They place their storms in my shaky hands
stitched,tied and yet useful
Broken is I.
And for a while even the moon dims
no stitch is ever tied enough;
the loose threads forever stay
Of course not, you don't mean it
No one ever does
The new sacrificial lamb at your foul altar
Lost among historical fuzz
Should we live another century
The history books will claim
It was a violent tragedy
For which villains we must blame
But villainy is frighteningly common
When the status quo is shaken
Millennials cling to Harry Potter
And our lives are forsaken
"Quiet you, it's not so bad,
Now vote for your slow death."
To use us for sweet brownie points
And damn us with your next breath
It's never offering a lifting hand
Or a place onboard the Ark
It's always shame and scarce-veiled threats
Of leaving us in the dark
Clinging to false roles you learned
When you were but a teen
Biology is so much more
Yet you hide behind a screen
Cover your eyes, state your pride
Say you're better than the rest
Yet cast your lot with abusers
Since nicely they were dressed
I've no faith in baby blue
That shade has become red
Because I've seen you in sheep's clothing
Wishing that I was dead.
i’m a poet not a prophet ~ to believe otherwise would be odd
i blur visions of rhyme with latent reason ~ exactly like a god
so many times I’ve felt abandoned ~ desperate for a tiny nod
to see it in my rearview mirror ~ mr bobble head is overawed
#footnote#
i’ve had unexplained interventions in this life ~ agnostic i trod
By
David Kavanagh
Cold fish of a handshake ~
Wedding bells prove heartaches
How did Shakespeare acquire that name,
Many years ago
Were his forbears cowards
And is this why it's so
Shakespeare is not a common name
I don't think so anyway
I am curious from whence it came
I would like to know
Spears are weapons
Seldom used today
In the time of Shakespeare
They were, I'm sad to say
Men had to fight,
Be strong and brave
Kill or be killed
If you want to save,
The lives of your kith and kin
Maybe the Shakespeares
Were afraid to fight
Nervous people
Who could not stand the sight
Of blood and did not want to go to war
The thought of throwing a Spear to kill
Made them shake and nauseous and ill
Perhaps it was the same for Will
Who becomes a famous poet
In later years.
He had inherited these fears
I suppose, who knows.
We used to have the sturdiest of houses,
standing alone atop the tallest mountain.
There were always earthquakes,
But they did not affect us so high up.
But slowly, the earthquakes started to shrink the mountain,
growing lower and lower to the earth.
The mountain once so tall was no more,
And our house now sat on shaky ground.
Without the mountain to protect us,
The earthquakes shook the house,
And eventually, it was torn in half.
The earthquakes split us as they did our house,
And we left the house,
Each going our separate way,
leaving it a token of what will be no more.
On Shaky Ground All Around
Seem to be on shaky ground,
As we go in circles all around,
Total chaos;
Complete loss,
Until God finally have found.
Jim Horn
It was but a crack
To grow up through me
My knees, hands, chest, and height
I crack and groan through the winters night
Like grated sand these cracks, they pile
Firm, unlike before
Though it feels more solid
Its a sand soaked in tears
Still, I slide and stumble
Even in pieces, I amount to more
he said: i'm a woman of steel...
he doesn't know this a fraud seal...
my heart and soul on a "hill"..
wishing nothing but complete heal...
i have long live to love..
knowing, these all wants to have..
i have taken so many risks..
fallen unwavering to various tricks..
i am not a materialistic..
nor am i a someone plAtonic..
i got heart small not gigantic..
yet, it beats huge with ethics..
i fought hard within hot waters..
seeking fortresses, guarding to buffer..
i conquering with God who gives power..
no less, success it yonder...
patience..
patience..
patience..
i don't want to be on defiance
though, i am of silence
appearing tough and of calmness..
tell you what, inside is a shaky reliance.
A foreman for the city does reap
Lots of overtime and a city heap
The streets covered with snow
My heap’s heater says “no”
I just long for that thing they call sleep
Randy Steele
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