Today’s Tomorrows Yesterday

Once upon a time,
I thought I heard you say.
That for all our time,
you’ll love me everyday.


It was a special time,
seems now like yesterday
Sharing endless time,
but now my world’s gone gray.


I fell behind killing time,
today alone I lay.
You said I was wasting time,
begging you to stay.


My face slapped by hands of time,
and your heart now gone astray.
Why must “Once upon a time”
always end this way?




No Hole, No Doughnut

Rains must fall for flora to bloom
The sun returns to lighten the gloom
Burdens of time rise and drop
All’s wound-up to never stop


Days grow longer, ends grow near
Nights shorter, lessens the fear
Til’ Autumn begins – bittersweet
Hues blossom to clutter the street


Kicked around by cold wet feet
Herded into piles, nice and neat
Replaced by snow, a one-time novelty
Reminded of months I’d rather not see


Then back to square one, worse for wear
Dreaming of sleep without the nightmare
Sorry to bore you with words dismal and glum
Yet these words only half of the pages sum


Blank spaces between remain for imagery to grow
Where brighter poetry’s written – tomorrow


Poetry in Mime

                              ,                    .
                  ,                   –                 .

              ,                  ,                   .


Mindless Magnification

Sit with me or foe be you
Or stand will I and we be two
Thrust first if it be best
Twist your blade in my chest


Who shall be, shall be the test
Thou who not is soon to rest
I care not for what you do
I will win yet so may you


To test the will of a giant
Remembered always as defiant
Giants losers as always they be
Taking the time from you and me


Be this giant if you must
I’m at peace, you can trust
Eye to eye, perspective’s grand
I bear boulders, your grains of sand


Stomp, splatter, hurl or squish
Shortened wicks hasten a wish
Wind won’t silence, only time
Death lives on in a world sublime


Stand shall I – face to feet
Choice be yours, ends we’ll greet
Choice be quick, I’ve ends to meet
Choice be mine, please take a seat.



Red, White and Blown Away

Our nights shorter and days are long

Girls are prettier, men never wrong

Our lead can be soft with steel strong

Ain’t no poets, just cowboy songs


Boot heels stompin, greased hands clappin

All just-a-dancin and a-back-slappin

No-one’s wrong when everyone’s right

On this big ole globe that cools every night


So come on down and you’ll agree

Ammo only hurts when it’s free

So elevate high up on a shelf

Hidden from bad-guys, kids and self


Keep tucked away safe for a rainy day

When alien invaders immigrate our way

Or the foretold glorified blaze of a hellish fire-fight

Where winged we’ll soar into apocalyptic light


All profoundly pleased the penchant was right

Our victory pre-applauded for forgone foresight



Hell No


Oh heavens me, look what you’ve done

You made me think and that’s not fun

Specifically of heaven, death and hell

All are places I’d prefer not to dwell


If must it be I’m to conjure this thought

I shan’t writ thy time devoted naught

Up or down or whatever which way

Or just here and here we’ll stay


For a crowded place this heaven be

If wings needed to be vertically free

But who goes high and who low?

Answers only they will know


If there is a they at all

Those who’ve risen, those who fall

Is hell dark or is it bright?

Fires light the darkest of night


Why when we age, we go where’s hot?

Are we perhaps reserving a spot?

Preparing for our infinity

A cozy place on a molten sea


Too many questions that I’ve to ask

Too little time for too big a task

Heaven and hell and death, – Oh My!

If answers had I, they’d be a lie


I’ve wandered and pondered over this stuff

I think I’ve pondered quite enough

Life’s too short and seas too wide

Save thoughts of dying for the other side


For heaven’s the pathways chosen to roam

And to hell with death ends this poem



A Cynic View

I warn you now I have no clue

Where this poem is going to

Or if it is a poem at all

I can’t decide, you make the call


Trees fallen for me to rhyme

Till out of space, bounds, breath and time

Out to lunch and there I’ll join you

We’ll rearrange words on life’s menu


Time is free, food is not

Sleep spent in dollars per spot

Feet walk, wheels run

Hands make wings to the sun


Voices singing for all who hear

Through buds growing in the ear

Tiny wires dangle from there

Yet no-one seems to give a care


With tablet and Wi-Fi at the ready

Media replaced good ole teddy

Designer binkies between the lips

Smartphones at the fingertips


Toddlers hunched, stroller bound

Multi cup-holders and Dolby sound

Of course a visor to shield the sun

The big glowing face that was once fun


Now a menace to one and all

Best to stay in until the fall

When leafy suburbs bags abound

Full of leaves, once on the ground


Cleared from lawns to keep them green

Exchanged with poisons in-between

Until the snow, when all’s forgotten

Of summer days way back when


When sunny skies made all seem bright

Laughter filling playful moonlight

Now games played with only thumbs

Killing the most for the biggest sums


Some might win the rest will lose

Most can’t, but some will choose

Now we’ve all a choice to make

Was it ever real or just a real fake?


