Sour Grapes

Savoring her sweetness,

The very nectar taken from her vine,

Can make me giddy with delight

As I sip tasty droplets of her wine.

Never wanting to take more

Than she may yield up willfully

Lest her taste be bitter from

The sin of immaturity.

Waiting oh, so patiently for

Sunlight's rain to fill her heart

With sweet seductive fullness

That her shapes and colorings impart.

Longing for her gentle touch

Upon my shoulder, on my nape,

Instilling wide emotions that

My flustered heart cannot escape.

But she has chosen someone else

And I'm alone at close of day.

So, I console myself that she

Was likely sour anyway.

 

November Rain

I shiver in November rain;

Never should have come outside.

Each needled drop a pin-prick

Penetrating into tender flesh

Left uncovered and exposed to

Elements so raw and rigid,

So dank and frigid that I'm

Left to question

The very sanity,

The sanctity of my decision.

Perhaps it's time for another plan,

Or at the least, a bold revision.

 

Taking on the elements

With no protection from the cold,

Exposed to late November's wrath,

Enduring every ache and pain,

I struggle forth upon my quest

Seeking answers sorely needed,

Knowing not what lies ahead

As I defy November rain.

 

Pursuit of Happiness

It's not so elusive; not so hard to find;

It's all around every day

There for the taking...

A well never emptied. No matter how much

Is drawn from its reservoir

There's always more.

It rains from the sky...

Rides on the wind.

Its comfort is like the

Embrace of a friend.

A tickle, a tingle,

A twinkling eye,

Smiles on the faces of passers-by.

And though the World may be humbled and hard,

Days may be long and travail deep and dense,

The Happiness waits with the patience of Saints

At the end of the journey to help us make sense

Of a life that is otherwise

Filled with remorse...

It's in the pursuit

That we find our true course.

 

Nasty Boys

Men are pigs!  Face it.  It's true.

Nasty little boys whose minds never grew

Past their genital area, never matured

To emotional freedom, always subdued

By an ego inflated with masculine pride

As to fashion itself to be cocky and rude.

Picking to pieces the fairer sex.

So unaware of the harmful effects,

So uncaring, so inconsiderate,

Like a child growing older illiterate,

Stumbling in darkness, direction askew,

Seeking to remedy his solitude.

Never aware of his needy condition,

Sowing his oats with no need to be coy,

Finding too late that his cup is half-empty.

It's time for you to grow up,

Nasty boy.

 

Lies In Your Eyes

There are secrets that we keep

Beneath the surface dark and deep,

Cloaked in shadows creeping

Through a labyrinth of hidden sins.

Breaking all the rules of custom,

Shaking the forbidden tree

To savor the fruits not meant to taste,

To see the sights not meant to see.

 

... And you have come to tell me

That your faithfulness is still in tact;

That you wade in fidelity; that

I should see your heart is true;

That I must keep you in my trust

And that you lust for no one else;

That history should be my guide

And blind faith keep me close to you.

 

... But no matter how you struggle to

Manipulate and vocalize,

There's no way you can deny

The lies that I find in your eyes.

 

Patriot's Revenge

Marching steadfast through the rain

To points ahead as yet unknown,

Knowing only when the trek is finished

Will the point be made,

The enemy confronted and

The final debt be paid

To obliterate and liberate

The high and mighty from their throne.

 

He was but a simple man

Meant to live a simple life,

Wishing harm to no one,

Professing peace, lamenting love,

'Til grave obsession played its hand

Sweeping down from high above

Enslaving those of unlike value,

Saddling their hearts with strife.

 

Now the husk is off the corn;

The closed door taken off the hinge.

The patriot is primed and ready

For his taste of sweet revenge.

 

Running From the Back of the Pack

I can see the leaders up ahead;

So confident, not looking back,

So self-assured, so self-absorbed,

Not considering the lowly pack.

 

They seem to run so effortlessly

With posture not unlike

A standing portrait, straight and true

With eyes fixed in a stoic gaze,

The rising, falling movement of

Their heaving chest a testament

To patient training of their skill,

To calm resolve and confidence.

 

Their demeanor serves them well,

But I have one advantage here.

I can watch their every movement

From my trailing vantage point.

 

So, I will let them set the pace

As I wait patiently behind

And we'll just see who happens to be

First to cross the finish line.

 

In Other Words

I hate when someone says to me,

"In other words, what you're saying is..."

What I'm saying is just what I said.

What part did you not understand?

Was I not clear?

Did you not hear?

...My words not make it to your ear?

Or were you just distracted by

The simple gestures of my hands?

 

People hear what they want to hear...

What suits their purpose at the time,

And though your words may be crystal clear,

The buzzer stuck inside their head

Distorts and blocks, manipulates

And turns around your meaning 'til

It suits a purpose quite unlike

What you originally had said.

 

And so you hear," In other words..."

And you just want to scream and shout,

Or worse, to take them by the neck and

Squeeze until their lights are out.

