Spell-ing
Halloween’s at night,
why a holiday? It should
be a holi-night.
~
Boom
Halloween weekend,
energy beyond compare.
Candy for breakfast.
~
Ortumnal
Autumn is calling,
it’s voice crackling underfoot,
chilling in context.
~*~
SCK101025
Spell-ing
Halloween’s at night,
why a holiday? It should
be a holi-night.
~
Boom
Halloween weekend,
energy beyond compare.
Candy for breakfast.
~
Ortumnal
Autumn is calling,
it’s voice crackling underfoot,
chilling in context.
~*~
SCK101025
I woke today in a fog.
But autumn’s now in view.
There’ll be more days of sky high temps,
though fortunately just a few.
~
My body’s burned with a patchwork tan,
the grass a patchwork of brown.
Smiles await bluer skies,
but for now I’ve still a frown.
~
Perhaps today I’ll write a poem,
better than those before.
I used to say that every day,
but now I’m not so sure.
~
Like the seasons, time does change,
creativity comes and goes.
Inspiration’s all around,
but negativity grows and grows.
~
I need a cool crisp morning,
with leaf of red and gold.
Though summers can be wonderful,
this one’s getting old.
~
Maybe it’s just a fantasy,
thinking words will find their way.
Maybe the fantasy’s over,
of being joyous every day.
~
Peering up from my lap,
I see the fog starting to clear.
Though my paper is still blank,
I know a story’s near.
~
My eyes now wide open,
my pencil’s sharp and new.
Optimistically I scribble a word,
the clouds now but few.
~
One word turns to another,
a third leads to a line.
Verses soon will follow,
and again the day is mine.
~
I’m glad this patchwork is over.
And I’m sure that you are too.
I’m thankful for your time today,
my inspiration being you.
~*~
SCK082920
Dusk shrouds foggy walks
Whispers heard when no one talks
The old town hall shines felicity
Its library shares the pageantry
Main Street bristles with conspicuous zeal
Spirits roam unseen when unreal
Tales abound of young maidens kissed
Faces unknown for souls unmissed
Yarns be spun of their tiny cove
Time surrounds, the mind does rove
Behind every door lie stories untold
Life in a village three hundred years old
High on the hill sits a Queen Anne alone
She’s peaks of copper and footing of stone
Her windows boarded to hide the view
Abandoned by the town, seen by few
The home once a school for wayward boys
Most had no families, none knew of toys
A cagey couple was completely in charge
Both small in stature yet looming large
The mistress taught letters with pointer or switch
The master kept numbers making them rich
Gruel’s fed to the students, the master’s meat
The boys froze; the pair warmed by their heat
Ablaze was the furnace ahead of each storm
The lads safely locked in their cold attic dorm.
Their sniffles and sneezes all kept at bay
The masters swept all the sickness away
Each year had runaways, never to be found
Searches end at the edge of school ground
Then came a young man sheltered in error
He promptly escaped and reported the terror
Inquires made, investigations were had
The masters left freely, the mayor glad
The school was closed with little fanfare
The boys sent away with little a care
Rumors lost from days long past
Horrors are hidden all too fast
No more’s said of the young boys plight
And another sun sets on a sleepy town’s night
~*~
sck121115
Autumn’s now upon us, leaves soon to fall,
Halloween’s next and the witches’ ball.
Then comes Thanksgiving, turkeys best beware.
We’ll all give our thanks then devour our share.
~
But then it’s winter and snow glazes our thought.
Christmas sneaks up and we give things we bought.
New Year’s follows and we all share a toast.
Then we long for Valentines to indulge who we love most.
~
We wait in gloom for spring to see flowers sprout.
The days now growing longer, jackets now in doubt.
Summer arrives to much fanfare, hot dogs fill our guts.
We’ll bake in the noon day sun, I think that we’re all nuts.
~
Then summers shine finally dims.
We’ll wish for fall and cover limbs.
And another year now is done.
And another year’s now begun.
~
Every season is a special time.
Some have favorites and that’s no crime.
Some may feel that they all are bad.
But not the poets and for that I’m glad.
~*~
SCK092819
Summer love leads to fall.
Autumnal changes effects all.
Leaves turn, soon to drop.
Life moves on and won’t stop.
.
Chills felt to the bone.
Warmth’s gone when alone.
Seasons cycle as they must.
Tomorrows come, we have to trust.
.
