Phosphorescent planetary
paths petrify prematurely,
Profoundly powerful
photospheres perish
pathetically,
Prominences polarize,
Propagating parabolic
phantom - shadows,
Preterite plasma - bursts
petrify periodically,
Precipitating permanent,
pitch - black primordial -
gloom,
Prototypical pulsars
paradoxically portend post-
stellar doom,
Profound planetary
patriarchs perish perpetually.
This far have stood back from, life
Its lonesome edge
As dimly seen, there overhung
Was sought by none.
A scary viewpoint. Fright's own!
I invited.
Away from all; their noises.
But one; voice's
If but heart-echoingly
Which place, haunted
Shook out winds, as whisper-shy
A teared reply.
left prematurely due to mystery illness
At eleven p.m., I start my day
Thinking, maybe this is not so o.k.
Since I wake up at seven
Hmm, I may just reach heaven
A tad prematurely ~ to my dismay
What he really wanted
was a girl that was dumb enough
to love him prematurely
as if he were a project to be worked upon,
however grey hairs
in an otherwise flaxen field,
foretold a rocky end
to yet one more silver-tongued fox.
In a frouzy saloon
he hitched-up with a slow thinking,
quick drinking woman,
someone’s ex
on a reliable government check.
Eventually settling down with her
in a holler in West Virginia.
He took off his Stetson,
dutifully plowed her and some scant acres,
while collecting motor parts
for his fantasy truck -
plumb out of luck
he could never quite put it together,
no matter how well
he stummed his old guitar at the local bar.
Dawn’s creep arrives unnoticed,
camouflaged by dense fog.
Stressed trees,
shed leaves prematurely on this Labor Day,
and in the driveway, I hear Doves enjoying,
their menu for today.
A holiday breakfast of smashed Acorns,
courtesy of our car tires.
This breakfast is served up annualy
by an Oak Tree I planted fifty + years ago.
Forecast is for scattered showers,
but it won’t matter, no cookout planned.
I’ll do what I’m doing and sip cooling coffee
from my favorite “published poet” mug.
It won’t be Myleopathy,
C.K.D., C.H.D that kills me,
It will be all this excitement!!!
Jesus Loves Us!
I can’t believe you’re not in the world anymore.
It’s like someone turned off all the lights
And the world went home.
The party, prematurely cut off—
Your face contours etched into my biology.
I feel you in every empty space,
Every pregnant pause.
You are the words I’ve forgotten,
The car keys I lost.
You are the second before I wake up,
My fevered dream.
You’re in every atom, every breath—
But damn, I still can’t feel you.
I want to melt and fade into you.
The silence is a violence
I challenge with poetry.
I throw metaphors
Into the void,
Hoping the void will answer back
In your voice.
Death is not the answer—
But the truth.
Grief is a runaway train
Ploughing through fields of wildflowers
Where we sat once,
Almost touching.
I still wait for your hand in the dark.
And I never got to say goodbye.
And the lights never came back on.
God Wants Our Best
Miracle Man
4/8/2025
At the beginning of life all don’t start the same,
many have the advantages of money or name.
No person ever knows what their life might entail,
some will become dreamers and see many dreams fail.
But many will be an over-comer to some degree,
Committed to success, others living life carefree.
But God has placed in each the will to survive,
The only thing equal is that we start out alive.
God gives us discernment of right and wrong,
He takes some prematurely, some lives He’ll prolong.
But an expiration date has been assigned to each,
we must not betray His trust by our actions or speech.
Let the air
stay freshly air
and the breeze
breeze freely along
let death not be
our care
let love not seem
so often rare
let your heart
not prematurely
feel undone
let God have His
Living Fun
He blinks in and out in a wingchair,
overhears what visitors say
when patients
can be talked about
as if not there.
People speak well of the dying,
even of dying strangers,
to him their words
prematurely shovel earth.
The terminally sick
must be accommodated,
penciled into time slots,
eased gently into oblivion.
He listens as he slips downstream
on a raft of morphine.
These last trips are scenes taken
from childhood books.
His own life story has become
absurd, it is almost as if
he is a character in someone else's life,
a Huckleberry Finn
whistling through Dantes Inferno.
What he really wants
is a rocking horse and ice-cream.