 

Rest in Peace

You were quite the Dapper Dan

In your own way; in your own day

You kissed the girls. You made some cry,

Then kissed the teardrops from their eyes.

You made sweet love, then said, 'Goodbye.'

You didn't know what else to say.

 

Tiny points of starlight twinkled

From the corners of your smile, and

Laughter was a specialty that

Seemed to spread contagiously

To fill whatever room you might be

Occupying for a while.

 

People loved to be around you,

Loved to share your point of view,

The sure quick-witted sharp retorts

That bound back smartly, clean and short,

A rubber ball bounced off a court,

Like arrows flying straight and true.

 

Now you're silent, dearest friend.

Someday soon we'll meet again.

 

Cannibals

The drums... The distant drumming

Is foreboding Evil's eminent

Approach as I lay sleepless

On a breathing jungle floor,

Knowing when the drumming stops

The silence soon will issue forth

It's summons and the chase begins

As I seek sanctuary's door.

 

Heading deep into the underbrush

I seek a hiding place,

Praying to avoid the common predators

Of lower cunning;

Knowing my true enemy is one of like flesh,

Closing fast.

I cover tracks as best I can

And task my weary legs keep running.

 

Faith is shaken, and all calm

Is turned to fitful flights of fright.

Satan must protect these cannibals

Who stalk the restless night.

 

The Best of the Worst

Not everyone can be a winner.

Someone has to finish last

In races run, in battles won and lost

Before the home crowd stands.

Beaten and demoralized,

The hurt reflected in his eyes

Contrasts the winner's open sighs

Who realizes all his plans.

 

Consolation offers little comfort

To the heavy heart

That Glory's torch eludes

And passes shameless to another's hand.

And although given credit

For a valiant effort on the way,

Deep inside the mind is saddled

With a cross; a loser's brand.

 

Not to quibble, not to wallow

In the mire of pity's sand;

Though I may not be the winner,

I will be the best I can.

 

Save a Penny / Save a Buck

You can't find a single thing

That costs a penny anymore,

But loose change thrown into a jar

Can yield a bounty in due course,

And it's easier to let it sit

And keep its brothers company

Than to haul around in purse or pocket

Like the burden of a horse.

 

Some may think the mundane task

Of rolling pennies far too trite

To be concerned or bothered by

The burden of collecting them.

And these shortsighted people will

One day retire to poverty

And wonder why the world has not

Been kinder as their candles dim.

The better off are better off

Not by chance and not by luck.

They learned their lesson early on...

Save a penny... Save a buck.

 

Reveling In Fantasy

I could just sit for days, couldn't you?

Reveling in fantasy,

Allowing the real world to pass me by,

Shading my eyes to reality.

 

Who wants to live in a world cold with pain

Where sadness dwells on the six o'clock news?

Where the wrangling mangling madness of hate

Runs amuck in spite of Society's views;

Where rules stand for nothing,

And order is shunned,

And freedom is held at the point of a gun;

Where common sense dies,

Compassion is lost,

And worth becomes measured by how much is won.

 

I'd sooner imagine a different world.

I know it exists;

I've seen it before.

It tickles to laughter the smile on your face,

And holds in its fingers the key to a door

That opens revealing a room filled with glee

Where I can run reveling in fantasy.

 

Green

Green is the color of Summertime

In multilayered folding shades

Wrapped around her earth-toned hues

Encapsulating nature's glories.

 

The willow weeps her silent sadness

Dogwoods yelp in bursts of bloom.

The subtle pine stands evergreen

As if too stubborn to submit

To seasons as they come and go,

Reaching out to Winter snow

And Summer rains with equal joy;

To sigh and comfort every breeze.

 

Breezes float and waters flow

And sunlight touches tender seed

To blast forth with her flood of green

And spring to life where once was void.

 

Green is life... and life is green...

The guiding symbol of rebirth...

The road to true fidelity...

The color of the eyes of God.

 

Abuse

It's really hard to understand

The kind of mind-set subject to

The twisted actions put upon

And set upon the innocents,

Who's only crime is being there

In a close proximity

To one whose presence strikes a fear

Of hurt in those of weak resolve.

Why then must you dominate?

Why must you wreak hurt and pain?

What events in childhood

Made your hand a weapon to destroy?

Why can't you endeavor in

The milk of Human kindness

Where the peaceful tides reciprocate

And fill a heart with kindred joy?

And when will all your victims stand

To pay you back for your refuse?

To give you in good measure

A taste of your abuse.

 

Theories on Creation

I wish I had the answers,

But the questions are so huge

When we theorize the origins

And try to break them down.

As the Prophets wrote in ancient time

Dispelling doubt with testament,

The words of God sent from on high

To call on all humanity.

We toe the line believing

There is something after, something more,

Something worth behaving in polite society;

Whether it be need for Heaven

Or the fear of living Hell,

Or just a need for some small piece of immortality.

