Gator by the Tail

Cripes! I really did it this time.
Grabbed that gator by the tail.
It’s snapping jaws a menace
Not just to me, but any soul
Who enters in his sphere of reach.
Taste the fury of a creature
Who survives without emotion
In his murky world below.
I knew when I waded in his lair
The possibilities were there
For vile entanglement, but there’s a large
Reward for taking chances.
I know you wouldn’t want to see me spurn,
Simply turn and walk away
While the constant music plays
And the competition dances.
But now that I’ve found the Holy Grail,
Took this gator by the tail,
While his massive body flails,
Tell me, what am I to do?
If I hold, can I compete?
If I let go, am I dead meat?
Now’s the time for super heroes,
Time to pay the Devil’s due.

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Blunders

Oops! There I go again.
Turn the pencil upside down to
Correct one more mistake.
Damn! I should have seen that coming.
That’s why pencils have erasers
In the first place. Just so
Fools like me can blunder foolishly,
Aimlessly while strings are strumming
Dancers dancing, singers singing,
Such distractions, hard to focus.
Television droning, droning without
Substance. Such a loss.
Pesky gnats that swarm about me
Eating at my contemplation,
Breaking bread upon my skin
Til they become my albatross.
Stop the swatting. Focus! Focus.
Concentrate on tasks at hand.
You can make a world of difference
If you choose to take a stand.

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Blusters

Bodacious, blustery bags of wind.
Oh, superficial blunder-buster,
Must the world in pain endure
Another of your eerie flusters?
Flailing listlessly about in
Costumed plumage meant to hide
The masked profusion of confusion
That the truth holds deep inside.
Why must you purvey deceit?
Why such armor after all we’ve shared
In our brief history?
There’s no need to keep this wall
Between us when in simple terms
The kinder unembellished tale
Makes sweeter pudding for dessert,
Plays gentler winds upon the sail.

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Blisters

Take these blisters away from me.
I’ve worked so long, so hard. Too hard
It seems, or else
My weary flesh would be as fresh
As mountain streams,
Sweet and cool and comforting
Like an early morning dream
Staring your sweet loving smile,
Lingering a little while.
Tarry on these premises
Awaiting candlelit romances,
Summer walks, cotillion dances.
Far too much work left to do,
Fences felled is disrepair,
Roofs to patch, walls to paint,
Gardens needing tender care.
I’ll have time when work is done.
Then we’ll both have time for fun.
Then we’ll both have time….

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The Twelfth of Always

So many roads to get to always.
Such an elusive capture is she.
No net will hold to ensnare her beauty
Or bid her to linger in bad company.
Vainly I’ve traveled in quest of her glory.
Dozens of byways have beckoned my soles.
Futile in pilgrimage, seeking her counsel.
So many questions.
So many holes.
Yet always prevails,
A foraging fugitive, live and immortal
As I long to be.
Sheltered by universe,
Vast in the knowing,
Twelfth star in heaven’s
Unreachable sea.

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Pressure Cooker

I see the angry steam
Rushing upward from your ladened lid,
Locked and latched to
Seal the savor
Of the flavor deep inside.
You can’t hide the wild
Intense desire to escape the fire
Burning hot below your feet,
A vile and Hellish brimstone street.
Pain must be your Musketeer
By your side to face the fearsome
Foe you seek to vanquish with the
Mighty slash of polished steel.
But your feet are melded to
A single surface as if magnets
Held you fast as others passed,
Demolishing your zest and zeal.
You can shed the pressure cooker,
Climb the ladder of desire.
Set your feet on kinder ground.
Set your sights forever higher.

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Whoa!

Wait a minute!
Stop the coach!
Don’t take me another mile.
I need some time to sort this out,
This magnified epiphany.
It never had occurred to me
That my existence may not be
A walk through all eternity.
Lately my mortality
Has come to focus by degree,
Weaknesses and frailty
Have opened up a plethora,
Doors unopened find a key
Sending me to bended knee,
Opening my eyes to see
Only He can set me free.

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Hit Me Hard

Pinch me, smack me, hit me hard
To make sure I’m awake for this.
Heighten my attention span
To full capacity.
Crowd my thoughts with diligence,
Alert my eyes to sight,
Turn my hearing up a notch
To maxed utility.
This I never thought I’d see,
Never dreamt I’d hear.
Your fervent apology
Is music to my ear.
I do not wish to miss an inch
Of measure from your bard.
So let me say and say again
In earnest,
Hit me hard.

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Laugh It Off

Have you ever noticed the occasions
When you’re most embarrassed
Oftentimes become the source of
Great amusement later on?
How the chemistry of symmetry
Beguiles the sense of dignity
And breaks it down to comedy
When every threat is gone.
Much as danger becomes thrill,
Threat evoking such a rush of
Thought-devoured adrenaline
Coursing wildly vein to vein.
Later on our muddled matter
Lingers long on how it cheated
Death from claiming one more victim,
Left the Reaper in the rain.
You might choose to laugh it off,
Pay the price another day.
It will all be clearer when,
At last, we put our toys away.

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Rush to Anger

‘Do not rush to Anger’
Reads the motto on the wall.
Just like pride
Anger often comes before a fall.
Slow to anger squeezes reason,
Yields a sweeter drink.
More time to consider choices,
Much more time to think about
Alternatives, the fruit of genius,
Wisdom free to roam.
Intricate decisions that are
Like to find a home.
Telling tales and
Ringing bells you
Might have never heard if
You chose to rush to anger
Without sounding out the word.

