If I could, dream and forge my life around those dreams
and not allow the waterfall to wash away and erode those dreams.
To come out victorious and glorious, growing, evolving and developing
and not let those break my heritage and hinder a building a world of peace.
If I could, waltz into a world of truth and encouragement; a sense of belonging instead of being rashly deem in false misleading statements
as to make me doubt.
If I could, travel back into time and alter the present instead of spent events
and old hurts and learn from experience not allowing other to hold me back.
Let me accept the things that I cannot change and change the things I can.
My growth in faith and trust in God.
10/28/2018
Pathological spit-steroid addict,
blame-shifting weightlifting fanatic
Decathlon cracked lip truth ...
Jumping over another
high cloudy crystal
methane alibi
aloof sprint hurdle
Twisted twin-lip discus throw
on a poppy milk turbo fan blow
Veracity record unverified:
Marathon factual finishes
don’t have a Mary Jane
Photoshop shred of proof
Possessing a prosthetic tongue
allows them half-truth pole vaulters
to perform
those verbal gymnastic,
lying athletic feats of strength,
so hash mark daringly
Yielding honesty sweat labor sparingly
Such a Festivus mucous odor:
pandemic ground-zero celebration fête
Noxious nitro nostril gas,
on a downhill imposter incline oxy splat
Lie ability
don’t hinder a moral victory thief,
it’s a boon to the burglar, actually
Carousel tales ... up-and-down lung sales
giving hazy, rowboat circular details
Ever racing for the Pinocchio prize,
wouldn’t knowz
losers,
with smelly rumor toes ...
Fan the foul exhaust fumes —
when their tale pipe empty,
bad-breath bellow sneakers
reach the end of the road
Nature sonnet
I have been walking in a domestic land abandoned and
Left to go wild and there is a struggle for dominance among
The trees the olive and carob tree especially
Grow tall and imposing while berry bushes use their long
Claws like talons to attack and hinder a walker by letting him
Bleed and fertilize the ground where cows and mules no
Longer leaves behind their residue.
I`m waiting for my favourite plant a small bush so shimmering
light it is transparently green take lift after a few days
To the planet wench they came.
I`m glad the hunting has stopped for now to give animals
A chance replenished and be shot and hunted by dogs in fall.
The house on Elder Street is old,
menopausal in fact,
with no signs of children at play.
A lovingly maintained lawn
rolls gently from front porch
to the vine-covered mailbox
standing guard alongside
the blacktop pavement.
No fences hinder a visitor,
four-legged or two.
Built of strong stuff,
possessing a concrete foundation,
its exterior is real brick - not veneer.
Belonging once to a king,
this castle’s only turret
is a mighty stone chimney
capable of warming hearth and hearts.
Inside, a man could serenade his wife
while she let down her hair
without the neighbors hearing.
Then why the carefully stenciled
‘Reduced for Quick Sale’ sign
plunged deeply into the earth
near the verdigris number marker?
Why not instead,
‘Costs More – Appreciated with Age’?
Weathered house or leathered man –
fewer days of existence
makes one more desirable,
they say.
Sometimes outward blemishes
become more a factor in determining worth
than warmth, character,
and undeniable inner-charm,
but true value can be recognized
in the beauty of a deal, not curb appeal.
101 Elder Road would be a good investment.
The spirit within comes free.
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