Selling the sizzle
and not the steak
Milking a lie
universities take
In debt-ridden wastelands
they prey on our youth
With worthless diplomas
— that mortgage untruth
*****
Whims That Betray
He sobs false remission
to skirt admonition
as his Guardian Angel
smiles ...
“What’s with the tears
after so many years
and choices rejecting
denial
“You did what you pleased
without Heaven appeased
and lay prostrate
feigning regret
“This game isn’t played
at the whims of betrayal
And called you must pay
— for what tears can’t correct”
*****
Love Centered Circle
The things that I’ll miss
are the things I looked past
Those small hidden moments
in memory that last
Giving up little
to chase what had burned
Distracted I forayed
the magic unlearned
Now distant a loner
I look for those tracks
I made through greed’s sand
to find my way back
Because there in the center
holding all that we give
A love centered circle
— where joyousness lives
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
I remember the grief in Samuel
when Saul failed,
like the grief in Nile
when blood crept into it —
just like it creeps into the bones of
this earth.
The rage in grief is distant but distinct,
escorted by bits of frozen nuts
and wizened grains of desert sand,
white assembly of killing spectres in
a background of black eclipse with
lunar talons
and swords of claws
and jars of cold tears.
Oh, how Samuel grieved for Saul!
The mourning is immense . . .
Sempervirence fossilised
along abbeys forayed with hot silt
and Dane guns of lewd hunters
Pulsations and acrid fever,
with the disease of camels, are frequented by
a recrudescence of the mastodon,
In liaison with his extended kinsmen the dinosaurs.
We are livid with mourning,
for the soul of a toothless one
gone from us
this grey day of elegy
and season of potent grief.
Fetters exist, and persist, swinging in
our faces like treasures of hell
where we hear that bug-ridden mats
are spread for us;
there, chants of elegy
hoot,
and black furnaces boil
and smelt
the repast we are to devour.
a witches familiar
this fiery rabbit hops to a spell
with a gewgaw in his paw
a witches doer
this forayed hopper dances well
with a song or two or more
a witches seer
this furry bunny on the bell
with a bouncing at the door
a witches worker
this funny imp in a grassy dell
with naughtiness in store
Left, to my right,
another half
As two we’re whole,
on different paths
My cloudless sky,
your world in shade
Whose peace endears,
my war invades
Our grass once greener,
turns to brown
A soul we share,
now turned around
Symbiotic,
twins we pray
Conjoined in conflict,
—hearts forayed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
I rummaged through
the ancient ruins
and scoured
the carnage of our times;
I searched the scorching
expanse of the arid deserts,
I peeked into the crevices
of the broken hearts,
and probed the dark realm
of the deranged minds;
I looked in the dead ashes
of the funeral pyre,
I ransacked every nook and
cranny of the cemeteries
And forayed into the desolate
womb of the barren woman --
But did not find death!
I then looked at
the first flush of spring--
The blossoming flowers,
The fluttering butterflies
The humming bees,
The rising robust sun;
And found the hand of death.
I found death in the unyielding
faith of the trusting hearts,
In the ardent prayers
of the desperate souls,
And in the unbridled
passion of the heart;
Even in birth and
in the sprouting seed
I found the omnipresence of death.
yeah, I found death in life!
~'Death Shadow' contest by Justin Bordner
Venerations Ablazed
Altruist veneration in an endeavour
Let the dew drop onto the leaf
Untamed dew,but chose to fall
Upon the sordid soil in grief
Blossomed lilac benignly pleased
Nectar! quench the beetle's thirst
Beetle in lieu fought to escort
Whimsy pollen along the dust
Clumsy pebble lost in womb
Sharpened and curved surfaces
Blisters on foot may rest for a while
Edges shed mighty all graces
Canvases all soaked in blues
Palette when agreed to save
Offerings of the candid quill
Rendered oblations of nave
Ethos forayed,venerations ablazed
Weary arms cosied endeavour
Clinched in the stead of hatred
He hustled his frump manoeuvre
The sun shines once more
In the midst of this downpour
Thought I was getting used to
Be forayed in this crusade
Till that warmth touches my soul
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