Those old posts… oof. Yet, I still stand by (most of) the poems. New content unlikely but possible.
A Mansion in Madder
Sun-kissed amber, golden shores, what could be more
inviting..? Ah. But in actuality, the shores face cliffs
and the amber is a lighthouse, derelict of purpose
if not… build. The sheds too (two sheds… madison…)
suffer an ambrosia coat so even-brushed it ceases wonder
too picturesque, too snappy, too composed.
A ship ought pass me by, if there it’s going; I’ll have no part
of part-less layered waves, nor golden drops off sheer
sheer foolishness. Let parishioners perish.
it’s High Tide
sayeth the sign
The battery remains equally intransigent
At least it’s not Cross-Fit
it’s all quite clear,
opacity remains with YOU
unheeding, yes, unwilling ear
refusing all but simple
and I wonder: do the clouds inhabit you,
take form, expand throughout your neural nodes
and rearrange all hazily? Perhaps
the answer lies
recalcitrant to nonbelievers,
of smoke and fluid yes,
He, at last rites
by now you’ll have heard
that it’s your inheritance,
birthright strange as it sounds
but no less, nor any more
until you shape, mold to your own spirit
and aim sharp
dark now yet growing light.
Walking past, talking past each other
talking over the everyday when
that wasn’t there
any of the yesterdays I can remember,
let’s go explore!
Recipe for sad day
jazz… hasn’t been invented yet
but booze! is a true blue pal
and some say—this is where I wink—
tequila’s the bluest of blues:
takes the salt from your wounds
tells your lemons what for
makes the tragedy float swimmingly
fading, was it always orange?