There is a party of hate and you are invited
If fact it’s an open invitation
But everyone seems to leaving
Everyone that is tired of hate and death.
The party of hate meanwhile
Revels in the death of others
The death of their own
And the death of those to come.
It makes up policies like soft on crime
And defund the police
Which only leads to more death
Especially of children and minorities,
But that is what the party wants
To further its goal of systemic victimhood.
These are modern day sacrifices
To the gods of change
Made with hate in their heart
But fear in their mind,
Fear that they may be wrong,
May have it all wrong
That hate and death is better than love and life.
Of course they are wrong
And they know this
Because as long as they are alive
There is still a seed of love in their heart.
(9/12/25)
Such throaty timbres – oboes and bassoons –
such gowns! My Lady, apricot and plum,
her sleeves ablaze with blue October moons –
for one short night, her villa had become
the very essence of elysium!
To “fortify” us, as My Lady said,
against the winter tedium to come,
to banish melancholy, drive out dread,
she threw an Autumn Ball. Delirium!
We met the equinox with pipe and drum.
The quality of Florence all attended,
and never were Their Graces better fed!
The sun was up before our revels ended –
and Isabella? Still no thought of bed!
Three further galliards she’d yet to tread.
It seems I hear those trumpets even yet,
and taste the sweetmeats of that epic spread
(she’d plied us with light moscatel to whet
the palate) – I believe my mortal head
will throb for ever more, autumnal red!
When ideas are locked in a cage,
The bot frees poetry of its rage,
Like analgesics on a fresh wound—
A turbulent sea where pains are drowned.
The goal’s not to write, but to refine,
To make rhythms, forms, and each word align;
Quick to shape poems to perfection,
Bringing finesse to art’s reflection.
But its pen drips with glib emotions,
It revels in stale, putrid notions,
It loots old clichés in broad daylight,
With its informants on every site.
It pours in all ears its tone-deafness,
For its inkwell is void of freshness;
From the poems of the past it steals,
And copyright claims trail its cold heels.
Far better—a creative ally,
With clear, firm bounds to which all comply—
Than crowned as a human replacement,
Or seeking the poet’s mind displacement.
Praises to Thee, my soul soars and revels
Songs I sing where my heart dwells
Faith I live with and grow
The true dawn of dreams
that lingers like twilight’s kiss.
Luxury’s revels
draped in a regal cloak’s hush.
Crowned with velvet robes
of night’s elegant embrace,
with a mind and soul
brushed in amethyst’s true grace.
A whispered silence
that softens nature’s mystique—
the sweet wine of life
savored at twilight’s last glow.
A solitude hymn
composed for an empress’s smile,
like a meadow’s grin
filling an ocean’s wide sigh.
Fall.
Sweet songs
fill the air,
in icy times.
'Neath magenta skies
stoic redbird dances,
on bare twigs, to his own song.
He revels in blue stars and snow
awaiting first rays of coral sun.
Touched by a mystery lady of green,
who still wields magic, in wintry weather!
Happy people pass, dressed for the cold
Purple butterflies lie waiting
for gold days, like those we knew-
of singing sunflowers
and cherry sunsets,
sunshine, peaches
scent whispers
mint hues,
Spring.
EVERYTHING IS NORMAL
The backwater
dreams is catching the winds
to become a whirlwind again...
The past daydreams
of recovering time
to live the present...
Rest
revels in silence
to replenish energy...
the night shines, the stars
with the sleeping rays of the sun
borrowed for free...
Pain heals,
when the scars dry
and become just memories...
You were crafted from grace and intellect
A masterpiece of resilience, standing firm in your unwavering independence
Yet you have an innate desire
To be adorned with affection, cherished like royalty.
Let me be the jester in your court,
The fool who revels in devotion,
Showering you with laughter, draping you in love,
For your joy is the crown I wish to serve
Jueju 10-8-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Enigma
My baby has no grave
Slipping from my womb
Upon a crimson wave
Too soon to feel your heartbeat
A son or a daughter
Your eyes blue or amber green
Your voice, a mystery
You - unsolvable puzzle – eternal enigma
Your laughter – never heard
Your smile unseen except by God
Unspoken your first words
Each birthday celebrated with angels
Yet, I believe you live, little saint,
Wrapped in Heaven’s embrace
Your first steps walked you into eternity
Where God revels in your perfect face
People ask where’s the year gone August
yet I face summer swelter August.
Someone wonder how times is lost
as fall lurks behind a closed-door August.
Someone revels in spring love a poetic leap
but spends time alone August.
In March a child dances
the world turns before my eyes August.
In March a child’s cry
a heavy sigh in August.
In the morning a whisper
a resonance at dusk August
In depths of night a pause
the soft cry August.
In spring a planted seed
a leaf falls August.
A gust of wind passage of time
people ask where’s the year gone August.
Don't make a fuss,
but here comes Gus.
Canine extraordinaire,
he smokes cigars, eats Milk-Bone, no cares.
Although our bigger dog, Beau, has got game,
Gus can play as well with him, just the same.
But, when Beau wears him out,
Gus doesn't pout.
He just lights up a stogie-
and revels that he's the alpha doggie!
Deep blood red orange cloud’s,
ethereal dream float,
Satin wind carrier of luscious mint,
green hymnody’s deft transport,
Spring hues random loitering,
between gray peeled branches,
Chirpy echo squeak,
from red-wing blackbird,
A fragile wafer tin threshold,
Golden stream gurgle,
under marsh reeds,
Evanescent saline grain haze,
Azure ocean tide aroused,
from still wave slumber,
Clamshell pearl strewn oyster,
oddments interspersed,
on pockmark sandstone beach,
Iridescent canopy of nature trail,
Awaits the first blush pilgrim,
who revels in lavish glimpses,
And sumptuous earworm madrigal,
A tantalizing world so close,
Glad tiding raptures,
from the camper awakened,
Coffee caper bean whiff aromatic,
Quencher of dust road harsh throat,
Splatter free rapeseed oil,
daub on an iron pan,
wild howl from prehistoric wolf,
So quaint in its primal sweep,
hair-raising backdrop to stir fry meal,
Tinplate dollop sated hunger
To become the flame,
we must agree to dissolve,
in the void of nothingness.
Love in love with love,
for the sake of love alone,
revels in its own fragrance.
HAPPINESS
Happiness is like an exultant state of mind
A temporary escape from the daily grind
Sadness is blown away by a timely breeze
And it’s certainly about time, if you please
It is such a feeling of joy beyond measure
One revels in that most welcome pleasure
But one wonders if there’s a price to pay
Maybe sadness will return to have its day
It’s a balance then, between up and down
White or black, and not that greyish brown
With a dull life lived in that in-between state
Waking each morning and it’s not that great
So, be one to seek and experience extremes
If you don’t get it yet, rely on your dreams
It’s high tide worldwide
shock waves lash the shore
America’s gone socialist
Russia revels in Soviet mist
Hamasniks take on Israel
like a mouse up against a lion
Ukraine’s out-growled Putin two years so far
Too bad the West won’t buy in
Europe’s nearly an afterthought
China and India ascendant
Look to African bishops and priests
on them the Catholic Church’s dependent
And with all their social-engineering initiatives
the Left’s atheists are newly propitiative
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