We can build an orrery
Yet turn the sky into a junkyard
We're abecedarian, quirky contrarian
Stare decisis from cosmic ovarian
Subaltern, suborbital
Small steps on the heavenly stairway
Pedestrian stardust walking around
Tariffing penguins to tear up the ground
But the stairway is spiral
And it's spiraling down
No escape from the gravity
Found all around
Eyes searching the cosmos
For myopic bliss
In a fallacy galaxy
Far from star-kissed
We're worst when we're first
At least in our mind
Quoting chapter and verse
From each tract that we find
On the ground underneath us
That shifts with each step
Tract's gotten infected
Yet onward we schlep
Each bearing the burden
Of truth stumbled across
When we can patch the thatch
On the roof that we've lost
In that storm of ideas
That threatened the shelter
We've built for ourselves
Unstable ideas full on the shelves
We've forgotten to look
For the beauty inside
While we're gathering dust
From under our feet
Instead of uncovering
What's come from above
While planting our hopes
In the promise of love
My father's garden cradled in my memory
had breathtaking chrysanthemums, ravishing dahlias,
along with playful jinias,
he dreamed of a life around those breathtaking flowers,
digging and watering, and pruning the hedges,
a life full of tranquility, connected with ethereal nature,
like a fascinating picture painted by a visionary artist
with shades of lush green...
painted with brown soil, golden sunshine, and pouring rain.
I see his powerful hands dusty with mud,
holding the tools with strong grasp,
his upright face crimson toiling in the sun,
his whole body in a position of worship,
praying to nature.
This is a dream which never happened to him.
He did not have a chance to live in his dreamland.
If it's not too late
and you can relate
I'll state my position
as my fate I await
destiny or volition
as it is writ
in the fullness of time
the fan it will hit
meanwhile I'll
follow my dream
go against the flow
and swim upstream
Carol did not know anything about the five of swords
from the soothsayer’s face she wondered about it
the startled fortuneteller quickly gathered herself
mentioning the value of taking care of yourself
So, this was a selfish card in her future position?
Carol resolved to look it up herself when she got home
She had many tarot cards, but had not noticed this one
It was not something that stood out in her readings.
The five of swords is both a beacon of hope and a dire warning.
Carol was unsure which one was going to apply.
As this tarot card had landed in the future position.
Possibly means starting new endeavors, she counted on this.
I sought the throne of honor high,
Where crowns and praises touch the sky.
I dreamed of titles carved in gold,
Of power, fame, and hands to hold.
But when I reached the mountain’s crest,
And stood where pride had claimed its best,
I saw a King—so pure, so meek—
Whose glory shone upon the weak.
His throne was not of earthly might,
But mercy’s flame and heaven’s light.
And there I learned, with trembling heart,
Where true exalted souls depart.
For higher than all thrones of men,
Is kneeling down before Him then.
The greatest crown one soul can meet—
Is dust and tears at Jesus’ feet.
The highest rank, the grandest call,
Is losing self to give Him all.
For glory blooms where pride retreats—
The highest place… is at His feet.
© 2025 Dennis Macusi. All rights reserved.
This poem is an original work by the author and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission
they are waiting for their next check
they will take position and wait to attack
Miss i am asking you to step back
a hungry animal can't think straight
they will hang you to play as bait
take position before it is too late
Proud poets parade playful wordy wit,
Their careful craft becomes just diddly s..t.
No matter how hard we may try
Can’t outdo IQ of AI.
Shall we hoist the white flag and run with it?!
Digital era deemed undignified,
As bright grey matter becomes atrophied.
Before the mindset goes awry,
We shall eschew diddly AI -
Its fatuous facade is dead inside!
