old metal barn roof
becomes musician
along with spouting
drowning
rain falls harshly
gutters overflowing
water shoots out of old spouting
rainstorm
Hard wood dusted by glitter bombs
picking flowers a new breed comes.
Clean explosion of pink sparkles
lands all over dancing circles.
Petals with roots of vinyl boots,
urban dresses, and old school suits.
Double decades let’s mix ‘em up,
pour a vibe straight into that cup.
That stash of decaying perfume
fertilizes this mongrel bloom.
The freshy will always vanquish,
loud as hell spouting old anguish.
Nothing rallies a flimsy cause,
so we take control as outlaws.
Little one, your impending birth is bittersweet
for how can I be filled with joy
as you make your grand entrance
into a country misled by greed and power?
I eagerly awaited your gender reveal
and remain terrified of what the next four years will reveal
as the American people
lose their jobs, their minds, their lives, their hope
For now, your mother’s womb
offers a cocoon of protection
but what lies in wait once you enter the harsh reality
of this upside-down world where wrong is right?
Where too many adults have become punch-drunk
suckling on the smooth flow of lies
from those in office spouting conspiracy theories
that dribble down their double chins
I wonder and worry what you’ll learn from role models
who boss and bully
eager to tear young babes from their mothers’ embrace
leaders whose evil knows no borders
Yet, I will welcome you with open arms
and do what a bubbe does best
I'l shower you with love hold you tight
calm your fears, dry your tears
Knowing that this too shall pass.
i am wielder of chaos
bearer of cozy poison
hidden son of jupiter
gestated from his thigh
supple strapping boy
follow the crooked
steps of spontaneous
capering i will soothe
your terrified gaze
summon frantic defiant
nymphs to slake
your thumping skull
with tender anarchy
my fierce priestesses
in robes of moonlight
diaphanous cobweb
will sing lilting implacable
spells to wreck
planets in their courses
wine and feral milk spouting
from tap of hyssop branch
i will swaddle you
in mother night caress
you with snake tongue
drizzle silky
secret language
of the rapacious
in your ear nudge
succulent fissure
yearning for arc
of scalding bliss
lightning bone
sap of brief
delectable death
Cruise ships appear over the horizon
As white
As the crest of tidal waves
Surging to harbor
No I said
To hell with cruise ships
To ride inside a machine
My wife and I
Prefer
To sit beside
The purr of ocean with opened books
Sun on our shoulders all day
A mom in a string bikini
Wrestling her morning pre-teen by his neck
With applied sunscreen
At low tide
I walk half a mile out to sea
On my knees
My wife watches me
A Royal Tern with a black tuft atop his head
Pesters a female until she is exhausted
Or that annoyed
She looks him in the eye
Then lifts her legs
And flies
As fast as her wings will carry her
Straight out to sea
And as far as I can see
She never turns around or looks back
But he pursues
Blind to her wake
He will follow
Over metal ships and the flesh of the horizon
Over the humpbacks of the spouting waves
He will follow her to where the sun and moon
Are born each day
He will follow
To that round shore of the tired spent and nests
Until she rests
And turns to him
Come my love come with me
Let us be one with the sea.
I’m anti-divisive,
don’t ask me where I stand.
I could tell you
but you’ll still label me,
and will never understand.
I’m anti-overshare,
because who cares
what I’m spouting anyway?
I’m anti-divisive,
It doesn’t matter where I stand.
I could show you
but you’ll just see the label.
I’m anti-follow the herd,
since there’s no back up
for the rhetoric anyway.
I’m anti-divisive,
I’d rather not overshare.
No one really cares
but they’ll still label me,
and never understand.
A word to the wise should suffice
And shouldn’t need spouting it twice.
It really makes sense
Unless you are dense
To follow your own good advice.
In my case, it’s all about ears,
For an earring, at times, disappears.
So I purchased some backs
Which lets me then relax,
Since to lose one is one of my fears.
In my home, though, I sometimes forget,
For a lost one’s not much of a threat.
I’d not planned to go out
But I did and, no doubt,
You can guess why I’m feeling regret.
Yes, one half of the pair that I wore
Slipped away on the street or the floor.
Though I searched where I’d been
With no luck, my chagrin
Is about that advice even more.
The pull of old habits,
and the failing interests.
A reliance on the will,
to corral the peak distress.