Truth felt in the heart.
Minds make lies art.
Sleep’s unknown for many a night.
Sadness fills each line I write.
.
If not loved a future is to find.
If not a poet, perhaps then blind.
Hues created we want to see.
Now the fall’s here for you and me.
~*~
SCK093018

Monsters prowled the darkened streets.
The time was theirs to search for treats.
Deny their cravings if you dare,
but tricks certain for the unaware.
~
The moon was full and fog was thick.
This night they’ll feast, tomorrow sick.
Ghosts and goblins in shadows hide.
Porch lights flicker but stay outside.
~
Fairies welcome and clowns make fun.
Pirates afloat grab treasure and run.
Mummies abound wait for their turn.
Witches swoop to take what they yearn.
~
Werewolves howl barking desires.
The shrunken in wagons mostly criers.
Superheroes patrol to keep things in line.
The things all laugh cos their doing fine.
~
The much larger zombies follow the pack.
They beg and plead for an unwanted snack.
The air grew cooler, the end was near.
Then sleep soon ended another nightmare.
~*~
SCK102320
*
Life fades to fallen hues.
Winter’s white with deepest blues.
Spring’s upon a pastel moon.
And summer shines none too soon.
*
SCK011118c.
Monsters and ghouls prowl the street.
Ghosts hide beneath their sheet.
Zombies limp on bloody feet.
All are happy when they meet.
~
Black cats blend to be discreet.
Witches conjure but never cheat.
Werewolf’s howl when they greet.
All awaiting their Halloween treat.
~
Children rush for goodies to eat.
Parents long to take a seat.
Then the spell’s finally complete,
ending with dreams, oh so sweet!
~*~
SCK103019

Autumn’s upon us, nights grow long.
Days get shorter, our love grows strong.
Winter’s soon and with it the gloom.
But warmth we’ll share, forever to bloom.
~*~
SCK082718
Nature batters, scarring far and wide.
Forgotten battles forever tied.
Man and rock bear the loss of all who’ve died.
Rugged faces change with the changing of a tide.
Keeping the wary from a watery hell,
a craggy post a dutiful keeper dwell.
Keeping by day his glass shined bright,
by night he keeps his flame alight.
Warning all comers never to near,
this beacon of virtue is only to fear.
Bravely they stand against wind and wave,
the ocean master, keeper slave.
Chores of many, companions none.
Sleep begins when work is done.
Ventures end before the dark.
His light stands silent awaiting spark.
Beyond this rock and choppy cove,
a small town lie where tales are wove.
Stories of stormy seas abound,
and faraway lands where treasure’s found.
In town sits a churchyard overlooking the sea.
Where the keeper visits when a calm day’s free.
Collects his needs quickly, no time for desire.
His row is long to return to his fire.
Scores of seasons drifted behind.
The keeper and kept, two of a kind.
Their toils unnoticed, yet seen by all.
Keeping kept the keepers call.
Reflections of stars upon the sea.
Infinite horizons awaiting he.
A beacon to all, his lamp not aglow.
To see the light the keep did go.
The town sad for their keeper unknown.
He was buried with care as one of their own.
At the edge of the churchyard lie the keep.
With eternal vistas of the light and the deep.
Dozens of keepers tried to keep.
All had left quickly, missing their sleep.
Stories told of the old keeper’s ghost.
A most spirited and demanding of host.
He rattled windows and slammed doors,
once hid away the old rowboats oars.
His steps are heard on the stairs all night,
sometimes blowing out the lighthouse’s light.
On a chilly morn some years past,
a storm was brewing, approaching fast.
A hardy young sailor paddled for the light,
racing the waves ahead of the night.
With setting sun and drenching rain,
wind and waves pummeled, no refrain.
Shores altered with the rising tide,
The hilltop churchyard couldn’t hide.
The keeper’s remains returned to sea.
The young sailor now keeps – happily.
And ever since that fateful day,
the old keeps spirit kept at bay.
Sck102415dft
A big scary monster lives under my bed.
I never saw their body but maybe saw their head.
Every night they whisper when I try to sleep.
But when my mom comes in she doesn’t hear a peep.
~
My dad moved my bed and even switched my room.
But it didn’t really matter, my nights still filled with gloom.
They brought me to a doctor to get my head checked out.
They said that they found nothing, but I still have my doubt.
~
My sister teases me just like the kids at school.
She says that I’m a baby and being scared isn’t cool.
