Halloween

The full moon rises to a crest

As the briskness of October air

Comes sweeping down the corridors;

The leaves of autumn everywhere.

And with the moon the only light,

As ghouls and goblins lurk about,

The hearty souls make their assault.

With open bags the boldly shout,

"It's trick or treat".

It's Halloween.

A time of haunts and scares,

Of bold charades and masquerades,

Of challenges and dares;

When ghosts and mummies rise to haunt

Among the living dead;

Where little children hear of tales

That make them hide their heads;

When vampires, devils, cartoon creatures

Burst upon the scene.

Every scary creature

Comes alive on Halloween.

 

Gambling

Do you gamble?

Bet you do.

Would you chance a buck or two

To hit the big one?

All that cash?

All that money you could stash.

 

Not to worry;

It's no sin.

It's just a game you play to win.

Time to crawl down off that shelf.

Life's a gamble in itself.

 

Politics

Oh! How I hate politics!

Dirty liars.  Dirty tricks.

Sleazy campaigns, twisted truth,

Oozing from the voting booth.

Every one is honest

While opponents all tell lies.

Well, someone's surely lying.

That's a fact no one denies.

But how are we to sort it out

From sound bites on t v?

Who are we to trust

To be what they "all" claim to be?

They burst upon the scene

And advocate a grand upheaval;

Leaving voters in the end

To choose between two evils.

Is it any wonder why

The public screams and kicks

When the topic of discussion

Turns to politics?

 

My Easy Chair

Having come to the end of a long hard day,

Where frustrations have tangled my mind in a knot,

Where my sleeves have grown long

From the pulling and tugging

In every direction 'til self is forgotten,

I slip off the armor of workday combatants,

Running my fingers through, mussing my hair,

Slipping in silence into calm oblivion,

Wrapped in the comfort of my easy chair.

Rolling

Rolling 'cross the highways

And the byways of the nation;

Every condition

Every trial and situation

Passes by the big rig's window

As it rumbles on its way,

Counting miles on miles on miles

As night turns into day.

 

Another town goes speeding by;

Another up ahead.

A hundred more go rolling by

And not a word is said.

The lonely droning of the wheels

Against the asphalt line

Accompanies the singing

Of the mighty engine's whine.

 

Five hundred miles. A thousand miles.

How many more ahead?

Rolling, rolling, rolling on.

A nation to be fed.

 

Cynicism

When we bypass cynicism

Leaving prey to criticism

From an unknown outside source,

Falling victim to remorse,

There is something to be missed,

Something trivial dismissed,

That will come back down the road

Hauntingly to prod and goad,

Best we look with watchful eye

Everything that passes by;

Every little witticism

Scrutinized by cynicism.

Singing

There's nothing more thrilling than the triumph of song;

God's perfect gift to the world.

The human companion to grand celebration,

Or when in despair we are hurled.

 

Whether it's singing the praises of god,

Or desperately crying the blues,

Or rocking the house with a dance of delight,

Or expressing alternative views,

The spirit of song is the spirit of life;

The soul of expression in man.

The reason the trumpeter blows reveille

And the bandleader strikes up the band.

 

To bring on the singers...

To bring on the songs...

To feed and replenish our souls.

So, let there be singing,

And let it inspire us

To go about reaching our goals.

 

Hearts and Flowers

Should I give you hearts and flowers?

Should I sing a sweet love song?

Fond forgiveness bodes forever,

Loving blindly, right or wrong.

 

Treachery is not your calling,

And its test you truly fail.

You are more adept at loving.

Winds of mercy fill your sail.

 

In your eyes I find a spirit

Of compassion reaching out.

Oh! So gently it caresses

As it spreads its' arms about.

 

Should I give you hearts and flowers?

You, whose love belongs to me.

I shall give you hearts and flowers;

Enough for all eternity.

 

Wafting

Gently rolling, floating, falling,

Riding calmly on the breeze.

Not a care or caution lingers.

All concerns are met with ease.

Rising slowly, swaying freely

On a cushion in the air.

Feeling fluffy, smooth and silky.

Not a worry. Not a care.

In it's measure dissipating.

Where it goes to, no one knows.

Bringing back a sweet remembrance:

Springtime blossoms... Winter snows.

Lingering for just a moment.

Soft aroma, never strong,

Comes a haunting lovely memory

For an instant. Then it's gone.

 

Trinkets

It's funny how we humans

Grow attached to little things,

Like baubles, bangles, beads and bracelets,

Necklaces and rings,

Little statues, candle holders

Tiny little toys,

Cuff links, tie clips, broaches,

Earrings for both girls and boys.

These tiny little trinkets,

Usually of little worth,

Can oft become the greatest treasures

We have on this earth.

And who's to say that we are wrong?

It's not a money thing.

The value of our trinkets

Is in the joy they bring.

 

Deja vu

I've been here before; just know it.

Has that ever happened to you?

To see someplace, to be someplace,

Someplace you've walked into

At sometime in your distant past,

You can't recall exactly when,

But something so familiar

Seems to stir you from within.

