I freely admit and hereby disclaim
when writ 'twas a pitiful rhyme
and all those moments
will be lost in time
like tears in rain
in Spain
they stay
mainly in the plain
or so they say
and yet are washed away
down the drain
never to be shed
or seen again
(“Mind’s Eye Merit Badge”, 2020, original oil)
I like to bathe more than shower.
Sure, I have to stew in a mix of old cells
And soapy scum,
But I find it more relaxing
And somehow less wet than showering.
I also get to see all the debris that washes
Off of me
And this is almost as satisfying to see
As it is to feel.
Maybe that’s part of what others prefer
About showers, the fact they don’t have to see
All the debris.
It’s a metaphor for Life you could say
We gather and shed
And then wash it all away.
The best part really is that in the end it’s just
Water down the drain.
(6/29/26)
"Leaders" are sweeping us toward the drain.
Lined with the halos of fractured hope.
They seed the soil and skies with green dragon eyes.
Not bothering to hide their brackish hearts anymore.
They've filled our havens and cities with black-souled deities.
If anything, COVID-19 taught the elites,
that mankind is easily converted to swine and sheep.
Mankind will readily cloak their smiles, stay inside, deep inside.
Mask up and shut up indefinitely.
They'll shy away from funerals and weddings of loved ones.
Under moderate threat and prodding...call it barbed conditioning.
Our nose rings grow thicker-the future grows grayer and dimmer.
Nothing emerges from the drain say for a rouged echo or three.
A new world order, a most unholy trinity.
God is engulfed in his blue period.
Has grown into a blossom of indifference.
Quite scentless and so very distant.
Love is not a siphon, not the slow hiss
of your breath leaving your body
to fill another’s hollow chest.
It is not the night you stay awake
listening for the sound of breaking—
the cup, the heart, the spirit.
You were born with your own fire,
your own name in the dark.
No vow ever meant surrender of the soul.
When they call their rage a sickness,
you may understand, but you must not drown.
Love does not bruise, or barter, or beg.
It does not take what cannot be given.
Pain is not proof of devotion—
you are not their cure, nor their mirror.
Step back into the light.
Your being whole is not self betrayal.
RAIN DRAIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thunder roars
wounded purple sky
clouds drain rain
So, you're telling me that you can be
a dirtbag for your entire earthly life...
Wreak havoc on the community and all of mankind.
Then, on the deathbed, accept Jesus-ask for forgiveness.
Then everything's alright?
I don't agree with it at all.
This scale is unbalanced and highly flawed.
Seems to me this last-minute soul is cutting in line.
Slipping Saint Peter, a mickey, the golden Jesus ticket
Slithering through the pearly gates...
While the souls of Mother Theresa and Dali lama circle the drain.
As Far as our Eyes will see,
In a Vast, and seemingly
endless World
to the Future’s greatest of Extents,
in a little Hut,
Hidden in a Swamp,
Lies little Old
Ms.
Garratha.
with the few who Reside
alongside.
They Eventually found
a Beautiful spring,
during their driest of seasons,
although seasoning doesn’t matter --
when It’s Wet twenty-four --
Seven.
The Decision to have a whiff,
without a -- Sniffer, may Just have been
the primary decision
For
Why this whole
story
Started.
Beginning with Licks,
progressing to Great
Tastes,
Has Brought together,
the
new Holy,
Wooly Serpent.
As No one has
seen
A serpent of coat,
since;
How often can you
find --
one of this Kind?
They Just so Happened
to
Land this amazement,
as For the water,
was not salty
At All.
Nor Was it clean, of
every Potential,
creating the Monster, Seen.
An ancient Serpent’s hair,
clogged much of its
safety,
and this water,
had much of
serpent’s Father.
His scales and much
Rein.
Slithering Out of this sort-of Creation,
came
Serpent Himself,
Shining without,
armour.
appalling...
being offline all this
time and...
missing the poetics...
let me
get a 'write' balance ...
and change the...
constant-sea of 'ripple effects'
we navigate daily....
stan
green snake poked his head out of the bathtub drain
singing Christmas carols off key, singing a loud refrain
i saw a turtle when Cobra slithered down and away
bear stuck his paw through at the end of the day
i am in no hurry to take a warm relaxing bath now
imagining seeing an inverted muddy hoof of dairy cow
Mr Drain Pipe and Mr Water Tank
Oh I really do hope Mr Drain Pipe and
Mr Water Tank can
reach a
common decision about:
the best garden design (backyard at
this stage), the right shape and colour of
path bricks, the most suitable
hedges, the easiest grass to
maintain.
I took a visit inside my brain today
To check what was happening
It has been a little sluggish of late
Like a cloudy day not a clear day in spring!
It was dim on entering
So l turned on my lamp
It was really quite foggy
Felt a little damp
The memory section caught my eye
As there were countless empty spots
A bundle of wires nearby
All tied up in knots
The vision section was labelled
Though extremely hard to see
From a distance
I think it read:
h E L p M e
The emotional section was out of control
Eratic movements up and down
Huge highs , deep lows
Overstressed and unwound
My brain it seems is in great need
Of an overhaul and mending
Overwhelmed , l swiftly exited my brain
Service and repairs left pending
Never be swayed by a woman in need,
For "billing" is her constant creed.
"I'm hungry," "my gas is dry,"
Her words, a drain, a constant sigh.
Rescue not a woman from poverty's grasp,
For she'll seek escape, and leave at last.
Her heart, a calculator, cold and grey,
Values measured in economic way.
Survival tops feelings in her book,
A lady's love, a financial hook.
She seeks a man with deeper pockets still,
A richer partner, her heart's thrill.
No motherly love to nurture and mend,
Her regard for men, their financial trend.
Multiple suitors, a comparative game,
Her independence, a treasure to claim.
Few claim to help, but seek gain,
Interest and advantage, their aim.
Commanders, helpers, or so they say,
But men, beware, for you'll pay.
Men, work harder, be determined too,
Never look to a woman for help, 'tis true.
For in the end, it will go awry,
And leave you drained, with a heavy sigh.
You can stroke at my skin
Blow me kisses
Touch my hands
The legs I have scratched at leaving scares I'll never let you see
You could mean it all
You could love me.
You could give me everything I'd even need
Things like food or water
A life
From the blood flowing through my body
To the mind games
Things I need and things I don't
I could love you
I could hold your hand
I could laugh at all your stupid jokes
I could give you everything I have
Thats what I'll do for you
But that won't stop me from killing you
Watching the blood slowly drain you
Watching the worry coat your once beautiful features
I could do everything from the first stab into your gut to the deposing of your body
Then I'd consider the risk you took taking my hand and not hers
But of course you did take her hand
You held them carefully
You let her into the light we once shared
About toilet paper guests swipe
The staff at hotels have a gripe
They say steal it not
But buy one-ply Scott
Which won’t wipe out home’s sewage pipe
I shook my head, it rattled, all the words fell out on a blank page.
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