A nurse brings him ice-cream,
but it's the wrong flavor.
He wonders if anyone can see
the horse he rides upon,
his ten-gallon hat is as white
as a flying nun's Cornette.
The occasional visitors
watch the dying in dreadful relief.
Hypnotic minds drone like trapped bee's.
Frank Sinatra jets in from wonderland,
hands him a coloring book.
If only he had crayons
to fill in the blanks.
I've always had the sneaking suspicion I'd never grow old.
I'm decaying prematurely,
slowly rotting in my core with every mind-numbing day.
"Why must every good thing get ruined?"
Home is no longer where happy is.
So why have you staked your claim on my psyche?
Cold blue tile is the foundation from which two children build their world.
I can discern from it nothing but terrifying probabilities.
Everything has an end.
Here we are timeless.
Poems selected (some from this account, some from another, some never posted):
1. Blue Marker Castles
2. Decaying Prematurely
3. Saturday, December 22nd
4. Words I'll Never Say
5. ComeHoming - Matthew 15:4
6. On Cybercoercion
7. Airport Cherubs
8. Winter's Warning
9. Who am I without achievement?
10. Nothing really changes in an airport
I’m decaying prematurely,
with a marked efficiency I never utilized in life.
Bits of ash float from my mouth each time it opens
and my hands mark all I touch
with a temporary smudge.
I’m going out like a burning star.
I can feel it.
My friends receive text after text of inane thoughts
impossible for anyone to appreciate.
They have no value;
I’m simply yelling into a void.
I want you to know me before I go.
Take what you can from this ash I leave.
Through the rubble lies sunsets and love for you.
Maybe it’s ruined, but I’ll heave it towards you anyway.
I hope there’s any value in it
to make my passing slightly bittersweet.
I’ll love you from below.
I swear on it.
So many documented cases when hope,
Was prematurely extinguished by Doctors,
So many documented cases when hope,
Was about to be extinguished by law,
But before sentence could be carried out on hope,
They witnessed hope's flame burning brighter than ever,
Resulting in more questions than answers on the nature,
And purpose of hope.
As far as faith in miracles is concerned.
Yet I still have no definitive answer to my question,
Should we ever decide when others should give up hope,
Except that to err is human,
And forgiveness of those who get it wrong,
Or have clear evidence that hope has moved on,
And hidden it for misguided or mischievous reasons,
May be the only way,
With hopefully a realization over time that hope,
Albeit fickle or not, is what keeps many a human in the game,
Long enough for miracles to come to fruition.
At a very young age
He knew what he wanted to be
Like his father before him
A ‘Keeper of the Sea’
He married his childhood sweetheart
They loved unconditionally
Dreams and hopes for the future
Of raising a family
They lived in the lighthouse cottage
A loving home comfortable and cosy
They didn’t have or want for much
A happy life lived modestly
Both felt at one with the lighthouse
Admired the splendor and strength of the sea
The magnificence of the night sky
Awed by the stars and moon's artistry
Sadly, the universe had different plans
She left this world prematurely
A devastated broken man
Now alone in his lighthouse by the sea
The years rolled by slowly
An old man now was he
Still in his beloved lighthouse
As ‘Keeper of the Sea’
Each night since she passed he talked to her
He felt her presence and love in the Lantern Room
It soothed his lonely soul and his sorrow
Being closer to heaven, the stars and the moon
Morning Coffee & Apple Fritters
Miracle Man
October 2, 2024
At mornings first light
wind existing as a whisper.
Soon future fall mornings
will become much crisper.
With coffee mug in hand
I enjoy placid patio time.
Breeze is barely sufficient
to vocalize our wind chime.
The leaves are now turning,
some prematurely falling.
From a high sky above
I hear sounds of geese calling.
Seeking a less cold clime
to endure winters freeze.
Canadian Geese flying south
is “winters Returning” first keys.
How did I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I loved thee with open arms
Embracing, exploring
Undiscovered territories.
I loved thee in floor plans and daydreams.
I loved thee too far ahead
In places where we are yet to belong to
In places where we will never be.
In truth, perhaps, I loved you only in theory.
For how could I have loved you
When the present is shackled
And I unable to free it for I have not its key?
Have I even loved when I only fought for its potential?
Can I be blamed for trying to love prematurely?
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