Those old posts… oof. Yet, I still stand by (most of) the poems. New content unlikely but possible.
Pretty Little Pictures
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.
Posted in Poetry or Short Prose
Tagged challenges, photorealism, quaint, sappy, spooky, travel
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modern boating
direction-Portable, Potable
it’s High Tide
has been
sayeth the sign
The battery remains equally intransigent
Modern cultism
At least it’s not Cross-Fit
We understand
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
somewhere
recalcitrant to nonbelievers,
of smoke and fluid yes,
…
you vape.
Each generation more firm
He, at last rites
Will,
by now you’ll have heard
that it’s your inheritance,
birthright strange as it sounds
but no less, nor any more
for now
until you shape, mold to your own spirit
and aim sharp
dark now yet growing light.
Never? Where?
Chipper monks
Walking past, talking past each other
walking
talking over the everyday when
look!
that wasn’t there
any of the yesterdays I can remember,
let’s go explore!
Batter u- nevermind
Pitch
A throw
straight
long
fair
sudden
explosive white
feathers
tumbling
regret
reputation blackened
Posted in Poetry or Short Prose
Tagged accidental carnism, animals, baseball, challenges, competitive spirit
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I’m singing… away from the rain
Recipe for sad day
Cold hues
rainy days
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
away~~ memory
fading, was it always orange?