 

It's a scary kind of feeling,

Somehow nervous, yet quite warm;

Something like the calm that hits you

Just before the storm.

It stirs for just a moment

Sending other thoughts askew,

Then leaves you just as quickly.

What just happened?

Deja vu.

 

Hiccups

Do you know a cure for hiccups?

I've heard of quite a few.

Everyone I know of

Seems to have a different view.

 

No one knows exactly

What incites them to begin.

We only know we quickly want to

Bring them to and end.

 

 "Have you tried to hold your breath

And count to twenty?"  Didn't work.

"Have you breathed into a bag?"

It makes you feel like such a jerk.

 

Try gulping down some water;

A full glass or maybe more;

Or have somebody scare you

As they lurk behind a door.

 

We've heard of oh! So many cures

From every kind of source,

But the only sure-fired remedy

Is to let them run their course.

Breaking Wind

Why is breaking wind so funny?

What makes it such a crime?

Could it be because it comes

At unexpected times?

 

It sneaks up from behind us

Leaving everyone agog,

And wondering who's guilty,

'Til we finally blame the dog.

 

We smile and snicker as the humor

Of the moment grows,

Until the scent of guilty air

Comes wafting by our nose.

 

Nothing is so quick to turn

A smile into a sneer

As someone breaking wind

And proudly grinning ear to ear.

 

Your Eyes

In my youth I struggled,

Looking for the right connection;

Someone who would give and take

My measure of affection;

Someone with compassion

And sensitivity,

Who's gentle understanding

Was meant for only me.

And when I finally found it,

It came as no surprise.

All it took was just one look.

I found it in your eyes.

 

Communication

What did you say?  Please, say it again.

I didn't quite catch the last line.

Beg your pardon? Bad connection?

Oh, now I can hear you just fine.

 

"I'm sorry. May I interrupt what you're saying?

I have a few thoughts of my own."

So, we listen with passive intent 'til the voice

Becomes nothing more than a drone.

 

It's not an unusually odd situation.

It's not that we strayed from the norm.

If folks were as good at listening as talking,

They all would be better informed.

 

Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and Me

I grew up on Saturday mornings,

Sitting tall in the saddle of my TV

Toting six-guns and riding the ranges;

Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

 

Always the good guy, standing for right,

Looking for justice, hoping to see

All the villains get busted, given their due;

Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

 

Many a lesson was learned in my youth

By keeping such stalwartly brave company.

Honor and truth were of utmost importance

To Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

 

Who are the heroes of youth today?

Where will they learn what a hero should be?

I long for the days when it all was much clearer

For Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

 

Driving

Driving, to some, is a pleasurable chore.

To me, it's a pain in the neck.

Constantly taxing the mental capacity

As down the highway we trek.

 

Plummeting forward from every direction

To where the paths intersect;

Watching the signs and the bright signals flashing;

Each meant to guide and direct.

 

Struggling, straining, hoping we've made

The right turns as we try to connect.

Praying to make our intended arrival

Without getting into a wreck.

 

Yes, driving for some is a pastime of pleasure;

A theory I firmly reject.

But for getting around from point" "a" to point "b",

It's the method I always select.

 

Don't Shoot the Cook

After some consideration of the menu

You order your selections one by one.

Your server writing down each little detail;

Hanging on each word until you're done.

 

Aiming just to please you with fine service;

Knowing fully their gratuity

Is dependent on your satisfaction,

They smile and act as pleasant as can be.

 

Your order quickly placed for preparation,

The cook assembles the ingredients.

Knowing full well your anticipation;

Working hard with swift expedience.

 

Your meal prepared by your precise direction;

Served promptly, friendly, strictly by the book.

So, if it's not exactly to your liking...

Who placed the order?

Don't shoot the cook.

 

Silence

Nothing nurturing to say…

            Silence.

Tactless truths educe dismay…

            Silence.

Cherished secrets stored away

            In silence.

Soothing sleep at end of day…

            Silence.

 

Poets rest a measured phrase

            In silence.

On bended knee we humbly pray

            In silence.

Soldiers listen and obey

Wordlessly, without delay.

And daylight lifts the gloom of gray

            In silence.

 

And when our race is finally o’er

We scale the stairs to Heaven’s door

            In silence.

 

Real or Fake

Reality can be overrated.

 

Raindrops dance on windowsills

Like tiny elves, “Say, are you real?”

Firefly fairies blinking twilights’

Silent message reveal the

Secrets of the universe.

Logic whimsies in reverse to

Shift from precious to perverse

Looking for a soul to steal.

 

Quiet rainbows cast their net from

Red to green to violet

            Filling mind’s eye to distraction.

            No room left for sad regret.

Are you real or should I quake to

Feel the magic that you make?

Will you be there when I wake to

Ease my mind lest I forget?

 

Peaceful dreams to fill my night

All forgotten with the light.

Phantom promises you make.

Are you real?

Are you fake?

 

Cheaters

Hiding behind steely black raccoon eyes while

Employing the sly stealth of slinking red foxes,

You slither through tall grass seeking a quarry

Who you might manipulate, bait and devour.