Scientists would have us think that

It all started with a bang,

That the universe expands in ways

We cannot truly understand;

That someday far into the future,

In time we cannot measure, it

All will come collapsing in a hurried timeless rush.

And Mister Darwin tells us that

We climbed down from the trees.

That we are ever changing,

That the future will evolve,

And a hundred generations hence

Will look at us and wonder

How Humanity survived

With all its questions unresolved.

 

Bodacious Banter

You can be so scandalous

With your bodacious banter

As you probe and prod or pick apart

With needle pricks continuing to rant or

Rave for days on end,

Never calling reason in

To settle a dispute with fact.

You just continue to attack

With bleeding knuckles, bloody cheeks,

Blackened eyes that cannot see.

Common sense becomes a stranger;

An abstract curiosity.

Kicking victims when they're down

Like raging bulls in full attack,

Obsessing your obsessions,

Bent on venting for a full payback.

 

Just don't bring your litany of

Stinging comment bare to me.

I'm too content to hear you vent,

Too discerned to disagree.

 

Legs

More than just a mode of transport

Carrying from room to room,

Legs are part and parcel

To a sense of sensuality.

 

Curved and molded, long and luscious

Secretive appendages

That tempt and tease

Libido's ire

To points of curiosity

Where glances linger unaware,

Imagination runs amuck

And fantasy becomes too real

As heat increases by degree.

 

Turn of ankle, twist of hip,

Touchable, as smooth as silk.

Longing for the good old days of

Hem lines raised above the knee.

 

Men obsess at their allure,

Grunting, rutting, wallowing

For passersby with skirts hiked high;

Imagination holds the key.

 

Brazen Hussy

Low cut, high slit bold exhibition

Of lace covered breasts

And mesh covered thighs.

Pheromones broadcast a wide-banded signal

To capture attention from ogling eyes.

 

Heads turn as brows raise and lips purse

And quiver, marking the moment inquisitively.

What is the message?

Where would she take us?

What substance is hidden beneath what we see?

 

Good Christian girls could never imagine,

Nor Hindu or Moslem or Orthodox Jew,

Such brazen and bold, such craven behavior

The temporal world has fallen into.

 

But she flaunts and flitters from one to another

Like hummingbirds feeding on nectar like wine;

Using the wiles that nature has given

To capture the bounty that clings to the vine.

 

And men being weak, as the creatures they are,

Are helpless to fall for the spell that she casts,

And wind up alone when the time comes to pay for the meal,

When it would have been prudent to fast.

 

A Dog's Life

Old Buster was not a docile creature,

Though doggie naps were his specialty.

He loved to run and romp and play through

Wood bordered meadows and pastures unending

Where rabbits and squirrels were tests for his speed

That seemed unbounded by all human measure.

No dog in six counties could match his pace.

 

Totally loyal to family familiars.

Even the cats with which he was raised

Were his to defend if a stranger should pass

Through his yard with a cold-hearted sinister leer.

Visitors knew when they pulled in the driveway

To wait in safe confines if Buster was near.

His bark not a bark, but the baying of madness,

Like hounds of the Baskervilles cast toward the moon,

Quieted only by Master's command

To calm acquiescence and cautious resolve;

Yet staying the sentinel, keeping his watch

Until firmly assured that no harm was in store.

 

Sadly, old Buster had one fatal flaw.

He loved to go chasing the whining of wheels.

We buried him there near the side of the road

Where he runs forever in Heaven's fields.

 

One Loose Shingle

A neighbor pointed it out to me

One evening as I opened up my gate

After toiling through

Another day of drudgery,

Hoping for an easy evening

Lounging in my rocking chair,

Drifting off to sleep before

The late night news report.

 

The evening breeze stirred just enough

To verify the neighbor's tale

And, looking up beyond the dove

Who settled on the gutter rail,

A single shingle waived and fluttered,

Even struggled to be free.

Teasing, daring, taunting me

To climb the mast and lash her sails.

Perhaps the breeze will settle down.

Predicted rains may pass us by.

Perhaps the fluttering will cease and

Settle without help from me.

 

Perhaps I'll be a millionaire,

Can hire a crew to do my chore

So I can lounge and rock and sleep...

So much for reality.

 

Office Gossip

Gaggling, babbling, rambling on,

The office grapevine yields its wine;

The vintage often unimportant,

Bottled quickly, swallowed fast

Then passed along in bits and snippets

Changing as it passes hands

'Til uproar lifts its ugly head

As ire is raised and doubt is cast.

 

Still we listen, still believe,

Though third and fourth or fifth-hand told,

And take to heart and pass along

Like tall tales told as lullabies.

And even though discovery lies somewhere

Just beyond our reach,

We take without a grain of salt

And gladly swallow all the lies.

 

I shall not be part and parcel.

I will dig to find the facts

When office gossip rears its ugly head

And, without shame, attacks.