Short Pocked Poems

Sulky, crater-faced moon
Pocked by infinite awestruck gaze
Burrows behind dark clouds
Preserving its existence....

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Moon rises surprised,
eschews its pocked face,
caught in early glare
of sun in bleaches
awaiting its call.
A starlet usurped!...

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The white china glazed
and dimple-pocked moon
begins
yet again
to trace her lone arch 
across the night sky.

The lonely never ends....

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Every winter, all the roads
Are pocked and filled with holes.
So what’s the money used for
That we pay for all the tolls?

You’d think when they’d repair them,
They’d use something that would last
Instead of bargain pothole-fill,
Which breaks apart real fast.

When driving in the city
In the winter, my advice:
Beware of ruptures in the road,
More dangerous than ice!...

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He leans against
the silent factory
as bustling parrots
regard his plight
with heartfelt indifference
bathed in the glow
of touchscreen devices
and the notion of
absolution through
repetition.

Heels clack firm
paced on schedules
trampling the dust
into pavement cracked
and pocked like
the lamentable stares
of cardboard refugees
sprawled limp beside
grates pumping
exhaust....

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Massive, ancient, maple crones 
rise from the loam.
Bereft of garments, their bark a tatter,
naked roots and limbs 
pocked by woodpeckers.
Remnants of their crowning glory, long gone;
lay supine in the jewel weeds.
Moss adheres to the maples northern face
like chin whiskers…….
and shelves of mushrooms skirt their trunks.
Aged, yet strong…..
still, like Atlas;
they shoulder the sky....

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Birthmarks,
unique identifying signs,
cover our walls.
Scuffs, scars, scribbles,
fingerprints, nicks.
Randomly appearing after
marking the birth of our son.
Would I trade those pocked surfaces
for pristine blank spaces?
No. The memories of that little boy
becoming a young man is the story
those walls tell.
A narrative in which “The End” came too soon.
Deathmarks? No one talks about them....

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A small black stone
Painted red
Born of Heaven
Left for dead,

Kicked and shorn
Blasted smooth
Pocked with fractures
Riddled grooves,

Ground to pieces 
Sold as dust
Used as potion
Balm of lust,

Swallowed nightly
Clouds the mind
Settles slowly
In the spine,

Lays with fallen
In the Earth
Aeons trudge
Petrified rebirth,

A small black fossil
Painted gray
Born of heaven
Born of me....

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I 
leave a stain whenever my heart beats,
a few are quite beautiful although brief.
Like a water-colored morning whispering
or a moon licked mermaid sea,
but most are pocked with lust's conceit... 

I
leave a stain whenever my heart beats.
Turning sparrow psalms into silent crows
where blackness climbs the picket fence
these stains tend to over bend the soul.
I 
leave a stain whenever my heart beats....

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Black beyond frozen shores,
Stellar winds blowing spawn.
Pocked lunar lithic pores,
Barren buds blooming dawn.
Shiny crust over mossed,
A young garden’s dew.
Moldy peach luster lost,
Glow spiders hazy blue.
Spores pulsate swelling nodes,
Shrieking howls grunting sounds.
Shrooms lactate yelling toads,
Shadow wolves' hunting grounds.
Silken silvered moon beams,
Silent short sanguine screams.

*iambic trimeter tetralexic sonnet...

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Everyone has a favorite pond
where they come to put garnish upon...
Some bring koi and water lily
singing stones- the scent of mint
wading birds dressed in paradise
cattails waltzing with the wind.

Envy arrives at your pond
with treble hooks and buckshot eyes
turning tranquility into graves
plastic bags dancing in the shade.
Serenity forever pocked
a fifth of envy clanging off the rocks
As a vague gray scans the quiet-quiet frons.

...

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29
The everyday sleeper remembers not
Shallow dreams sold and bought
But subliminal stress the dreamer’s fraught
Horrid ghosts that all forgot.

The door is open but you are locked
In a dusty cabin where shelves are stocked
With unused provisions unusually docked
Behind the can goods walls are pocked.

Often find my fantast journey here
In run down houses  abused and seared
With falling floorboards and multiple tiers
Decaying dwelling hounding my fears.

Emotion/Fear...

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