life

Purgatory and Main

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Poetic purgatory’s a place between,
the best of all verse never to be seen.
Visions undefinable, feelings unfelt
and sensations inconceivable, when
squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squoze,
jumbled noise and random shapes,
blurry sounds and perception escapes.

Normalcy‘s all a part of prose.
Unheard the whispers whose echo grows,
frequency seldom as anyone knows.
Oh no, no, no and so the rhythm comes and goes.
Mind distracted by orderly thought.
Moments rest all for naught.
Escapers of dreams always caught.

Then times sold, image bought and change sought,
until the dollars sign to buy an eternity.
Though sense is never free, so why, why, why –
Why won’t desires die?

~

sck081017

Taps and Dies Before Our Eyes

~*~
Beneath the surface the hidden lies.
Lifetimes dug with nightly spies.
They’re timely spirits never seen.
Betwixt the shadows they have been.

They step in time to others cries.
Unheard are they, ahead they rise.
Parallel the paths diverged.
Wrongly spiked the forces surged.

Time is distance in disguise.
Depth perceived in mind’s wise.
Forever’s there can never be.
The past is all we get to see.

Tomorrow’s come and that’s the prize.
The present meant to capitalize.
Waves of emotion ebb and swell.
Tides of change rose and fell.

Plans charted as the crow flies.
Destinations await all surprise.
Second chances always free.
And visitors all are we.

Then there’s those which defies,
“to each their own” we’ll rationalize.
Can halves again make a whole?
The ups and downs take a toll.

With twists and turns we realize.
Life unlived without goodbyes.

~
Sck081017

When Questions Burn

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When virtue’s taken does it come back?
When innocence gone what else do we lack?
When the time comes is it too late?
When the day’s done was it fate?

When dreams awaken was it sound?
When trust is lost what then is found?
When does a broken heart mend?
When is a lover not a friend?

When all was had what’s left to yearn?
When the damage done what did we learn?
When the pains felt haunt can life return?
And when it does; does it burn?

~*~

sck080917

Sally Rand’s Flight

~*~
In a constant state of pre-incarnation,
an old soul preps for the next incarnation.
They’ll reconstitute a Renaissance anew,
options limitless though choices are few.

They’re birthed to body without a direction.
Life’s lived unknown but for premonition.
No purpose made clear as to why we are here.
Yet these old souls sense what’s really there.

For reasons unknown and beyond speculation,
the old souls know of their next reincarnation.
And Sally like others still live on today,
ever changing the world in their own small way.

~

sck071917

Erasing Racings

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We seek to seek a clue
for paths straight and true
where the angle we pursue
is our own point of view.

Degrees unchanged are unseen.
Answers lurk in space between.
All turns return to the mean.
Golden suns and blue sky green.

But the wind never bends.
A loner never lends.
Always best is time with friends.
And the unsummed heart someday mends.

~
sck071517

Naked and Alone

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Beginnings and ends, naked and alone,
all’s to know then to atone.
Little wings in an Age of Aquarius,
forever is a question if forever curious.

Or never ask and never know –
which direction you should go.
Up or down or in-between-
or never go then never seen.

And never seen is never known –
never known naked and alone.

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sck071317 / MAOA

Backasswords

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Rejection’s heard and intention reversed,
when words said are “let’s be friends first”.
Regarding romance this theory’s wrong,
friendship follows and it won’t take long.

First there’s attraction with a little spark.
Nervous words follow, seemingly a lark.
Calmness soon settles then desires grow.
You talk for hours with so much more to know.

Feelings grow deeper and emotions run high,
Trust is unquestioned and your head’s in the sky.
Times had together much the same as friends,
until a kiss goodnight when your blissful day ends.

Does anyone ask for less and then expect more?
Why should romance be any less sure?
Isn’t an honest start more likely to last long?
Or start at the end, what could go wrong?

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sck071217

Morning Triku # Maybe the Last or 154

Going, Going, Gone

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Poetic Visions

A poet can see
the past, present and future.
Then write all the wrongs.

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Forever Green

In time we all green,
some blossom, others jaded.
Most just get moldy.

~
Pocket Full of Poesy

We’re going to hell
in a hand-basket held by
a deplorable!

~*~
sck070617