Or if it ever will be, or ever was

Or just maybe it is – just because



Jester’s Throne


Prancing ponies in harlequin suits

Powdered faces, bells on their boots

Marionettes merrily masquerade as men

Pretty puppets pulled to be pushed again


The muses of muses paid to amuse

Chuckling clowns cry, just to confuse

Jugglers juggling, jingling our nerves

Swallowers’ swallowing for the point it serves


Pachyderms poked and packed with their trunks

With those no-stripe types, the most potent of skunks

They waddle, wander and wade through the nights

Into the big-top with big spotty spot lights


Tall tents risen, stakes struck down

The political circus has blown into town

Steaks tossed at beasts to keep at bay

The world’s greatest show will start any day


Food and fun and games for all

Prizes awarded if you heed their call

Applause not denied in a beauty contest

While the leaders with rings always do best


Just step right up and you’ll decide

Who’s to stay and who we hide

Take a chance and chance a win

Winner takes all – let the show begin!



Literally Preposterous Poetry

A poet writes literally in metaphor
Corridors long, many a door
Doors of a poet need no key
Minds always open to poetry


Times to lose finding ones right
Days painted dark, nights write bright
A knights shining armor shields sight
Whilst wings of steel soar in the light


I know not what I shall think
With heavy load, this pen and ink
Or, should not I think or care at all
Bowing beckoned to this writers call


Scribbling, scribing, screaming; I know not why
Tis the finest of line – fantasy and lie
Opinions of truths and relative fact
Explosive emotion, some just an act


Though as preposterous as it may appear
A writer’s world there’s literally no fear
We flaunt, flourish and spill our ink
Free from fear to write what we think


Thus poetry freedom, yet some never see
And that’s literally preposterous to me



Love Loving You

I don’t like bugs and I don’t like snakes.
I despise non-chocolate birthday cakes.
I don’t like deserts nor frozen lakes.
I enjoy the fall, hate the rakes.


I prefer the old to the new.
I don’t like laces in my shoe.
I don’t like doing what I don’t love to.
But surely I do love loving you.



Rough Seas

Off to sea at seventeen
To see a world I hadn’t seen
To find a place to call my own
Youthful vigor, this child grown


This child grown yet not mature
Too many choices that’s for sure
Open eyes and open mind
Open mouth running blind


Open mouths words will flow
Open heart with nowhere to go
Met a gal, our short time grand
We toured my ship hand in hand


Phone calls followed, her “brother” met
One of a few I’d like to forget
He asked a favor, I obliged
I tried being good, I really tried


But all was not as it appeared
Soon a meeting that I feared
Spoke with my Captain, a man truly trusted
He sat me down and said I was busted


Twas that sweet young gal, I adored
Was an agent I brought on board
Years now past, I say what the hell
A sailor no more, but I’ve stories to tell



Good Night

A flickering lantern swings gently in my night

Upon a fell tree sat this shaky hand to write

My moon does glow, shadows to grow

Fear and inhibitions go, words will flow


‘til fiery red pupil flares, the looming eye of morning peers

Above the distant hills the dewy dawn burns

Dusty light surrounds and sounds of life return

Yet it is the dark of my night that I truly yearn



Mind Over Maturity

Whilst all the young may have youth,
not all the youthful young.
Youth’s not measured by our age,
or the passions we engage.


It’s not about time at all,
or being big or being small.
It’s not a question of maturity,
rock star travel or annuity.


It’s the way we feel and perceive,
of life’s fascinations to conceive,
hopes, dreams and wishes to believe,
it’s how we love and how we grieve.


A youthful heart’s quick to mend,
quick to receive, give and lend.
Wonders abound in youthful eyes,
birds soar higher in bluer skies.


Yet youth is stolen by the fiendish lie,
That getting older is preparing to die.



Forging Change


Around the block a time too many

Quick to bend for the penny

Though change not found on the ground

While chasing a tail all around


Change not found on the street

When heads in clouds and eyes on feet

For change is forged from within

To not share warmth one can’t begin


With hammer heavy and anvil steady

Strike when hot and at the ready

Feel the burn and see the glow

Change’s forming with every blow


Value anew will quench the way

Lungs full bellow every day

Brains to flame, time is ore

Same for all, some change more