Night thunder arrives. Occult spacecraft descend,
hurl giant underbellies of sound downward -
climactic events galvanize grouting and glass.
The next boom is distant, yet lightning streaks
across closed eyes.
Backyard bones are starkly illuminated,
perhaps even scorched?
An astral mythology shakes its bright spears.
Is that the crackling of flaming grasshoppers?
Then on the roof, a thud and flopping of metallic fins,
is it an alien craft or an armored coelacanth?
For an instant, minds are thrown out of their skins.
Parallel lines collide; pidgins drop, stunned
by a siren sky.
From an upturned trashcan lid, an electric Venus
is seen rising from her ancient scallop.
She is sexually charged and triumphantly aglow,
about her, the fallen twitch on.
Categories:
grouting, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Thunder arrives.
Occult spacecraft hurl giant underbellies of sound
downward -
galvanize grouting.
A thud on the roof,
broken feathers flop.
An electric pause,
time twitches on.
Categories:
grouting, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Night thunder arrives. Occult spacecraft descend,
hurl giant underbellies of sound downward.
Climactic events galvanize grouting.
The next boom is distant,
other places are scorched or illuminated
by quixotic hosts -
you never know with astral mythology.
The crackling of flaming grasshoppers,
then on the roof, a thud and flopping of fins,
as armored coelacanth are thrown out of their skins.
Only the menstrual blood of virgins
can ward off showers of frogs.
Parallel lines collide; stunned pigeons drop
from the darkness.
From upturned trashcan lids, Venus is seen
rising from her scallop.
She is sexually charged, triumphantly aglow.
About her, the fallen twitch.
Categories:
grouting, poetry,
Form: Free verse
You are not perfect, you say;
Well, nobody is, say they.
Have you analysed yourself enough
to realize what makes you imperfect;
Or that which keeps you from being an epitome of perfect?
Have you?
A payoff of hundreds of decades of evolution are you;
About the struggles and efforts of your ancestors,
Do you even have a clue?
There is perfection in imperfection, they say.
You don't have to twist your brain to this paradox, I say.
If you struggle with the idea,
to you that was told;
Remember, they make broken bowls perfect,
by grouting cracks with gold.
Millions of years the world had to wait,
Before it could have you.
And that, you shouldn't just see through,
Surely not let them use you as bait!
The universe respects you;
more than you would ever know,
You need to realize the worth of yourself
and keep forever that glow.
Categories:
grouting, beautiful, beauty, deep, philosophy,
Form: Free verse