candle's light, I see
as if one rose burned
turn let go scent
my heart's falling
down your wick
and with my fire, its shadows
blush in your eyes,
play off walls,
melting made flickers,
that special twinge
l o v e m e budding
on my skin, ~as scorched~
roselit scarring
I wear my heart on paper
Ink fills my veins like blood
reviews cut like a razor
but I’m addicted to the pen.
I pump words with every heartbeat
I hoard paragraphs in my room
I take interjections like a junkie
I wear verbs like a parfum.
I’m feeling the contractions
as I erase awkward phrases
I write sad poems that feel like skin.
and fill sheets of diary pages
I blush at lurid pronouns
that I conjure then,
I consider putting word-play off
but I’m sentenced to the pen
.
.
.
*Inspired by Michael R. Burch's poem: At the Natchez Trace
Heartbreak for England
Three Lions fight to the end-
Belgium play-off next.
Cinderella Croatia
Blazers' first World Cup Final
Joined a blowing team
We bowled once a week
Practised, practised all week
Big tournament coming soon
All my team mates members
Had gotten the high scores
I tried to do the same
To get a strike wasn't easy
Sometimes three pins fall
Then I would get a gutter
ball
The tournament begins
All teams ready to win
Each team taking turns
Only one team would win
It wasn't my team
My certificate said
Play Offs Champion
I was so proud
Chicago – first in violence, city of potholes,
with no public parking and over taxed people;
loud, lawless, unlovely.
Half free and fighting on with corrupt government,
breaking its words, where temporary taxes become permanent.
Where people are afraid of political bugaboo,
self-righteous fraud, this big business man,
the doctrine of “addition, division and silence”,
where the grafter inspires the coward
and well-armed government.
Politicians who play off one party against another,
bad Democrat against worse Republican.
The corruption is not merely political; it is financial,
commercial, social, ethical –
oligarchy with representatives of special interest.
Do you know your shadow?
In darker times perhaps, my alternate host
Do you see it play off your role?
The way it dances to life like a wandering ghost
It only feels like someone to know
Shadows hiding to be seen
And where life ensues do they only follow
Perhaps my life to them is more a dream
As whole as my shadow will be though falling apart
He will not understand and neither will I
Perfect moments only last for the treasuring heart
Will my shadow remember me when I die?
And I choose to look at my shadow when in doubt
Because it won't understand and it won't judge
If you can and only tell me what life is about...
Perhaps my living life beyond a shadow won't be as such
Tell me your extraordinary role
A brighter time perhaps, when you are host
Did you forget to look for your shadow?
Because it dances your life into a withering ghost
The "Rhymers" guild; archaic faction,
We garner all the more detraction
Less, are we, in our attraction
More, we are, the poetic infraction
When free is verse, a form accursed-
Murders Art, fetch forth a hearse
For they coerced the Poems reverse,
And left our lines inverse- perverse!
*Title is a play off "It's Hard to be a Diamond in a Rhinestone World"
One day I'll burn bright
Their faces,
all full of fright -
Do you feel better now?
Just look,
It isn't hard to see.
You'll watch
As she falls to the ground -
Do you feel like a man?
Will you laugh
At the pain that was brought?
She'll lie to you -
Say it doesn't hurt
But,
She'll know it does.
Will you watch her burn?
Do you care.
She's breaking down.
Everyday it's going down.
But she'll play off
That she's strong.
Face down in the dirt...
When will you
Give up?
Will you move on?
She never will.
Will you forgive her?
She'll pretend to forget you.
She's finally had enough.
Until her pain goes away
She'll pretend your nothing
Lost, gone away.
What can I be, so colorful?
Who flies both day and night?
How can I be so colorful?
A predator in flight.
I have chosen so it seems,
to vie with God on high,
to decide with anonymity,
who will live or die.
Mindlessly, with disregard
for grace or soul or power;
Down I swoop without surcease;
all mankind to devour.
I had a choice but not a quest
to live or die or dream;
to work for higher consciousness
or continue with the scheme.
As I landed on man’s wrist
my tasseled talons grasp;
the henchman’s hood descended
as it past my eyes, he gasped.
Another day, another time,
perhaps, I’d chose the dream.
For the moment of this time
I’m locked within man’s scheme.
A play off Keith Bickerstaff’s “Higher Good”
I said you couldn’t hold me,
I told you I must scold thee.
Play tight and I will break free,
Play off and I must stroke three.
Twisting, writhing, jerking,
Shooting J’s and smirking.
You should be at work; box and clerking,
While I am here, going berserking.
Game is on today,
TOLD you I must slay.
Lebron-like in my foray,
Jordanesque in my ballet.
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