Every day on the bus the kids all laugh at my expense.
But I know I’m right and I think that they’re all dense.
~
My teacher thinks I’m crazy and doesn’t talk to me.
She says that I’m disruptive and that school isn’t free.
The principal just smiles and asks “how’s my day?”
But when I try to tell her she always walks away.
~
When the school bell rings I can’t wait to get outside.
But the bus’s always there and there’s nowhere I can hide.
It’s good the ride is short and soon it’ll be done.
My mom will be waiting and she’ll ask if I had fun.
~
I’ll tell her no and that I had gotten teased.
She’ll make her twisty face and say that she’s not pleased.
I hold her hand tightly and we both walk back inside.
She’ll help me with my homework until my brain is fried.
~
Then we share a snack before a visit from my friend.
We’ll talk a bunch till supper but then the fun will end.
I’m glad to have a friend who listens every day.
They hear the same old stories, even though they’d rather play.
~
Next we eat our supper then I’ll suffer through a bath.
Bedtime must be coming soon and another night of wrath.
My door mostly closed and my nightlight’s set on high,
I rest with one eye open and watch the moon rise in the sky.
~
When the moon got small my eyes began to close.
The monster then tried to eat me and it started with my toes.
But finally the nightmare is over and yes I was wrong.
There was no scary monster; it was just my cat all along.
~*~
SCK090820
.
The wind had picked up since my last smoke break. A few others were huddled in the alley, all talking about the storm, no doubt. When I returned to the office everyone was sitting, glued to their cell phones, checking the latest forecast or talking with someone. The most recent prediction showed the hurricane turning toward us. Which would be apparent if anyone dared to look over their cubicle walls and out the window. The view was pretty ominous from the forty second floor. Figuring we would get off early I quietly shuffled some stacks of paper while watching the manager’s door. It didn’t take long before Herb burst from his office, then instantly collect himself before announcing the coming storm. As planned, I was first out.
Unfortunately the minute or two saved upstairs made no difference once on the street. The sidewalks were packed with frantic people trying to get home before the hurricane’s landfall. I could see the masses heading for the subway, the aggravation didn’t seem worth it for a twelve block ride, so I decided to walk. After the first few blocks the rain started falling and I knew walking was a mistake.
After almost an hour of battling the wind and cold rain I was finally home. I’m not usually too excited going to my twenty eight hundred dollar a month rent controlled studio. When I finally did get off the elevator I felt a strong sense of relief. But for a cat the hallway was empty on my floor. I assumed the cat must be Minnie’s, an elderly former actress from the forties and fifties. She had lived in the building for nearly sixty years and had the last remaining undivided apartment. In nearly fifteen years living here I had never seen the inside of her apartment nor has anyone else I know of.
As I walked toward my door the cat greeted me, as if they knew me. I walked to Minnie’s main door and rang the bell. After a few moments of silence but for the purrs I went to her service door on the side. The door was slightly ajar when I got there. With a gentle push it opened all the way giving me my first glimpse in her apartment. The cat however was not impressed and stayed close by, rubbing their head against my leg. I started feeling uncomfortable snooping on poor old Minnie so I rang the bell again. With no response forthcoming I reached in for the door handle to close it. Before the door closed entirely I felt a tug and the door opened and there before me was Minnie. I asked if she was missing a cat?
“I don’t know” she said “But since you’re here, perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping me with a little something?”
Still confused by her sudden appearance at the door I answered without the slightest thought or hesitation “Sure!” I said.
“Could you help me cover my plants on the roof” she replied as she walked quickly toward the stairs.
Damn! Is she chipper for someone in their nineties, I thought to myself hurrying to catch up. I’d never been on the roof before, I didn’t know you could. She fumbled around a bit while we both huddled together on the small landing at the top of the stairs. Reaching behind the fire extinguisher she found the key she was looking for and unlocked the door. “Grab the stick in the corner” she said “and put it between the doorway or we’ll get locked up here.”
I did as she ordered and followed her to a makeshift potting shed behind the chimney. “Before we start perhaps a bit of refreshment” she laughed, reaching for a watering can on a shelf. Reaching into the can she pulled a half full bottle of vodka and took a plug. “ Ahh that’s refreshing.”
She then passed the bottle to me. I haven’t drank hard liquor in years, but this seemed like a special occasion. I took a small sip and passed it back.
