Winter
Black cloud enshroud blue horizon while migrating birds tweet their last goodbye
Arctic winds weigh down bare naked branches watching blinding storms streak by
Above forsaken lodge tower sequoias like sentinels safeguarding an empty citadel
Hungry bison scrapes damp earth for green grass then uncovers a nourishing well
Immaculate summits shed kaleidoscopic colors pondering the splendor of next fall
Snowflake encrusted serpentine rivers inside the path of an imminent frigid squall
Taking agile steps shivering wolves defend lives at stake to outfox predacious gun
Aging leaves tumble toward battered ground envying the sky waiting for the sun
Penned:
01/10/2018
12:37 P.M.
West Palm Beach, Florida
There once was a poet who screeched like a monkey
Belligerent cuss and stubborn as a donkey
Was quite disputatious
Boringly vexatious
In fact, I'd be inclined to label him a bit wonky
Others have mentioned he's much too bodacious
Unyielding when he's wrong, gruffly tenacious
Liked to spit and spatter
Madder than the Hatter
Victimized fine poets and fiercely predacious
One should wonder if his mental wiring was loose
Because his ranting insults were bitterly profuse
Drivel and poppycock
Game hen liked to squawk
Lacking discernment and most definitely obtuse
March
brought me closer
to the spoken word
March
created thunder
never before heard
March
left forever its stamp
and imprint
March
so predacious
April bleeding
—in red ink
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Of all the critters men have cursed,
The hateful hairy tick is worst.
His charm conceals a crudest quest
To snag you in his noxious nest.
Beware his lure! Don’t cross that line!
His bite will blight your nimble mind!
Once fooled, your failed defense will flee:
You’ll be as false and foul as he.
You’ll kiss your intellect goodbye.
You’ll sprout a vile, predacious eye
To watch for weaker wits than you
And crush them in your quagmire, too.
But if you fear the hairy tick,
Don’t fall for his most scary trick:
The more you crucify this crook,
The more like him you’ll start to look!
If your ego is capacious
Or your appetite voracious
For a plucky, pertinacious
Confidence in cherished creeds,
Then your genius, though sagacious,
Conjures arguments audacious
Never seeing they’re fallacious:
Truth be told, you’re in the weeds.
Your disease: a contumacious
Predilection for tenacious
Relics of the late Cretaceous
Buried deep within your soul.
Now the clash of clues vexatious
Shows your self-made strait hellacious;
Still your will proves efficacious
To maintain your status quo.
In the face of facts veracious
When your mood is disputatious
You remain unfazed, pugnacious,
With your slowly dying breed.
Your rebuttals wax loquacious
To escape the perspicacious
But they seem a mite mendacious
To the few who pay them heed.
Though my grousing is ungracious
And my rhyming ostentatious
I won’t stoop to be salacious
For the horror’s grim and cold:
While your heart still soars flirtatious,
Charmed by pterosaurs predacious,
Laxness leaves your brain crustaceous,
Drying, hardening in its mold.
The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.
Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.
On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.
Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same
If you don’t want much…
Than a little is a lot
Possessions can own you
Heart and soul
To most they’re a crutch
Needed likely as not
Yet are just another onus upon you
And they play a greedy role
For the more you want
The more you need
Pride a predacious creature
And once takes root
It becomes…a pernicious
Insistent preacher
Less is more…
It’s carefree life
In many ways…
Devoid of strife
More oft than not
So if you want for less
Tis more truth than guess
That a little…Is a lot…
Life's but a tired merchant,
devoid of all but the most barren, cracked wares,
peace is but a carrot on a stick,
in lands where poisonous, gaseous winds,
fly frightfully above the barren sands,
And the taps spout burning plumes of gas,
roaring, rushing gusts of fire and ash,
whistling the war tune of falling bombs they still persist,
and line the distant dunes like rusted gods,
But it's alright, the crying never ends,
the crying of men and women,
beasts and children;
for all the world's a sandbox too,
And we patrol the petrol sands,
with rifles and the blood of many,
on our cracked and weathered,
impoverished hands,
And to us; all the world's but a vendor's paradise,
lacking the decency of observed humanity,
ripe for that rape which is harvest,
Trapped behind a wall, a line that we ourselves built,
of ruined stones and weak mortar,
I sing the fight song of my school of thought,
beware the predacious merchant by which we all are bought,
Yet we soldier on,
myself and my friends whom know little else in life,
we face this ugly, cracking wall of false perception and might...
And we drop our dead from above it by night.
Predacious paralogisms of parodies
Pantheans pantomiming
Their self indulgent songs....
Piping their illusions from realities
While the world crumbles about their feet
These axioms of paracymenes souls
Prophesied, from the prophets times
Copyrights....
Fulfilling their tales told
These fallacies of fathoms fantasies
Delusioned dreams, of grandeurs scenes
While portraying....
The pretties of something else?
These wisdoms, within a wayward life
Of philosophies and beliefs
That they themselves
Truly, do not even know....
Always searching, but never finding
Amissful within the crowds, the flocks
From which they call their own?
As blindly, they swashingly swagger
Parading, among the golden peacocks
These feathers....
That fill their straw laced hats
Predacious paraligisms of paradies
Pantheons pantomiming
Their self indulgent songs....
Delusioned from the realities
Amid a world, that gravely crumbles
From beneath, their darkened soul!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyrights....
Blatant entities afford,
not mine - not thine, some over lord,
without refine, without explore,
predacious, not of Heaven's ford.
Entwines around my mind as scored,
while thee in distance lose restored
of my own being - overboard
wth worry, tarried with remorse.
Collateral's true worth is force,
of God's own will in its resort.
No reprimand can alter course,
but of His calling - His endorse!
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