 

Seeking that tinted edge layered with lies all

Tied up with ribbons in pretty pink boxes,

No caution or conscience, no time to be sorry.

Just sky-high ambitions with visions of power.

 

Bend a rule here.

Hedge a bet there.

“Hey! Look over yonder. “
“Honest! I swear! “

“You know you can trust me.”

“Would I lie to you? “

“Pay you back double in a day –

Maybe two. “

 

Approach all with caution

This carnival booth.

Cheaters abound here,

            Immune to the truth.

 

Scandal

How did I let it come to this?

This path

            This scandal

                        This shame.

What was I thinking?

Why wasn’t I thinking?

Should have known better.

Now I suffer the flame.

I could deny.

            I could lie

(or confess)

Heavens no!

            Such a blow.

Would my ego survive?

I could dive in a hole til

The tempest has passed.

So confused,

            Unamused,

                        Putting choices to rest.

If the real truth should surface

(It eventually will)

My good name,

            My good favor,

My Good God! Gone for good.

So, I wait for my fate and

Accept my comeuppance.

My bad choice.

            Bad behavior.

Do it over?

Wish I could.

Honesty! Honestly?

Honesty is but a passing fancy.

No one takes it seriously unless

It works to their advantage,

Then it morphs to paramount.

 

Flags are waived and banners carried

Urging, begging for the truth.

But whose truth do the masses seek?

Whose reality will count?

 

Targets move and facts evolve as

Envy struts and flexes strong to

Muddy waters once pristine and

Bait the tongue with viscous pique.

 

But vision sharpens by degree and

Heralds shout in loud decree

The treasures born in honesty

Are like a finger in the dike.

 

And where will you in purpose be

When life relies on honesty?

 

Grace and Disgrace

The distant darkness of deceit

Casts bold its shadow long and lean

Across the melancholy sea

Crying out to be set free.

 

But freedom cannot find her echo

Muted by defined disgrace.

Whimpering, she seeks her solace

Cloaked by veils of blackened lace.

 

Shame becomes her sole companion,

Loneliness a bosom friend.

Solitude her only comfort as she

Contemplates the end.

 

Was it worth the pain and sorrow

Playing out your vain disguise?

Now the unmasked interloper

Paying dearly for her lies.

 

Lies are but the Devil’s scalpel

Slashing scars on Beauty’s face, and

She could spend a thousand lifetimes

Trying to get back to grace.

 

Sleepless Nights

Conscience is an evil bastard

Waiving an unwieldy wand.

An echoing cacophony of kettle drums

Inside the head.

 

Should have, could have, would have

Done things differently if grace were kind,

If peace of mind were paramount,

And thoughts not fraught with desperate dread.

 

All of those “if onlys” and

Obligatory “wonder whys”

Enclosed in air quotes,

Accent marks accentuate a thousand lies.

 

Far too late to take things back,

To find a kinder, gentler thread.

Left to toss these sleepless nights while

Monsters lurk beneath my bed.

 

Answers fail

            And questions mount as

Night dissolves to blackest coal.

Only truth can raise the torch

To light the way,

To save my soul.

 

Blink First

Conflicts cloaked in controversy.

Hard to know who’s right, who’s wrong,

But each is firm and both stand strong to

Plead their cases stridently.

 

Assertions flail on serpent’s rattle.

Bile and venom, spit and spew

Corrupt the wicked witches brew to

Bait bold rivals into battle.

 

Boundaries fade to shades of night

As parlay edges to debate

While simple reason hesitates and

No one steps into the light.

 

Eyes in lock –

            Tic toc

            Tic toc.

Watch the clock.

            Tic tic

            Toc toc.

 

There is no right.

            There is no wrong.

There are no choices, best or worst.

And who will sing the victor’s song?

The short and long is

            Who blinks first?

 

Secrets

Secrets walk the silent side

Of yes and no.

            They can’t abide the light of day.

They come and go

            In stressful tones the tunesmith blows

Until the rain comes out to play.

 

Whispers leave no telltale signs

On petals soft

            To bide their time whilst angels wing

And lost souls climb

            On lofty heights to sing sublime

Where “nothings” turn to “everythings”.

 

And you and I are witness fair

To whispered secrets

            Living where no footsteps fall

To spoil the sands

            As conscience holds the upper hand

And none succeed to scale her wall.

 

Bury whispered secrets deep

And pray you don’t talk in your sleep.

 

Consequences

Actions all have consequences,

Good – Bad – Sometimes tragic.

There is no magic potion, salve or lotion

To relieve the pain. 

No shelter from the pouring rain.

No medicine to numb the senses.

 

All that anyone can hope is

Enough rope to span the gap.

Perhaps a map or some direction

To belay confusion, 

A simple common sense infusion.

Anything to calm and cope.

 

It helps to trade in honesty

Where murky roads abound.

When all around confusion stabs

The unrepentant sinners mind and

The elements wake up to find us

On the brink of destiny.

 

Accept the verdict,

Reconcile.

A hero walks the extra mile.