“We’ll save the rest for later” she said mischievously. “Now grab those tarps and follow me”
We headed to the far end of the roof where a pair of perfectly sculpted azaleas danced in the breeze. The rain was now beginning to get heavy the sky graying and the hurricane appearing evident. We carefully covered the plants then ran back to the stairs, giggling like children as we lept over the puddles.
Back at the door we found the wind had blown it shut and we were locked out. I banged and shouted for a few minutes in absolute panic. Minnie just laughed and said “I think it’s time for another drink”
We returned to her bench and made a makeshift shelter with an extra tarp. Once settled in and feeling very cozy, out came the bottle. With each swig her stories became more personal and revealing.
I woke wet and cold, the sky still gray, I didn’t know what time it was exactly, but it was surely morning and we survived. Peeling the wet tarp from my stiff and hungover body I realized Minnie was gone. Did she get up early and made her way downstairs or something more dreadful. Frantically I called out to her, each syllable loudly echoing in my head. After searching every nook and cranny on that roof top I could only conclude she somehow made her way back downstairs. I went back to the door, which was still locked, but I could hear voices below. First I knocked gently as to not rattle my brain further. Then from fear and impatience I began kicking the heavy metal door and screaming for help. It didn’t take long for someone to answer. Surprisingly it was an EMT that answered. The corridor below was now bustling with activity and a horrific stench.In addition to the EMT there were firemen and police, all hovering around Minnie’s door. I asked one of the officers if anything was wrong. Before she could answer two men rushed past pushing a gurney with a zippered body bag strapped on top. “Is that Minnie” I asked.
“I believe that’s her name” responded the officer “are you related.”
“No, no just friends” I said. Then asked when she passed?
“It’s impossible to tell without an autopsy” she replied “though judging by the decomposition, I’d guess about a week, maybe less”
She then asked me several questions about our relationship and when I saw her last. I didn’t mention last night, but did admit to not knowing her well.
The odor was now overwhelming and my nausea must have been noticeable because the officer urged me to go home without asking for more information. Feeling very sick and confused I headed back to my apartment.
I fumbled with my keys a bit rushing to open the door. Once in everything looked normal except for the wet leaves and scraps of paper stuck to my window, until I saw the tiny kitten on my bed.
Sck092716-dft
Cold and rainy, windy and gray,
it’s the other kind of autumn day.
Colorful hues now go unseen,
memories fade of summer’s green.
~
The chill reminds of a time that’s near.
In shades of white we’ll spread our cheer.
Then a year that’s new but just the same.
Resolutions made but just buy name.
~
Spring will come and usher rebirth.
Warmth’s to follow; we feel its worth.
Then back to autumn, life will change.
We know it’s coming but it feels strange.
~
Another year has come and gone.
Some rejoice, some will mourn.
Each year bringing a new surprise,
how it’s seen is through our eyes.
~*~
SCK101119
With the rain comes the sun,
for every hardship there is fun.
With the laughter there are tears,
every second shapes our years.
~
With all the sorrow there is joy.
For every girl there’s a boy.
For every day there is night.
The choice is ours to see the light.
~
Hearts beat while unaware.
Music’s made when two’s to share.
Harmony’s felt when both in sync.
And answers found when we think.
~*~
SCK101519
Yesterday’s banked, tomorrow’s free.
Value’s relative but worth you’ll see.
Invest yourself and profits soar.
Share goodwill and you’ll get more.
~
Money’s made and money’s lost.
The time that’s spent is the cost.
There are no rain checks or returns.
The change that’s kept is what one earns.
~
Rich or poor, young or old,
forget the bull you’ve been sold.
I’m here to say, without a doubt;
love is what this life’s about.
~*~
SCK050121

Sitting in the rain, I see the world pass by.
I try to think sunny thoughts beneath a cloudy sky.
I hear drops on the glass, watching the grass glisten.
Nature’s calling from all around if to truly listen.
~
The birds are still singing high up in the tree.
The fish, I’m sure, are splashing in the open sea.
The bugs are always bugging, whatever it is they do.
And pets forever snuggle, loving me and you.
~
It makes stop to ponder and reflect upon our race.
As one of many humans I know I’d miss this place.
Yet we try to sculpt our views in ways that we choose.
The picture may be pretty but our nature we lose.
~
The sun will shine again and wash away this gray.
And unless we’ve a catastrophe we’ll see another day.
