little things

Birthday Triku

Birthday Cake-

Candles blaze, wax pools.

Sugar glazed time on a dish.

Slices of life shared.

 

Familiar Paths-

Life’s familiar path:

Birth, growth, love, toil and refresh,

relax and recall.

 

Birthday Wish-

They said “Make a wish”

I wish it not my birthday.

WAIT! – Nope! – didn’t work.

 

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Global Types

Sex, size, color and age

All are things we instantly gauge

All depending on our points of view

Seven billion, give or take a few

~

Hair, clothes, face an eyes

All are things we choose to disguise

All dependent on another’s view

But just one decides and that’s you

~

Stereotypes, media-hypes, everybody’s taking swipes

Each one sharing in each other’s gripes

Yet share we must to survive

While still we share, being alive

~*~

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Gray Hare

A requested tribute / sequel to “White Rabbit”

(Original lyrics by Jefferson Airplane)

~*~

One pill picks you up

One knocks you to the floor

And the ones the doctor gave you

Don’t do the same anymore

Go see Alex

When he’s feeling sure

~

And if you go chasing some dream

And you know you’ll run all day

Tell’em the caterpillar’s now a butterfly

And the color flew away

Go ask Alex

When he dyed his gray

~

When the chessmen in the boardroom

Give up but they won’t let you quit

And the mushrooms now with steak and beer

And your brain runs out of wit

Go tell Alex

I think he’ll fit

~

When climate and aggression

Have made us all to fear

And the White Knight’s now a talking head

And the Red Queen’s a man with flair

Remember what Bugs Bunny said

Feed the heir, feed the heir

~*~

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Relies

There’s a quiet in the darkness,
our sun yet to rise.
Beauty’s still in hiding,
only truth’s before our eyes.
~
Soon the dawn will beckon,
shedding the world’s disguise.
Silence then a memory,
light exposing the lies.
~
The world now filled with sunshine,
always a pleasant surprise.
Then we wait for the sunset,
again to feel we’re wise.
~
By day we have distraction,
evenings we revise.
Sleep brings us solace,
giving strength to ask the whys.
~
Questions fill our heads,
life’s answers we surmise.
Half asleep or awake,
tomorrow is our prize.

~*~
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Viscous Visceral Visions

~

Poet’s pen words as painters paint hues,

each exploring infinite shades of the blues.

Whether a canvas large or ragged scrap small,

quills and brushes cover them all.

.

Syllables shade the sentence with shadow,

of portraits deep and seascapes shallow.

While watercolors will always wash away,

ink and oils shimmer for another day.

.

Surreal or real really anything goes,

whether rhyming verse, freeform or prose.

Maybe some Shakespeare or dogs playing cards,

velvet backs drape to both blind and bards.

.

Ropes of velvet secure master pieces.

A sandwich of glass will smooth out the creases.

Though nothing’s smooth in a perfect sense,

waves perpetually bristle from light to dense.

.

Mirrors project light already seen.

Reflection occurs on the matted screen.

Largeness lingers, all mediums fade,

little’s lost when something is made.

.

What’s unmade forever unknown,

forever unseen and can never be grown.

Whatever’s not lost will be our gains.

And when tears dry an image remains.

~*~

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Imagining Real Fantasy

Grunts, growls, nods and shrugs
Smiles, laughter, kisses and hugs
Ashes smeared on homes rock wall
Soon words flow free, seemingly natural

.

Lessons learned, lessons shared
Lessons remembered, fierce feared
Nurtures nudged, natures shaped
Bodies tortured, minds raped

.

Minds make from minds made
Mountains tumble, foundations laid
Sky’s scraped, outer spaced and arms raced
Hole in the sky, Earth’s tears cry, life traced

.

Trails, trials, words and meanings don’t just appear
Nothing’s truly discovered if someone’s already there
We learn from others mistakes, less from their good
We do all the things that we’re told we should

.

We learn from books written by others, as they choose
Remembering what we choose, when in pretty prose
Reality is, as what fantasy was
History’s reality that was just because

.

So because became to hide the shame
But the causes that cause are still the same
History’s posted now, in real-time
Fantasy posted all the time

.

Reality’s fantasy some of the time
Fantasy’s reality most of the time
Most everything we hear, feel, think and see
Imagined and created just for us, thus fantasy

.

I speak in riddle, write in rhyme
Never say much, most of the time
When speaking I stutter, ramble and blather
So when thinking, write I’d rather

.

Then edit out space in-between
With the time never to be seen
Then post to a post I write as a ghost
A post that I host to share with the most

.

I can’t imagine a fantasy more real
When reality’s made with fantastical zeal
Just a note, I make stuff up; don’t know if it’s true
I’m just real confused, I imagine, just like you

.

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Penergy

With every turn there’s something new

With every friend there may be two

When lost turn back and be found

Or continue onward for another round

 *

When riding high remember the low

When down and out get up and go

Positive and negative are just a charge

We’re the conduits for life’s barrage

*

While energy travels equally both ways

As does the dark and light of days

Except we choose our forces flow

A wispy crackle or auras that glow

 *

With dynamics of pen and static of pulp

And invisible energy of letters we sculpt

Seemingly pulled from the thin air

Heavy with visions for all to share

*

This energies free, but the heat is not

So to feel the cool, you have to get hot

If you want mellow, you can’t get blue

If your yellow, you won’t do

 *

But if you’re prepared for a tremendous surge

Patience and passion is what I urge

~

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Last Call

Before you take me home tonight, I have but one confession.

