Glut Poems

Gates Shut, Game Closed!

The gate creaked, moaning and groaning to shut,
Sealing up, quelling, the bickering blame-game glut.
No you can’t sneak around, and jump the fence,
With grave looting cries of grief-stricken offense!
That won’t work anymore! So don’t strut up on-bail,
Clad in your ghostly godforsaken gossamer veil,
Claiming it was not your fault, 'cos you told no lie!
For snake-eyes have tears that very quickly dry!
The gist was far to hollow, for back-sliding disdain,
So go! The gate’s locked - you won’t get in again.

Rise of little brother

When big brother becomes too big
So large it has to put on a larger wig
When the inner cloister is as big as the outer
And detecting dissension becomes too easy to stir
That is when its helm begins to self-sabotage
The appeal of change is no longer a mirage
Its sheer weight disables its ability to pivot 
Like Rome’s fall, emerges ignitable toxic glut
The regime self-implodes with the slightest match

the scald war

the scald war

even the penguins
gotta pay tax to make U.S.
implode on greed glut

Where Tides once Gossiped

Where tides once gossiped for many an hour
about what lovers share; like grapes gone sour, 
the strong opinions o’ friends will minds devour.

A reputation guarded against smut
and smiles that’s ever radiant abut
the cultivated, fertile soil and glut.

A gentle breeze that ruffles the recall
of memories that bleed freely, then stall
at the precipice of confession – they fall.

Now fervour spent and mutinous thoughts gel
in favour of peace; not a too hard sell
before the final call by clamorous bell. 

As welcome waves engulf the thoughts and sweep
recall away, nostalgia recedes to weep.

Between the Masks

Wake up!
The grass is fading back to gray,
fall in love once more
with this sallow spoilage of the green.

Farewell to that verdancy
that must turn, at its height,
to an unpleasant glut.

Let those who have lived through
the byways
of this cobbled and stony world,
let them now rejoice
that a chilled and churning sky
has unearthed new steps in the dance
of life and death. Past and future
have exchanged their masks,
the rabbit and fox
will love each other forever now.

Sleep not!
The ice that kills will revive the strong
and extinguish the wrong.

Temptation

Mangoes, the first of the season,
sit plump and shameless in trays, 
their smooth skin tempting 
a passing hand to reach down
and touch them, one cut open 
sends the tongue into a spasm.
The market is a feast for the senses.

You need to walk slow 
and take it in, catch the smell
coming ripe from the cheese,
golden blocks and creamy white 
rounds speckled with mold
hang heavy in the enclosed air
of a stall. Salty, buttery, rich,
the nose lingers over each.

And further along, jams and preserves 
rainbow their colors from jars stacked 
high in pyramids and on a table,
trays of dried and glace fruit glisten 
a sugary sheen in a sunlit glut 
to the eye.  Swelling apricots,
pineapple pieces and pear halves 
bulge beneath clear plastic wrap.

It's almost overload to an old man,
stall upon stall of temptation, 
offerings of pleasures banned
by the diet police with their edicts
outlawing salt, fat and sugar.
On this warm, bright Saturday
afternoon in October I say f… em !.

A Short Drive into Autumn

September has mottled the forest maples.
South of here, zombie cicadas
chafe heated thighs,
but North of Tippecanoe
Shawnee trails lead into autumn.

We take photographs,
but the green still smothers
scattered red and yellow threads.
You touch a mossy tree trunk,
as if sensing the smoldering fuse
that will soon burn stale air
into golden sparks - a fire
that will paint from the inside out.

Too early, she says.
We head back down I-75,
where summer still consumes
the glut and vapor
of unemptied trash cans.