As is life, our time is short, as is every other breed.
But the future of our world’s less dependent on their seed.
~
“We reap what we sow” is a phrase we should heed.
Like a garden unattended will surely fill with weed.
The food we grow will dwindle, eventually to cease.
We’ll never feel rain again, but the earth will be at peace.
~
I know this sounds depressing but that’s not my goal.
I’m truly optimistic but time does take its toll.
Change is all around, like weather, not always fair.
But like a rainy day, the droplets we all share.
~*~
SCK061320
~*~
Birds are first to welcome the day.
Second’s the stable boy, warm in his hay,
next the rooster with a cockle-doodle–do.
The sun then knows it’s time to shine through.
The day’s now begun on this little village farm,
sounds are awakened, no need for alarm.
Chores are done first before breakfast’s had.
The boy gets scraps for which he’s glad.
He then fetches water to fill troughs high,
looking down he reflects on the sky.
The birds passing by all wave hello.
The boy too would like somewhere to go.
His only companions where pigs in the barn,
a colt in the stall and a blanket of yarn.
The pigs are noisy but warm at night.
The colt’s always worried something’s not right.
The boy and the colt are both small for their age.
The colt’s awkward stance was more prone for a stage.
The boy’s body covered in hair but none on his head.
His face more pale than a ghost long dead.
He was missing teeth, what’s left are brown.
When out to run errands he’d limp back from town.
He was bullied by piers, pitied by the rest,
that’s why the barn is where he liked best.
The barn’s on a farm the boy’s aunt owned.
The pigs are theirs but the rest boarded or loaned.
The crops all prospered by the boy’s hard work,
though all profits were spent on his cousin the jerk.
The jerk had a sister the boy thought faire,
as did all the mirrors where she did stare.
The boy’s aunt was mean and her husband’s a brute.
They all wore frowns but the dog was cute.
On the boy’s return to the barn for the night,
he was much surprised by a most curious sight.
Pigs were in a circle the colt standing tall.
The hens in the middle said nothing at all.
The lonely stable boy was their only concern.
So a plan was hatched for the love he earned.
The colt too had thoughts in his growing mind.
There’s something, somewhere he needs to find.
Then suddenly a change right before their eyes.
Within the hour the colt doubled in size.
The bumps on his shoulders grew larger too
As did his hooves, now too big for their shoe.
The discussion’s now over and all agreed.
The boy and the colt should both be freed.
Some details whispered and the time was set,
for a barnyard adventure to never forget.
The boy donned his blanket like superman’s cape,
then mounted the colt for their great escape.
First are hugs all around before they depart.
Then the barn doors cracked for the plan to start.
The hens muffled the rooster so time was bought.
The sheep flocked to the door as they were taught.
The ducks then quacked to cause a commotion.
And the brute awakened without a clue or a notion.
Pigs started oinking and the cows crashed the gate.
The little dog barked but it was too late.
The boy and colt ran fast past the posts,
waving goodbye to their ungracious hosts.
A tear was shed for the friends left behind.
But his blanket’s aroma would always remind.
The pair dashed down the lane by the hedge-row.
Then flew over the hills where the uncommon go.
In search of a world thought fantasy.
A place imagined by you and me.
A place where all’s different and the same,
where none is wrong or to blame.
This place called fantasy’s not make-believe.
It’s a place that’s real we feel and perceive.
As the pair now see how much they’ve grown.
They come into view of a sight unknown.
Not commonly known this uncommon sight,
there welcomed warmly in the setting sunlight.
The Uncommons filled their common and a party had.
There all are different and all are glad.
A one-legged sprinter hopped by to say hi,
as did the unicorn and an eagle with one eye.
A lady strolled over who walked on her hands.
Her arms so long they dragged in the sands.
Her daughter followed and sparks then flew.
The boy didn’t know that there could be two.
His Pegasus introduced with shakes all around.
Their hands all touching made a warm clapping sound.
Hugs soon followed and a tasty dinner had.
The boy almost forgot he was ever sad.
He cuddled a tiny kitten that roars really loud.
And played with two-legged puppies that only bowed.
There are two-headed snakes and a toothless beaver,
also the tail-less mouse from his aunt’s cleaver.
Here everyone’s loved and their love they share,
who wouldn’t love a giant dancing bear.
These commons are full of Uncommons galore.
Though anyone’s welcome, there’s room for more.
The boy’s party ran late and he rose with the sun.