Gold per ounce the weight of
the trophy
Sake denounced the intent of
The Songbird
Might love pronounce me in
announcement
Closer than my goals
to achievement
Inspiration inspire
to such elevations
To make envy those
who opposed me
Inspiration quiet my foes
Into shame
Might they stand in such
Awe of me
Inspiration make my way
Clear, unopposed I might
Sooth my way clear
Might I stand to thank
thee
Inspiration make me
Worship thee
The story
He seemed to gain, that he would spend in such for quality
Paired, both with the same purpose. Such inclusion to create
the greatest entity. The sounds of harmonic voices. Soothing
Melonic tones. Orchestrated perfections. Lyrics of collaborated tones!
Temperer de Adagio
Sweet bassy Grooves.
Platinum Panties
On the right song
Like a good woman
Something Really Special!
Toasting perfection a smooth
Coupled togetherness
Horns and strings and all sorts
Of Polite and Courteous thangs!
When the wood wins!
Compromise is only a weakness between
two people who are unwilling to work together.
I dwell on this statement. Just what does it mean?
Well, if with another you refuse to work,
I would have to say it’s very clear
your unwillingness makes you one big jerk.
Frozen in a steeley net, Canadas Christmas present; now
In much regret' Christmas's past were steeped in deception
Christmas present, and the people request; re-direction! It
Seems that weather? Whether or not' could it be a reason
That the numbers have stopped? I call on the Lord, by
Jesus name! To restart the process, and redress the peoples pain' this puppets strings they re-quest you cut'
And on the Christmas's of future your 'door will shut' upon
All despotisam of externall source, of evil intent I plead recourse; oh Lord of all' all thats really good
I turn to you, as all should .! Take away the reins from human hands, smile upon this nation as only you can!
May they recognise' and join my plea, enter their churches
And pray to be.' Released from bondage unto freedoms
Stand, A sign to the wotld that the 'Great I Am' has stood
In the gap' has torn down man! As He will at the end as
It says in 'His plan'
"a missionary's position"
it's full moon
and i always
think of her
but
not
in that
that way
but
exactly
in that
other
darkness goes to light
the light goes the dark
there is consolation on the way.
Dottie moved six states away to get rid of her stalker
not realizing how long his reach is or how many cousins he has.
a lovely day at the park where she buys balloons on a whim.
One of the balloons turns as she sits on the bench.
His giant eye fastened itself to her, watching her every move.
I am in position, he reports back to headquarters.
The man who paid the balloon guy smiles, she is still his then.
The past is not deprived of its events
resting in the bosom of bygone valley,
carved in rigid love craftily decent
like the gulp graciously landing at sea port of belly.
While the future eludes not the belle
with whom it has had memoir in hallucination
of seducing hands, tender in caressing its belly
for commensurate rewards in anticipation.
Meanwhile, I’m like a hand of time
progressively sitting in the middle
of the counted and uncounted mines.
Maverick confronted with seasoned dribble.
When will I stop my heels from accelerating in cycle?
The weary marathon is recycled
such that it leaves considerable intervals yet to be circled,
even though I always thread forward in retrogressive circle.
No counting is of the old
till I grow old in the cold.
Shrouded in a coat as I repeatedly quote
‘Who Am I?’
Tensing, and about to move,
Clouds hover twisting with hoof,
Lingo parapentes this flush body:
Hurling shavings’ stop the prove.
A whale, psycho or streetlight:
Moss convenes the hefty truss,
Armoured spears fling to the bat,
Frozen in time to lure the buzz.
Naked! Bereft of pen and paper -
Paparazzi’s might slithers in dipole:
Collision kills this vapour, tribe, vibe;
The soul fraps, flapping a gold taper.
Whence is thy labour parapet -
Where are your stations and grain?
Why are solid requests paraphernalia?
When adjustments are fisture gain.
How you loath me - the self, soul:
Incanting verse and troth to fight;
Whilst proxy, spread, call, sound,
Legitimise oozing, sore canons - tight.
Butterflies come from caterpillars,
The human comes from trait, said dead,
Poesy loves grammatical technology,
And diversity clothes in personal thread.
O self, worldwide! How do you drift?
The miniature scoops cleaving the spirit:
Fine detail creates the abstract flint beside,
And structure charts float the pixel’s sift.
Dominique Webb
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