storms happen
happenstance stomps
selfish selfies inherit the wind
windmills become grist for the mill
Armageddon trending now
Utopia is Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day
go figure (& lie about the figures)
too many figurative flies in the proverbial soup
words float like moths to the factoid
sting like a bumbling bezoar
fly like a flock of birdbrains
put that in your pipe & tweet it
The me that you see’s just a face that I wear.
You have no idea what’s really on my mind.
The me of my soul regards you over there
As sly and elusive, your intentions undefined.
The me that you see stands a distance apart
From you coyly playing the role of a shrew.
The I of my mind steers a sensible course
By sidestepping driftwood and hazards like you.
You’ve been casting incantations
With your coven of dark ingenues.
I've been busy myself, pounding down my intentions,
Hammering a hard wrought point of view;
I don't need any more you.
As it is, it’s just grist for the mill.
But it leaves me with one thing I know,
We made as fine a couple
As Mr. Miller and Ms. Monroe.
Now take me off your mailing list.
I'll gladly burn your cards and letters, too.
We gave our torrid fling a New York minute.
It’s sad, but I can’t deal with any more you.
THIS SPACE REVERVED FOR
JOLTIN' JOE
( A THANK YOU! for several comments from poet Angichi Pombi of PoemHunter.com)
Your praise overwhelms with fog blanket of feeling
A magical gift, undeserved at same time,
Such a vision of rapture it sends senses reeling,
My voice is just wave-broken sea shell of rhyme.
I sit on the beach watching sunset in far West,
Perspective fades out, rolling fog kisses shore,
Whale pod family frolics, includes me, I’m their guest;
The calves’ heads are spinning, could heaven do more?
Could diamonds and gold dust from meteor shower
Be gift for the poet, so humbled by praise?
Though in darkest of moments, fear lies in this hour:
Such judgments pass poet for all of his days!
No, let me instead embrace views of all readers,
As grist for the mill that might polish my art,
Spin with calves at staid jealousy of bottom feeders,
All appetites sweep sea, let me play a part.
Long Tooth
February 19, 2017
Such dichotomy, “Aren’t we all?”
“Isn’t it all? Life, Geography, Ideology,
symbolic text on pages of humanities;
orgasmic growth?”
Eastern faces, sunrise, inward looking daze…
Western faces, sunset, outward gaze…
Poverty and wealth, defined, embraced.
The search for self.
Such necessary, painful, dichotomy…
Harmony and dissonance.
“Isn’t it all? Life.. Sexuality, Repression…
Grist for the mill, fodder?”
“The children of creation?”