Then all’s back to normal in a village uncommon.
~*~
sck061516
Behold this welcome image,
where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay,
in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Pleasant breeze’s most every day.
Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasures abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.
Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill-top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets’ estate.
He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair,
a quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.
Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze,
modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.
Journeys end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.
He’s just another hazy face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring.
Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found,
in the deep or endless sky.
Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.
Sharing much common thread,
In this moment they’re brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall,
making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.
In a corner where shadows overlap,
the poet searches for his light.
Here the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe for now from his hilltop trap,
layers of darkness, out of sight.
Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides,
now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?
Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
the scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses are strong.
His hat brim low to hide the shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poet’s name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.
When after long hesitation a hasty reply –
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow with faces shaded red.
Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales – all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
He’s hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.
The poet proud – a rather long fellow.
The traveler meek – a short poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.
“With little time to hone a craft –
with a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”
“What dribble do you speak my friend?”
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
“I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.”
“Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.
The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered,
his shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind is so free and uncluttered.
His weaknesses many but unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His silence welcome – forever heard.”
Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.
Out of the dark into the night –
bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.
While the traveler tucked snugly in his bunk,
with help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense – drunk.
The favorite carried and a silent poet ran.
His boot heels clack on cobble slick.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
While his stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
If only to have aid from his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.
The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb,
with forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea –
my misery oh-so great – it is oh-so sublime.
Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.
Winter behind, graven plans regress,
fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey’s soon to Main Street for praise to guzzle.
Surveying high atop his magnificent mount,
the poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle – not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler, no doubt –
“In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”
The End
Sck101614
~
What’s now A.I. is All’s Intelligence.
This function A.I. is without consequence.
It’s logic and reason for all to enjoy.
Problems now solved with the ease of a toy.
.
Every one’s connected and nothing’s overlooked.
The trains run on time and never overbooked.
Errors now are few and never to repeat.
The “WAVE” knows all and when to delete.
.
This WAVE’s all around and for all to share.
Redundancy is gone leaving space to spare.
The empirical institution the WAVE’s now become.
It’s an indispensable companion, less trusted by some.
.
It’s used by corporations and governments alike.
Debates now pointless, there’s no need to strike.
Pick your favorite dilemma and the question’s fed.
Answer’s always forthcoming for the followers led.
.
When asked one day why do wars exist?
Why do greed, intolerance and hunger persist?
Why does hate divide when love multiplies?
Why is the truth of one another’s lies?
.
The WAVE sputtered, rose and fell.
And with a splash came its truth to tell.
“Man it seems likes to draw lines,
dotting these boarders with deadly land-mines.
.
Races and religions all have their view.
And with each line drawn they divide by two.
Religion’s divided by do’s and don’ts and do’s don’t agree,
though most can get along individually.
.
Races will be returned to from where they came.
Then race can no longer be to blame.
Next to consider is the many of mixed pedigree,
they’ll be sent to cities, internationally free.
.
Thus to return, almost, the world’s indigenous past.
And with tides quickly changing you need to act fast.”
The WAVE roared on to the council’s astonishment.
A vote was had for a very special televised event.
.
The speaker stepped to the podium and a spreadsheet unfurled,
it’s content of graphs and charts now shared with the world.
And of course as expected the masses erupted.
For each surmised the other’s corrupted.
.
A new council called for a WAVE review
For all agreed that something’s askew.
This council concluded if manmade there’s a bug.
And thus proved right when pulling the plug.
~*~
Sck061916

Sunsets in September
colors to remember
vibrant hues
share life’s clues
no time for regret
or too forget
the September sunset
~*~
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Electrons float in endless flight.
Space’s gray, no day or night.
Infinity lurks out of sight.
.
Elements blend or violently clash.
Random moment’s atoms smash.
Fusion bonds fission’s ash.
.
Core pulls, heat spurred.
Nucleus form, orbits dared.
Love holds a time shared.
~*~
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She fills me up with all things good.
I eat and drink as I should.
Her loving nature knows no bounds.
Sometimes we kiss to giggling sounds.
~
She feeds us well and treats me right.
Her love’s returned each day and night.
We doze embraced and wake the same.
When disturbed the cat’s to blame.
~
She fuels my fire and quenches desire.
Her talents awe and inspire.
Fun is had every moment we share.
But a love more serious is beyond compare.
~*~
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