Tall, prickly, coniferous green
Carrying the name of the holiday
Home,
And cheer,
Family,
Togetherness.
Hateful, hanging, couple bait
Blushing, bashful, giggling fools
Not me,
I couldn’t,
Don’t make me,
Okay fine.
Flashy as the brightest stars
Poisonous if it’s company is partaken
Alone,
It’s fine,
I’m fine,
Go away.
Posted in Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized
Strands defined by deepest black
Flecks a vivid cold blue
Bowing red encircles sound
On a canvass of dynamic porcelain
Vibrations of the purest pitch
Empathizing without animadversion
Beating, unconquered chambers
In ending rest finds new life
Curvaceous length beckoning essence
Turned on dichotomies forcing depth of identity
Building relationship rungs to form a whole
Merging forward into a perpetual future
Piecemeal construction of components
Rescinding alternatives, acknowledging dominance
Not quite mirroring strong predecessors
Reigning fair at the core over all
Praise be the animal that does not know itself.
That does not know to rip and tear
at personality, hopes, and cares.
That does not look into its mind
and collapse chambers in despair.
False pride pillars fracture
Ceiling dreams crumble
Ambitious walls fall
Self-awareness slumps to the floor.
Hail to the creature that needs only base comfort.
That only wants for outside warmth,
whose heart is only for beating.
That doesn’t fret future states
or ruminate on what should be fleeting.
Not hearing its own brain whisper
words of warning and worry.
Not knowing to fear itself
when looking to save its life.
Nail under the edge
Brace, decide
Pull, grimace
Immediately stop.
The little hairs
Stuck in the adhesive
And, well, pain
Changes things
Tug a little
Yep, still hurts
Well, it doesn’t have
To come off directly.
I’ll just ignore for now
Life will handle it
Eventually
The world will provide.
Too much hand lotion
I shouldn’t waste it
No harm in applying
The rest to the arm.
Maybe it’s softened
I’ll just worry the edge
And never mind
Patience is a virtue.
Nice, hot shower
I always scrub
With vigor and soap
Look! It’s off.
Down the drain
Before I can grasp it
Oh well
One problem won’t clog.
Little bird pokes his brother
Want to play?
Want to play?
Little bird flaps and hovers
Sunny day
Want to play?
The breeze is calling from the east
Smells of flowers
Smells of trees
Floating nicely with wings at ease
It is day
Come and play
Mother’s calling us to join her
Has food
Has love
Will guide us to fly up higher
Family day
Come and play
Waken brother, rise and greet me
Night is over
Open eyes
Nudges harder at the body
Happy day
Please play
Mother calls out to bird
Come away
Fly away
Wings drooping, bird obeys
No play
Not today
Nine to five
is nine to six
then nine to seven
eight and nine
and skipping lunch
and checking email
while stuck in traffic
and logging in
while decompressing
and needing conclusions
before you’re truly done.
Clenching jaw
and constant staring
and lack of water
and lack of sleep
lack of smiling
bring migraines throbbing
thrum pum stab
to proud to whimper.
Stall sitting
maybe crying
maybe retching
rehearsing
mental soliloquies
delivered powerfully
standing tall
head high
back straight
chin up
and it’s devastating.
And your brother is engaged
and your cousin is pregnant
and your mom got a dog
and your gran joined a club
and your friend’s not a friend
but a hollow social media presence
who occasionally reads your posts
and …s your overtures
between cocktails and beach vacations.
And you have a wrinkle
permanently furrowed
between brows
you no longer shape
and you have a headset
through which disappointment
is imparted
and you kick yourself
for stolen social moments
with coworkers
instead of reading
one more email
and that typo
in your excel
haunts your dreams
and you wake
already tired
already afraid
living with dread
of devastation.
Your crafted notice
sits in draft
just in case
you argue your brain
out of its rut
but you’re an adult
and adults hate
and you hate
and look how grown up.
And how you can’t look
at yourself in the mirror
without seeing errors
to nitpick
and to judge
and to compare
and to hate
that you won’t fix
because you’re weak
and I should quit
before self loathing
leads to an irreparably grander exit from life.
Battles raging all around.
Drones flock to the sky.
Brave humans marching on.
Off to war. Off to die.
Green lights steady in a row.
Patriots under god on high.
Honest souls with honest hope.
Behind closed doors families cry.
Superintelligent superpowers
plotting, planning, seeing all.
Bombing, blasting, indiscriminate.
Doing anything not to fall.
Guns plodding across the land.
Carefully a path they pick.
Footsteps disappear into sand.
Hearts stop. The ground says click.
Posted in Death, Poetry, Social Commentary, War
The clouds hung so low
that the pillars of smoke
from the factories
held up the sky.
The stacks rose above spires
as straight as the spines
praying as if their words
were as useful as action.
Mists of fire
shrouded clustered lights
like fireflies in the fog
tempting the imagination.
The halos tricked
simple minds
into believing the worthiness
of substitutes.
Plastic bags danced
as nature’s sprites
across lacerations
on the numb ground.
Atlases noticed none of this
shrugged with indifference
and the future
went to hell.
It matter not the name
at least that’s what they say
in their vague wisdom
that we acknowledge.
Close your eyes
breathe in deep
and believe you me
that the scent will be true.
Try to trick humanity
but we will not be
for obviously a word
cannot change essence.
The experts may have studied
good wine and expectations
but I don’t have to know their minds
to know how to doubt.
Doubt easy sayings.
Assume exceptions.
Consider circumstances.
Force truth.
If we all agreed
to name it rose
it does not hold
the scent constant.
Trampled fallen flowers
in spite of identity
smell not of sweet romance
but forgotten fertilizer.
Grows the future
from unquestioned roots
grounded in ideas
that should be rethought.
The Proud Dandelion 
Intentional
Hello, hello do you hear the wind
Calling out names from yesteryear?
Asking for solace
Seeking respite
Under a gloomy sky of lavender
Tainted with the dirty water
Of the paintbrush wielded by a dark minded god
Praying for absolution for a race that no longer looks up
Hello, hello do you see the rain
Staccatoing half-hearted rhythms?
Hoping for answers
Dreaming of wisdom
Mixing with the slow wake
Of a ferry traversing earthbound Lethe
Clear in purpose but clogged by the ideals of man
Begging for clarity in a world drowning in nihilistic hedonism
Halt, halt the senseless blustering
Crowing loudly, unknowing portents
As ignorance answers
Proud of its dissipation
Crawling hangovers
Of a wastrel world
Listlessly wanderlusting across land seeking emotion
Intentionally avoiding the screaming empathy of humanity
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Posted in Nature, Poetry, Religion, Social Commentary
Tagged ignorance, storm, wanderlust