The attack of age-old fears,
willing to stand the test.
When a coup de tah rises,
breaking to a righteous crest.
Then the battle cries are heard,
and the do-gooders saunter,
The black hand group marches,
faces full of nervous wonder.
Then like the movies they portray,
the new owners change the story.
The winners lot instead of money,
came in what was called glory.
They were all forgotten soon,
in the shadows of a looming war.
And the world was preparing,
what would shake them to the core.
When crazy old men are at the helm,
spouting some contentious rambling.
And then billions of innocent lives,
the pawns of genocidal gambling.
That would be the time for action,
in the realm of Divine Inspiration.
For the advantage to be awarded,
to the person of previous indication.
My heartbeat is within these lines,
rhythmic dances keeping time.
Like lovers drinking, out to dine,
I picture us, not ‘me’ but ‘mine’.
Spouting lyrics, oaths divine,
I wait and wish for some small sign.
It's always the ones
Who lives their lives
Talking on no responsibility
And not a care in the world
Not even helping with parents
They don't care but the
Minute a parent or loved one
Dies, they'll show up
Demanding or thinking that
They're owe or entitled to something
When they haven't help or
Done anything at all for that parent
Spouting how it was their parents
To, but they knew that all along
But didn't want to help with
The responsibilities, didn't lift
A finger, but demands something
But don't worry whatever they get
It won't last with them because
Those spirits know who deserves nothing
I recount the nights of faint, distant glows —
the dimmed party lights of summer —
of silenced streaks of fleeing light, tassels of clouds
adorned in fleeting whites,
on the broad balcony of the west, when the
incidents on the large vestibule of the sun sum up
their lives and times on seasons’ palimpsests.
The wild party closes by the stretch of the twenty-first hour.
Darkness, frightened, creeps in with the stealth of a departing thief,
the coyness and diffidence of an undocumented harlot.
Twilight aids the shut eyes of young irreverent bats;
drunk with summer's furiously spouting liquors,
like the denizens of an unclothed city, they fly low,
with gambolling wings, propelled by unseen strands of evening gales,
shadowing briefly the glints of pimping stars eager to witness the next day’s
orgy.
Is that a bird?
My sister, who is on the phone, asks me.
I listen a bit harder.
Can you hear that? She asks. It’s a bird, right?
Uh-huh.
A bird I had not noticed until now
Spouting birdspeak that is suddenly obnoxiously loud and annoying.
Easy to entrance the sycophants watch their helpless dance their back and forth swaying and swooning, in cunnilingual somniloquence.
Droning and drooling with flattering and fawning, turgently swelling, spouting placating pleasantries, a mess of gushing adulation.
Self exultation, craving congratulation by consensus for another conventional sensation, clamouring for congratulation in lurid inflated infatuation.
Curtailing castigation, striving in strides as pedestrian asperation gives rise to typical inspiration, stillted it saunters soulessly, provoking predicable platitudes.
Dreary dedication denoting the humdrum and the ho-hum, tirelessly tiring, offering effortlessly banal bestowments bequeathing a tepid tranquillising testimonial.
Uniform, unchanged, unilateral applause, amplifying abysmal analogies, articulating dearth depictions of derivative denotations.
Cryptic quips collapse carelessly caused by cumbersome correlating contradictions, deviating detrimentally forth fatuous flutterings.
Stale sentiment, sterile superfluous suppositions, garishly guilded in grandure,
Repetitious rudimentary ruminations, repackaged and retold.
Galvanizing, never scrutinized; each moment falsely tabulated;
Slanted, polarized polls, punishing spiteful pundits
Spouting, spinning lies in frantic unison squawking
Ridiculous versions of fear mongering tales,
Meant to frighten, meant to hurt,
Meant to clutch and pulverize power.
It takes only a calm, rational thinking moment
To see through the maze of their foggy logic.
Nothing they say is fact checked or based in truth.
Spinning frantic webs to catch the unwary
To call forth violence with rage filled rants,
They push disturbing diatribes, provoking mayhem..
Drumming up revolt among the weak-minded minions ,
They still cannot cloak their hurtful and murderous intent.
President Trump has called them out, laughing in their faces.
Finally unmasked and stripped of disguises
There is nowhere to run, no more hiding places.
We see you. We stare at the darkness behind your malicious eyes.
Your fake news fiction will never again deceive us with your lies.
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