead person
Does not oppose 
While he dissects corpse.

Loneliest Existence

With the sun in the forceps 
Of an ageless night, 
The bells at the lighthouse toll 
Until they are merely sterile 
Breaths.  
Occasionally, a ghostly whisper 
Validates and dissects 
Each tear, each truth. 
I can't imagine their loneliness- 
watching light burn 
Until it is as small as a flea, 
While we endure engulfed 
In light, 
Principals of refuge 
And shadow.

In the Mood

She's in the mood
But everyone is playing
She'd play too if she could
But she's just praying
For someone to listen
To a concert of words
She plucks like chords
A harmony when written,
As she conducts her pen
Like a scalpel she dissects
The truth of her life and then
She spills onto all her secrets
Dark and many;
Entrenched and heavy;
But she's digging
Fighting and kicking
Through the black tar
Layers laid thick
Seen at a glance from afar
And brick by brick
She cracks the walls
Widening the halls
She's writing through
To break a smile
And not be blue,
This will take awhile...

Sharing With My Mother

The more I try to reassure my mother,
The more she suspects...

The concerns and cares I shoulder,
I conceal and collect.

Her ears keen to the notes I offer,
My anxiety she dissects.

Taking on more as I grow older,
Less her fear affects.

Understanding her and less eager,
I share all; she accepts, connects.

What Fools Are We

Everybody wants to live for ever
They try very hard not to die
Their activities are so disastrous
They make Mother Nature cry

We attempt to engineer longevity
And delay the inevitable
Unable to bear the burden
Of a transient existence
We set ourselves up as gods over nature

Death follows us wherever we go
Time will cause us to be forgotten
We only inhabit a few seconds
In the hour that is life
We can never outlive what we are yet to fully understand
For nature has its own agenda

Our advancement has been rapid
Our hopes have been triumphed
By our energetic abilities
We aim to conquer 
And claim dominion over all 

Our anxiety regarding our significance
Harangues our thoughts
Man categorises and type cast’s all
To understand the creator
He delves deep into the cosmos
And dissects the Supreme's intentions
He aches to know where it all began

Man understands not
The unique balance that is life
He wishes to humble all
To the throne that is his ego

Knowing does not mean understanding
We know what happens to the seed as it grows
But not why the need for a seed
Some things are best left to faith
We may only know
What we need to know

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