The palette of winter
12 hours ago
May 8, 2011
The Long Dark Night
We work and we play,
Live in the light,
Rest till
The next day dawns;
Repeating the pattern
Throughout our lives,
Hoping to make
The days better
And the nights easier,
Shouldering the weight
Of more awareness
As we grow older.
Carefree delight
Maturing into
Thoughtful deliberation
As we ponder
Our descent into
The long dark night.
We work and we play,
Live in the light,
Rest till
The next day dawns;
Repeating the pattern
Throughout our lives,
Hoping to make
The days better
And the nights easier,
Shouldering the weight
Of more awareness
As we grow older.
Carefree delight
Maturing into
Thoughtful deliberation
As we ponder
Our descent into
The long dark night.
May 4, 2011
Birthright
I have a right
To a piece
Of the promised land
To my own share
Of the unyielding sand
And the unending strife
To earn my daily bread
By the sweat of my brow
And the fear of history
To rise through righteous
Indignation over the claims
Of my fathers brothers
To number my seed
As the sand where
Our dignity has fallen
To our knees
By becoming what
We abhor
To slay peace
For a place to
Huddle in the sand
To lay claim to
A wasteland only to say
I have a right
I have a right
To a piece
Of the promised land
To my own share
Of the unyielding sand
And the unending strife
To earn my daily bread
By the sweat of my brow
And the fear of history
To rise through righteous
Indignation over the claims
Of my fathers brothers
To number my seed
As the sand where
Our dignity has fallen
To our knees
By becoming what
We abhor
To slay peace
For a place to
Huddle in the sand
To lay claim to
A wasteland only to say
I have a right
Apr 24, 2011
Anti-boy
He's looking for a cartoon cause
Something trite he can be against
An enemy with vivid color
Handsomely ugly and deliciously evil
Daily episodes must carry a consistent story
With unending twists and feigned surprise
For us to wonder if the hero will ever survive
Each chapter ending with the worst left unanswered
In order to strike the public's eye
There must be a villainous blackard
Somewhere to grab headlines followed
By news of the hero saving the day
More important, it has to be an easy task
To vanquish a foe he can crush underfoot
Loud and whiney without actual cost
Real issues need not apply
Weekly though, the story takes on color
And a life of its own, telling us of the hero
Magnanimous in his reign and patriarchal
In his counsel with a promise of more to come
Then back to swordplay with fools disarmed
By the strong line of jaw and withering look
We see what he's against but will he ever
Take a stand, or at least say that he believes in us
He's looking for a cartoon cause
Something trite he can be against
An enemy with vivid color
Handsomely ugly and deliciously evil
Daily episodes must carry a consistent story
With unending twists and feigned surprise
For us to wonder if the hero will ever survive
Each chapter ending with the worst left unanswered
In order to strike the public's eye
There must be a villainous blackard
Somewhere to grab headlines followed
By news of the hero saving the day
More important, it has to be an easy task
To vanquish a foe he can crush underfoot
Loud and whiney without actual cost
Real issues need not apply
Weekly though, the story takes on color
And a life of its own, telling us of the hero
Magnanimous in his reign and patriarchal
In his counsel with a promise of more to come
Then back to swordplay with fools disarmed
By the strong line of jaw and withering look
We see what he's against but will he ever
Take a stand, or at least say that he believes in us
Apr 17, 2011
Processus
In the landscape
Of my dreams
Chained to the rock
Of my faith
The ocean crashes
At my feet
Waves that embody
All my fears
Threaten to engulf
My sanity
Across the sea
Of bodies
Heedless of
Their grasp
Sails a lonely
Lovely vision
Like a promise
Of salvation
Come to see me
At my prison
Caged by fear
Of my limits
Shackled by chains
Of my regret
I cry defiance
At the thought
Of inaction
Suppressing my art
Without a chance
To be read
A sinuous rope
Floats over the sea
Like a snake
From my reader
Seeking connection
To the thoughts
Surging through
My fragmented lines
Painting portraits of
My self-possession
But I am
My own jailor
Holding the keys
To the chains
With which I
Bind my mind
To the glue
Of despair
Holding back my
Pen of creation
In the landscape
Of my dreams
Chained to the rock
Of my faith
The ocean crashes
At my feet
Waves that embody
All my fears
Threaten to engulf
My sanity
Across the sea
Of bodies
Heedless of
Their grasp
Sails a lonely
Lovely vision
Like a promise
Of salvation
Come to see me
At my prison
Caged by fear
Of my limits
Shackled by chains
Of my regret
I cry defiance
At the thought
Of inaction
Suppressing my art
Without a chance
To be read
A sinuous rope
Floats over the sea
Like a snake
From my reader
Seeking connection
To the thoughts
Surging through
My fragmented lines
Painting portraits of
My self-possession
But I am
My own jailor
Holding the keys
To the chains
With which I
Bind my mind
To the glue
Of despair
Holding back my
Pen of creation
Apr 10, 2011
A Dark, Feathered Dream
Fear preys upon one's mind like ravens upon a corpse.
They split their tongues on minor points and bleed their heartless truth.
The road kill of our best efforts is but an appetizer
For them to pick at, rip apart and feed their gluttony.
Sunlight is not enough to send these scavengers away.
They strut and boast of their right to destroy our last true hopes.
These inner critics split our infinite wisdom like so much kindling to
Feed the burning fire of self loathing and despair.
Rain will not chase these purificators from their worst efforts.
They sweep the floor of our collapse for morsels of our failures.
