Short Grist Poems

My soul is caught up in a bind
They say love is but blind
What kind of helpless love is this?
Which to rumour mills would add unpleasant grist.
Can you not simply see?
We are like two buds of the same tree.
You cannot deny, cannot reply
God now please where can I fly?...

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JIGSAW POPULATIONS

Our differences are like the pieces of a puzzle called life
Shapes that may not all fit together, yet one always will
To achieve a harmonious well-fitting picture is the goal
Sometimes their images connect to complete the whole
But it’s the many attempts that are the grist to the mill
To build a picture, to be celebrated with drum and fife
...

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storms happen
happenstance stomps
selfish selfies inherit the wind
windmills become grist for the mill

Armageddon trending now
Utopia is Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day
go figure (& lie about the figures)
too many figurative flies in the proverbial soup

words float like moths to the factoid
sting like a bumbling bezoar
fly like a flock of birdbrains
put that in your pipe & tweet it...

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Harry Windsor now presses the charge.'
Against instigators;  roaming at large.)
Fellons with fetters, who apply methods hard.'
Who twist and will twitter, stretch an inch to
A yard.' As packs they are waiting the slightest
Small slip, alls grist to the torture in the rumour
Mills jist.' No soul will stay unturned, no corpse
Rests in peace' they're only true target.? next who
Will they fleece.?...

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Slowly drip yourself upon me
Each drop of tears, sweat and soul
Swallowed by my embrace
However hard, however hot
And thirsty for more
Slowly drip yourself upon me
Coat my pliant grip
The grist that leads you towards me
With pure, titillating glue
That adheres my whims
To your wants
Slowly drip yourself upon me
I'm in need of your wretched drenching
Your melange
Spiked with bitter pleasure
And I'm loving every drop.

(8/4/04)...

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Such dichotomy, “Aren’t we all?”
“Isn’t it all? Life, Geography, Ideology,
symbolic text on pages of humanities;
orgasmic growth?”

Eastern faces, sunrise, inward looking daze…
Western faces, sunset, outward gaze…

Poverty and wealth, defined, embraced.
The search for self.

Such necessary, painful, dichotomy…
Harmony and dissonance.

“Isn’t it all? Life.. Sexuality, Repression…
Grist for the mill, fodder?”
“The children of creation?”...

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Dressed in various shades of green
Mother nature happily gives us spring
With delight she paints the meadows
And shares the joy that it doth bring..

The  moss upon the barren rock
And green 'round the daffodil
Trees, their bud and tender leaf
The pond behind the old grist mill

In its glory green speaks of mystery
And life that renews this time each year
Nature smiles at winter's nodding head
With emerald eyes spring again appears


...

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As a soul free falls into the celestial mist
 A distant star will dim its light
 Its luster vanishing into a black hole's grist,
 Yet dawn will inhale a cosmic breath
 To ease the darkness of the depth of death
 As the soul takes perpetual flight

 How deep the grief which brings the tears
 And heavy the heart laden with sorrow
 Yet the pain will surpass the years
 As the depths of despair take its toll
 Shattering what was once whole
 And scattering the pieces into the morrow...

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