Reaper

Too much idle time
attacks the mind
with endless realization
that you will die,
contemplating the how,
when, and why
you try
healthy eating
and exercise,
pumping nutrition
into the
big fat lie
you’re growing,
the one where
you survive
this crazy ride
unlike all the
others who tried.
The wise wrap
themselves tightly
in life,
passionately gliding
through busy days
until death is nothing
more than an
unexpected surprise

Brushstroke

What beauty
greater known
than a cardinal
midst the snow,
a point of grace
on cedar’s bough,
a crimson cloak
nature endowed,
quickly seen
then gone again
but the vision
lingers, and reigns
as hope, strong,
for he will return
ere-long

Wall Street

The city’s wallet
reeks of
illicit orgasms
squeezed in on
the way home to the
wife and kids
but the suit
that sits
on its shoulders
is golden,
integrity
folded
into crisp
pocket squares,
a daring
display of
patrician
plumage
that fools
too many as they
are shuffled toward
a mythical
land of plenty,
fattened calves
for the
gentry

Gangsta Word Nerd

I could crush you
with my poetry,
trust me,
but I’m too
lazy,
pissing away
my gift
on red wine
and Netflix,
no time
for sublime
words and
rhymes that
would leave
you blind,
my mind
far past
the sad
missives
of the masses –
behold this power
scratched out
in a quarter
of an hour!
DJ,
gimme a
beat,
all the
pretenders
retreat,
I’m the OG
on this street,
if you are careless
you will bleed

Ascension

There’s a throne
at the end
of the world,
placed at the
edge
of the
ledge
overlooking forever,
a keen-edged
broadsword
leans there
in royal repose
waiting to
sever
what looms behind,
those wounding ropes
that bind
and the lies
of what never was.
Only those that
dare to become
gods
have grasped
its hilt
while their selves
cried out,
“Wilt thou
cleave me asunder?”
And the thunder
crashed
as the blade sliced
and they became
as lightning,
exploding time,
infusing everything,
blissfully nothing,
just vague
memories
floating through
shadows,
drops of dew
on stained-glass
windows

A Trip Worth Making

A glorious place,
hand-painted
in the fabled green
of rolling Irish hillsides,
nothing but space
to roam,
to be alone
with the breeze
and tranquil thoughts
to carry furrowed brows
to crease-less ease.
A glorious place
indeed, walking free
with need
in absentia,
colorful flowers
smiling in sweet,
perfumed dementia,
all wrongs and hate
forgotten,
no hunger,
no down-trodden,
not a single thing
misbegotten.
Can such a place survive
anywhere but dreams?
It seems unlikely
while the insanity mill
mindlessly promotes
hate-filled beings.
But you can still go there,
follow the golden geese
and they will lead you,
inside yourself,
to that land called
Peace.

No Title Will Suffice . . .

He is
fading away
with all the
grace
that one could
hope to coax
from one
simple dog.
His days
of play
have flown
away
and the ghost
in his shell
wanders the spaces,
stumbling into
corners,
daring not
to turn
left or right,
his sight
having betrayed
him
and anyway
it feels
safe there
I suppose,
enclosed,
a cocoon
carved from
a large room.
What am I
to do?
He seems to
be through
though I imagine
I see a puppy
in his face,
me, in this
horrid place
of deciding
his fate –
or do I
wait, not knowing
what great pain
there may be
or what tragedy
may strike
like a thief
in the night?
Fourteen years
he has given
his all,
who am I
to forestall his
peaceful passage
and then again,
who am I
to say
he won’t last?
The end comes,
nowhere to run,
I must face
that day
with him,
I cannot
shun
this debt
of love,
even to the
breaking
of
my
heart

The Beginning of the End – Again

Deconstructing the
Dickens Village,
it’s all silly
after the porridge
and the 25th,
L.L.Cool J
cranked up loud,
“Mama said
knock you out,”
and Frank and
Bing have left
the house,
nothing’s stirring,
not even a
mouse – normal
is calling
and I’m
reclaiming
the couch

Distillate

God is
hope,
nothing more,
pile all the
scriptures
on the floor,
absorb them
’till your brain
is sore,
the gift
remains
the same
regardless
the name
you claim
is true.
What lifts
me and you
is hope.
Hope
that the
pain will
pass,
hope
that the
bad
won’t last,
hope
that a
“bigger”
has our
back when
lack
looms
large
and loss
attacks.
Hope,
Hope . . .

Hope