I Don't Need Scissors

I don't need scissors to cut out your heart

And toss it aside without shedding a tear.

Actions and words have more cutting an edge

Than the most finely honed pair of stainless steel shears.

I won't abide by your mollified codes that

Demand acquiescence to civility.

You won't find me yielding or wielding an edge

To the notions of polite society.

There is a line which, when crossed, kindles sparks

That build to a wall of impenetrable fire

That can't be put down,

Cannot be extinguished,

But only grows deeper and hotter and higher.

 

You had to hurt me.

You had to dig.

You knew the ending right from the start.

Now it's my turn, and I won't be kind...

And I don't need scissors to cut out your heart.

 

Boom Box Theory

Every evening, 11 PM, we

Hear him pull through the alleyway

Headed to what must be the solace of

Hearth and home at the end of his day.

Not that the engine of his Tracker is

A loud unmuffled roar;

Not that the potholes in the alley scream

Of rattles bottomed out;

Not that he's greeted at his door by

Loved ones gladly welcoming his

Tired bones to a weary rest

After an arduous evening out.

How do we know our neighbor is home

Just as our sleep time is settling in?

"Boom-ba da boom-ba da boom, boom, boom"

Our walls quake with the deafening din.

How can he stand it?

What evil demon possesses his spirit...

Rules over his mind?

Piercing his ears to the marrow of bone,

Leaving all semblance of logic behind,

Filling his head like a horn of plenty...

He'll probably be deaf by the time he is twenty.

 

Pernicious Glitch

Joy... Anger... Pain... Sorrow...

Love... Elation... Hate... Depression...

Fear... Confusion... Agitation...

Jealousy...  Aggravation...

Logic doesn't seem to fit

The pattern of emotion

That the Human factor tends to lend

Our dismal dreary days.

No wonder we become confused

With minds befuddled and bemused

When pathways clutter and refuse

To follow logic's ways.

Like pieces of a patchwork quilt

All cut and scattered on the floor,

Like bricks before the house is built,

All separate and alone;

Until they're placed and stitched or mortared

In a pattern prearranged,

The pieces are just pieces...

The bricks are merely stone.

 

Keep It Simple, Stupid

Complicated, aggravated, heavy weighted situation

Permeated with the hated calculated risks.

Choices from amalgamated theories become agitated

'Til awash and fluoridated, holding just the gist.

 

We combine and slowly grind until we find solutions

To a problem which, without a stitch, Stood naked to our eyes.

Could it be we couldn't see the coming evolution when the

Answers bare and often stare and even glare

With wheres and whys.

 

Choices.  Ah, yes! There's the rub;

Far too many in the tub;

All the spokes lead to the hub

Of where we want to be.

We need but to simplify;

Penetrate the needle's eye;

No regrets... No alibi...

Your choices set you free.

 

The Irony of it All

Did you ever notice the sky at sunset?

When feathers of fire gently flicker and wave

As they roll up to heaven, stretching to reach for a

Point where they penetrate God's holy shrine.

 

Stars are not visible yet as the sun settles

Over the crest of a far away hill;

And sometimes the Moon has awakened too early

And peeks like a ghost through the shadowing clouds.

 

This is as close as we Earthlings will come

To seeing the face of our eternal God.

This is the beauty, both real and imagined,

A preview, a prelude to afterlife

Where sunsets are constant and beauty surrounds

Every moment of wait for eternity.

 

But we ignore sunsets,

Look to tomorrow...

Too busy to stop...

Too blind to see.