An Ounce Of Sweet

Cinnamon dreams aren’t spun with sugar;
Far too spicy for an ounce of sweet,
they are swirled with a magical purr;

Hearing buttery speech you’ll infer 
it’s much more than a sumptuous treat;
Cinnamon dreams aren’t spun with sugar;

Not too much glut is what you prefer;
On this diet you’re able to cheat,
they are swirled with a magical purr;

Somewhat of a high-end connoisseur,
their taste is on par with the elite;
Cinnamon dreams aren’t spun with sugar;

All natural, authentic, and pure 
a label void of any deceit;
They are swirled with a magical purr;

Hit with a viral spike? Here’s the cure:
Keep it disarming and yet discreet.
Cinnamon dreams aren’t spun with sugar,
they are swirled with a magical purr.

poetry

sculptured 
soulful words
are our endless streams
quenching mountains and plains’ thirst
as golden pens glut the barren lands with songs

Moon at Glut

Lunar nymphs crawl out my ear
Tickle songs ... at a midnight fair
Fill their cans with Crystal Clear
Drink up the moon, giggles flare
It's time to play on grass for hair
Running 'round without a care
Planet Earth and me and there we
play kick the can ... a midnight affair
Then with stick in hand and on a mare
I play polo and declare,
"I am the knight that rides the air!
Dome of eyes watch and stare
'til Morning Star, all disappears
and they retreat back in me ear

From Gaia’s Womb

Oh, Mother Earth, our sacred home,
Where we have life and freedom to roam.
Your beauty vast, your glut grand,
A gift to all, across the land.

Yet we humans have battered your grace,
With greed and folly, staining your face.
Pollution poisoned your air and seas,
While deforestation wounded your trees.

Now is the time to think strong,
And heal the Earth, to right the wrong.
Ecofeminism, powerful and kind,
Oh, Earth and women, intertwined. 

From Gaia's womb, all hopes spring,
For reverence and harmony for our offspring.
It is now time to tend the land,
And nurture it with a gentle hand.

With ecofeminism as the new mantra,
Let us join hands to plant the seeds of a new era.
Where all beings thrive in harmony,
And vow to always plant a tree fearlessly.

Sidewalk Chemist

I test the gum
And the scum
That came from
So many feet
Scrape the blood
And the crud
Between mud
Smooshed on concrete

I sample spit
Ample birds***
All with a flick
Of the wrist
Coz I’m your local
Wearing bifocal
Antisocial
Sidewalk chemist

I run a lab
And own a lab
Called Ahab
And when we walk
I grab a glut
Of cigarette butts
Ahab sniffs mutts
We rarely talk

I test the muck
Assay green yuck
Prod black guck
With tender care
Then it’s all tagged
Labeled and bagged
But I can’t drag
It to a fair

Data is sorted
Then transported
Where it’s reported
By sidewalk chemist
But the town hall
Says I have some gall
With my folderol
And I’m promptly dismissed

I’ve paid my dues
Been on the news
With great reviews
Now for an encore
I’ve been promoted
To test the foetid
And sweaty coated
Men’s locker room floor

Word Eater

Self-assertion blatant, repelling babble exuberant, closing floodgates you eschew, none fooled by you.

you speak,
winds shriek,

shout loud,
feel proud,

you brag
self tag,

your lies
none buys,

voice lone,
place shown,

musk breaks,
face wrecks,

mouth shut,
stops glut.

You blurt garbage dirt, off your guard, torn to shard, do a volte-face, eat words in disgrace.

           
                  
                  
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The Manna

A soloist Java Sparrow flits,
A cathedral canopy of arched branched leaves,
The sparkling daylight dances the vast green space,
Moss glut rock form protrudes aground sits,
Pews of raw design entertain flocks trade eaves,
Sparrows respect prompts to spring cascading grace,
Heaven gifted natural blessings flow,
Dove coos the flock of Sparrow's faithful pace,
A breath of peace on Earth nature receives,
Bestilled feathers as the sun sets aglow,
~God's Face ...

Vital

violet cosmos bends with the weight of a bumblebee
its honey a sway to blissful
slow drip tucked into breakfast glee

things of no small importance
vital
like forgiving mis-steps that neuter success
       or losing shackles of disappointment
to hear love-words nurturing branches of support

vital, like a baby's gurgle, language spilling 
                                            in infancy
as children outdoors skip in a fusilade of laughter

vital, like robins hopping in the surety of spring
when winter lifts folded veils of snow to a fresh brush
                                                                            of green

lives from strain to festive
sometimes shaky with apprehension 
in a carefully constructed freedom that respects
                                               diversity
                                               vital
like love transcending the glut of superficial

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