Art Irony Poems

There's a false chord in the lullaby.
There's a dagger in the hand.
There's a stinger in the butterfly.
There's a scorpion in the sand.

There's harshness in the...

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When I pen lines, fresh thoughts of Vincent van Gogh
     strike me! How, with palette and brushes, he breathed
life's scenes onto...

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In a world of cutthroat 
Competition
Tension is a malady
Too common
To ignore;
Often
Inherited from
Parents
Who themselves may have
Received the DNA
From their own;

I am a past master 
In building...

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Nothing

Is said to be

The notion 

That ends the

Illusion of

Separation..

The illusion

Being the

Appearance of

Nothing......

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I'm an artist without a muse to capture 
Painting with no brush or sense of the soul
Sparking fire without a fuse or ember
Still I perceive...

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The Last Organ Grinder
                    
 ...

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My confession
I murdered them all
impostors
claims of poetic devices
when the evidence was only
rants piled upon rants

A circle of praises
made the courts dizzy
the frauds committed
only added to...

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In the expanse of purposeless existence,
We drift, untethered, searching for guidance.
Hope, a distant memory, elusive, unattainable,
No laughter escapes our lips on this path.

Days and nights...

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The investment industry, gambling in a scuba suit 
Interest rate risk, like blowing through a paper flute

Affairs of accounts, replacements for a lonely heart ...

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My "personal" apocalypse

 I lost my dreams... Yesterday
 I'm always losing things.. Little things
 Deliberately,
 but i blame you.
 Tomorrow I will be soaked to...

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There seems
A rawness of red..
Stories of
Blood and battle
Of red sunsets
Of red eyes
Of birthings
Of negative poles..
Uneasy 
Yet fulfilling
Appearances of
What is......

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War is the art of making a withdrawal at the bank 
With checks written in the blood of patriots 
Spending lives 
Without a care or...

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Schooling life- a main pursuit to learn,
Is surrounded by various impairments:
As much as catching fun-fill cruises, spurn!

Easier said than done- taking the right turn;
Good enough...

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Stay or let go; love is not perfect
Yet remains one thing by which humans connect...

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She never entered a ghetto.
She perfected a high-pitched falsetto.
At the Carnegie Hall
she could both enthrall and appall
as she shredded every libretto.

She's up there with her...

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