I don’t make any money as a writer by profession.

I’ve been working on a novel or two.

I’ve written some poems, quite a few.

.

Most daily labors bore me; don’t like doing what I’m told.

I’m also a procrastinator, keeps me from getting old.

While any man can give you his body, soul and heart,

I can give you all those things and a life of art.

.

They can scribble little notes sent with a store-bought rose.

I will pick you wildflowers each with personal prose.

Oh, I can see by your look I’ve said far too much.

But these words will easily stop when our lips touch.

.

Our eyes can share visions; our books can share a shelf.

Our unpenned paper hearts will create a poetry of self.

I don’t need an answer now, just a maybe and a smile will do.

So when we meet again someday, I may turn a page for you.

~

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Some Days

Some days I feel great, 

others, not that well.

I wake each day not knowing, 

if it’s good or a living hell.

~

I’ve no reason to be grumpy, 

or knock myself around.

I know I should be happy, 

still vertical on this ground.

~

I don’t have any enemies, 

if so, I’m not aware.

But the image in the mirror, 

often gives me an evil stare.

~

There really is no reason, 

but I question my every move.

I should learn to just relax, 

enjoying this summer groove.

~

Thoughts run through my mind,

 from where I can not say.

So far my head is quite,

 let’s hope it lasts all day.

~*~

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Gone Fish’n

A boat ride changed my life,
the sun soon to rise.
The air brisk, I didn’t care,
answers await my eyes.
~
The sky begins to glow,
my vision’s now in view.
Time seemed to stop,
my life’s now to do.
~
My feet hit the ground,
head stuck in the clouds.
Peace finally at hand,
no bustling of the crowds.
~
The gulls sang me welcome,
the trees waved hello.
A path leads me forward,
my future to bestow.
~
Day turned into night,
stars guide my way.
Memories flood my mind,
the past, I have no say.
~
Questions were abound,
slumber won the race.
Awakened by a breeze,
little kisses on my face.
~
My plan now in limbo,
storm clouds filled the skies.
My lesson was then learned,
truth’s behind the eyes.
~*~
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Literally Free

Today’s my day.
Maybe yours as well.
It may not be heaven,
but it sure ain’t hell.
~
There’s a chill in the air.
The sky’s a cold gray.
It’s my only day off.
But there’s rain all day.
~
That’s O.K. my coffee’s hot.
And my boots are dry.
Adventures are waiting.
And I’m gonna try.
~
My pockets are empty.
And so’s my old car.
I guess I’ll be walking.
I don’t need to go far.
~
So, it’s off to the library,
that’s always fun.
Good friends await.
And our adventure’s begun.

~*~
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Stuck in the Middle with Me

Having reached the pinnacle of mediocrity,
the vista’s not quite what I thought it to be.
Valleys dwelt, sunlight shading overtime,
peaks overshadowed by this risers’ climb.
~
Tomorrows sculpted with what’s on hand,
rocky paths forged with mud and sand.
Yesterdays cleansed by the will of the sea;
darkness consumed by a will to be free.
~
Years like seconds cast to the breeze,
a gales awaiting, each day a tease.
But to wake I shall, today I did.
I’m halfway there, but again just mid.

~*~
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Poetic Injustice

Afloat in red stilettos, hair, nails and lips

Shimmering in black satin, taught about the hips

Blue green eyes sparkle as they glance my way

Smile wide across her face, yet I’ve nothing to say

*

Subtle hand reaching softly touches mine

Nervously reacting I nearly spilled her wine

Leaning ever closer, whispering in my ear

Sweet sounds alluring, words I’ve dreamt to hear

*

Standing stunned, throbbing chest

Twisted tongue on a tortured quest

A racing mind all aflutter

An uncertain stutter I did utter

*

With this mutter she did chortle

A pen less poet’s just a mortal

~*~

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To All a Happy End

Books without covers, until they’re read

Blank pages at the start, full when it’s dead

Chapters each grow complex as time fills the sheets

Cluttered with description, scattered with fabulous feats

~

Leafs numbered carefully, some seemingly fell out-of-order

With twists and turns, good and bad, the best parts always shorter

All are novel, none a fiction, most never to be perused

All first editions on a shelf, most forgotten once they’re used

~

Paper backed or leather clad, short and long, some illustrated

Writ by a single hand, edited by masses, bound and frustrated

All’s a familiar historic tale, all they ever wrote

Copyrights handed down, penned in a marginal note

~

‘Twas a story of a life whose time may now transcend

Whether joyful, sad or demonic – all will be a happy end

~*~

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Getting Up

***

Getting up should be forbid!

It’s too early for a kid.

Hiding not from what I did.

Under blankets – there I hid.

*

If just to sleep late – I would.

And dream all day – I could.

I want sleep, but wake I should.

Getting up is never good.

*

Getting up is what I dread.

Hair is tossed up on my head.

Mouth tastes yucky, eyes red.

Cold piggy’s dangling from bed.

*

Then they’re tickled by my dad.

Got right up but I’m not mad.

Smiles and sunshine bright, I’m glad.

Getting up was not so bad.

*

The End

~

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