Lying, gasping, praying; for a miracle to survive,
We would sell our sanity to let the light pervade our thoughts.
Blighted hopes reign upon the throne of mindless repetition.
Our addiction to spewing forth our words bubbles forth to their delight.
We fight to quote our own macabre dance to win the cup of acceptance.
Saving our outer selves no matter how tenuous our grip on reality.
But darkness needs the light to make itself better known,
If naught but for the way to see the feeding of the flock.
A gasp, awake, the pencil there, a scribble in the night, then
Back to dreaming of the fears that run through a restless mind.
Fear preys upon one's mind like ravens upon a corpse.
They split their tongues on minor points and bleed their heartless truth.
The road kill of our best efforts is but an appetizer
For them to pick at, rip apart and feed their gluttony.
Sunlight is not enough to send these scavengers away.
They strut and boast of their right to destroy our last true hopes.
These inner critics split our infinite wisdom like so much kindling to
Feed the burning fire of self loathing and despair.
Rain will not chase these purificators from their worst efforts.
They sweep the floor of our collapse for morsels of our failures.
Lying, gasping, praying; for a miracle to survive,
We would sell our sanity to let the light pervade our thoughts.
Blighted hopes reign upon the throne of mindless repetition.
Our addiction to spewing forth our words bubbles forth to their delight.
We fight to quote our own macabre dance to win the cup of acceptance.
Saving our outer selves no matter how tenuous our grip on reality.
But darkness needs the light to make itself better known,
If naught but for the way to see the feeding of the flock.
A gasp, awake, the pencil there, a scribble in the night, then
Back to dreaming of the fears that run through a restless mind.
Apr 3, 2011
Only Words
They're only words
Slung by candidates
Rooting for the dirt
That will prove a route
Over their own frailty.
Only words to lead
Faithful sheep away
From some other
Well meaning fools
With promises unfilled.
Words to pull wool over
Eyes blind to desire
Needing to want
Slave driven payment
For the illusion of status.
Words of fear and fences
Neighbor our limits
Define our tolerance
Paving our way through
A place we cannot reach
Only words can save us
Reach through the hurt
Sooth the pain of life
Heal breaches in our soul
Delivered by language.
They're only words
Slung by candidates
Rooting for the dirt
That will prove a route
Over their own frailty.
Only words to lead
Faithful sheep away
From some other
Well meaning fools
With promises unfilled.
Words to pull wool over
Eyes blind to desire
Needing to want
Slave driven payment
For the illusion of status.
Words of fear and fences
Neighbor our limits
Define our tolerance
Paving our way through
A place we cannot reach
Only words can save us
Reach through the hurt
Sooth the pain of life
Heal breaches in our soul
Delivered by language.
Mar 27, 2011
Maiden of the Press
They said I should go, relax, travel,
I'd been too long, too tense,
Needed to live to breathe,
Go see the sights, see some leg,
So they said.
Italy was great this time of year,
The travel agency had posters,
Planes to fly, Hotels to stay,
A car for the back roads,
So I went.
The plane ride seemed endless,
Customs had none,
The hotel was soulless,
The car my only salvation,
So I rode.
Campagnia was full of orchards,
Some were tourist stops,
Some were closed,
But one had a sign with no one in sight,
So I stopped.
There was only one building beside the house.
Where everything was lush and green,
Only one person to greet,
She asked if I wanted to see how they worked,
So I followed.
Inside I found more olives than I'd ever imagined,
Black and green,
Whole and mashed,
Standing at a vat, her arms deep in the oil, she struggled,
So I helped.
It was hot on that day, and her skin shone from oil,
Her breasts heaved with the effort,
My hands slipped along her arms,
The cog came loose, she asked how to thank me,
So we kissed.
It had been a long time for me, she was the guide to my tour,
Our hands spread the oil,
Our lips spread our heat,
Clothes slipped from us easily as we slid to the floor,
So we loved.
They were right to run me off, you know.
I got rid of the tension,
Learned how to breathe,
I sold my business, cashed in on my stock,
So I lived.
Now we have more help to run the orchard,
Three sets of hands,
And much more leg,
Our lovely young daughters have made our life sweet,
So I smile.
They said I should go, relax, travel,
I'd been too long, too tense,
Needed to live to breathe,
Go see the sights, see some leg,
So they said.
Italy was great this time of year,
The travel agency had posters,
Planes to fly, Hotels to stay,
A car for the back roads,
So I went.
The plane ride seemed endless,
Customs had none,
The hotel was soulless,
The car my only salvation,
So I rode.
Campagnia was full of orchards,
Some were tourist stops,
Some were closed,
But one had a sign with no one in sight,
So I stopped.
There was only one building beside the house.
Where everything was lush and green,
Only one person to greet,
She asked if I wanted to see how they worked,
So I followed.
Inside I found more olives than I'd ever imagined,
Black and green,
Whole and mashed,
Standing at a vat, her arms deep in the oil, she struggled,
So I helped.
It was hot on that day, and her skin shone from oil,
Her breasts heaved with the effort,
My hands slipped along her arms,
The cog came loose, she asked how to thank me,
So we kissed.
It had been a long time for me, she was the guide to my tour,
Our hands spread the oil,
Our lips spread our heat,
Clothes slipped from us easily as we slid to the floor,
So we loved.
They were right to run me off, you know.
I got rid of the tension,
Learned how to breathe,
I sold my business, cashed in on my stock,
So I lived.
Now we have more help to run the orchard,
Three sets of hands,
And much more leg,
Our lovely young daughters have made our life sweet,
So I smile.
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