Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Display onstage rapt passion swept a coup,
convey snap gemstone verse devoid of cue,
author duty bound might accent focus,
daughter birthing play has heart light locus.
Rounds of earnest clapping greet bold set piece,
grounds for earthquake valour a bright life lease,
bowing to staunch flock who treasure art form,
wowing maestro coterie, vast novel norm
We’re spinning in circles, more of the same
induced to cut loose from this coiled regime
As our heads are enveloped with this unending earworm:
the land is burning, hope is going, when can we get out?
Dining on our daily portion of despair
suicides ripple through, crippling the status quo
We hear an ever-crescendoing whisper to a roar:
the land is burning, hope is going, it’s time now to get out!
Answer what informs your constitution,
Gain it back–traverse! And disperse it even more
Respite seldom hinges on overcoming what’s to come—
when the land’s burning and hope’s going, it’s the time to get out
I held
a red rose
to face, to feel its grace.
To see, and touch and trace,
the wellspring of its beauty.
It's not in lush of blush of petals,
Nor in the sleuth to avoid its thorns,
Nor in its color reflected when held under a chin.
But in its fragrance, its crux, emanating from its core,
that trips the pivot point of perception to delve within.
To the essence of the 'within of things', flushed from heart, spirit, soul.
He did it because no one else could have done.
Hands raised in praise, yet so few ever know.
I guess it’s enough just to know that he won,
but there’s more I wanted to understand so
I sought for an answer, unwritten in pen -
why he subjected himself to it all?
Why the injustice from birth until when
the climax when God turned his face to the wall,
leaving him suffering there on his own?
Agony far beyond what man can bare,
purposely facing the cruel cross alone.
A perfect injustice beyond all compare.
Why was this needed? I wondered for years.
Nothing I found helped me understand til,
amidst my search a new question appeared -
what was the void that his grace had to fill?
I’d read that he had to succumb the demands
of justice so that all mankind may be saved,
but who demands justice? I don’t understand!”
That’s where I was but from there it all changed.
For just like a balance that hangs in the scale,
everything pivots around where it’s braced.
So likewise, it all hinges on this detail...
and once I learned it, the rest fell in place.
What's found at the crack of an egg
wonderin if I have somethin', anything
left to say..
bright yolk or young generations hope..
open your mind, try if you can
whether breakfast or prayer for man.
Y'know I go to visit the lonely in their lonesome lands..
sit a spell, hold their hands.
Visit with Bukowski, well of course I would.
A lit cigarette held in shears..
expertly placed beween the spring and the pivot point,
tryin' to learn the meaning of the word poet.
We're all stuck like swirling smoke
between the spring and the dull edge,
hoping for shear ecstasy in cut rapture
like passing of the last carnation (flower for Mariupol).
Searching for myself in spoken word
just may've found it..
In verse of Cohen's Hallelujah, brought to
life in an age of Buckley, an age of genius
and beauty.., tho'
perhaps a little short-lived..
proof there's so much more we can give.
MY 37TH ANNIVERSARY
After years of inebriation
My life was just a mirage
My friends had lost all favor
Communication was all nonverbal
The smiles were no longer dulcet
My diligence to be a model employee
Had become a delicate affair
The allure of a promotion vanished
My life had become unmanageable
Then, I hit a pivot point
I finally came to my senses
Like the Prodigal Son of Scripture
Who returned home to his father
I returned to my Heavenly Father
And now live a life of serenity
On January eleventh 1982
I lost my desire for alcoholic brew
I now have the consolation
Of living my life anew
23 February 2019
For the contest sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
How quickly the pivot point flips and flops,
like a see-saw tipping from side to side.
As soon as you start to win the debate
the focus veers to a new direction
towards the oblivious distraction,
to ease the pain that intense thought can cause,
or the humiliation of defeat.
If you're in trouble, change the topic slightly
away from what's known to unknown terrain
to "Yes, But" and "What about" and "How Come".
Such subtle diversions create mayhem
deviously dragging the plot away
to irrelevancies and bogus tracks,
to oblivious irresolution.
Obliterate the devious diversions tricks
especially aspersions about you.
Learn to recognize the signs beforehand.
Learn how to lever the game back on the track,
Guard against oblivion's trap door.
Learn to stay vigilant, on track with what you know about.
For diversion to ignorance is oblivious bliss.
She pondered that big question.
What was life to her now?
Is she?
on the road
to past repeating
walking towards
psychotic beating
Is she?
stumbling down
completely untreated
crawling alongside
udder defeated
She answered that big question.
This is her life now!
She is
pivot point paths
fowardly creeping
deflating reasoning
beyond just healing
She is
wired inside
electrical feeling
ending timed cycles
in holy completing
Balance
symmetrical existence
life divided equally
peaceful calm, steady thoughts
equilibrium
three stars
Orion's belt
lead the way through astral lore
guardian of the nighttime sky
complete with sword and shield
keeper
of the lighthouse
stays our path in winter's sky
pivot point for astronomers
we hunt for the Hunter
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