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Sports Theory

Men love sports.
It’s just that simple.
Must be something in the genes,
Or maybe in their DNA that
Makes them want to go outside
To run and chase a ball all day.
Or maybe it’s the Peter Pan inside
That makes them want to play.
Running, throwing, hitting, kicking,
Dashing hither into yon.
Swimming, shooting, rowing, rolling,
Jogging in a marathon.
Hours blessed by strain and stress
Reaching for that sure relief
That overdoing brings at last
To spirits born of pure belief.
What sad truth is bane to this?
To make a man a child.
To cure his ills
And raise his chills,
If only for a little while.

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Enterprise

Busy busy little bee
Buzzing round your mother’s knee,
Charging like the Lite Brigade
When you detect an enemy.
Brash determination to protect the hive
From foul or harm.
Bent on blind obedience,
Responding quickly to alarm.
Gathering your nectar from
The clover or the flowers bloom.
Never seeking recompense
Or worrying of gloom and doom.
Peaceful when the day is done.
Thankful for the rest.
Looking forward to the dawn when
You’ll resume your golden quest.

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Sip, Don’t Gulp

I’m just sitting here thinking how
Tragic it is that so many people go
Dashing through life as though it’s a race,
A frightful pace,
With unattainable goals to chase.
Now, I think I know what you’re going to say,
That time is the foe who
Stands in the way,
That every dawn could bring your last day.
There’s really only one thing I can say.
Sip… doesn’t gulp.
Smell the bouquet of the finely aged wine.
Savor each morsel as though it’s the last.
If one time around is all this life offers,
I want to be satisfied with its repast.

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Magazine Ads

Does anyone really read magazine ads?
Sometimes stuck down in a corner,
Sometimes taking up a page – or two – or three.
You’ve seen them. What’s the deal?
Pretty pictures on a page of
Life as it should be.
Back page filled with such fine print
You need a microscope to see.
And what is it for? This miracle drug.
What does it really do?
‘Ask your doctor’ it boldly declares.
We’ll take good care of you.
I reek of hypertension just to see
Such blatant spam,
Lose my cool demeanor and go
Chasing after cause.
That they, whoever they are, would
Defile my leisure reading
With such frightful insignificance
Is reason to give pause.

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A Glass Half Full

Are you an eternal optimist?
Do you always see the glass half full?
Do you constantly look for that
Silver lining? Live with a hope that
Springs eternal?
Liar!
Or misguided fool.
Either way you miss the mark.
Setting yourself up for disappointment
At every little twist and turn.
Nothing wrong with wanting better.
Nothing evil achieving goals,
Courting hope until we see that
All will be as it should be.
But,
And you knew there was a but,
Keeping a base in reality,
Towing a line of logical measure
Helps to define the finite line,
Keeps us on course,
Uncovering treasure.

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Brace Yourself

Uncle Billy’s been hauled off to jail.
Sheriff said he hadn’t paid support
For almost half a year.
Brace yourself. There’s more.
Cousin Tommy turned seven today,
Precious little wart.
They caught him getting drunk off beer.
Brace yourself. There’s more.
Sister Sally’s getting married.
Such a grand surprise.
They said she’s in the family way
Like her sister was before.
She’s marrying that biker dude,
Everybody’s prize.
He’s going to take her far away.
Brace yourself. There’s more.
Poppa fell and broke his leg.
Can’t work for seven weeks.
We could likely starve by then
Since we’re already poor.
Momma’s sick and took to bed
So we are on our own.
Cupboard’s bare and we don’t care.
Brace yourself….

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Carpets of Hardwood

I love the feel of carpet soft and
Plush between my toes,
Cushioning and cradling my bare feet
In its tender arms.
Smoother than a feline’s fur to
Soothe my weary bones.
More welcome than the distant shores
Of South Seas island charms.
But you seem to want to give me
Hardwood carpets, nothing more.
Plagued by nail heads, warped
Uneven, tripping shards of oak.
Why do I deserve such mental anguish?
Silent torture? This
Harsh hardscrabble treatment
Is a cruel uneven joke.
You need to lighten up your act,
Need to take a break.
This vile pathetic treatment
Would cause any heart to ache.

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Forward to the Rear

Sometimes, no matter how hard the effort,
In spite of every best intention,
I only seem to be moving backward
Into a state of futility.
Just can’t seem to catch a break,
Smitten with the curse of Job
Whose patience here was challenged
More than humans need to be.
Progress is a fragile flower
Sore in need of tender care.
Fertilized with vigilance,
Nourished by a single tear.
Dogged by persistence,
Determined to endure.
I’ll carry you on weary legs
Forward to the rear.

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Piecemeal

Patchwork is for making quilts
Or for plugging holes in inner tubes.
Pieces are for picking up when
Shattered lives break all apart.
One carries on,
Finds the glue,
Works the mending, healing plight of
Grieving sailors lost at sea, of
Helpless, hopeless, hurting hearts.
Wise men make a vain attempt to
Put the puzzle back together,
Tiny flakes so miniscule that
They escape the naked eye.
Running out of patience as the
Shadows stretch to lengths unknown,
Making nervous witness of
Unintended passers-by.
All the pieces.
So little time.
Much too soon to
Say goodbye.

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Sounding Board, Sounding Bored

Please, don’t turn your back on me at
A time like this when I need you most.
Don’t turn into a lump of coal, or yawning
Flesh with your eyes half closed.
I need you for validity, or vilification
Should the need arise.
Keep me in check, eyes pointed level
So that I may see clearly when truth is exposed.
Don’t let me whine. I
Hate people who whine and moan and lament
Over miniscule matters.
If I obsess, say enough is enough.
Once said is said. The rest is just prattle.
Keep my mind sharp like a finely honed razor.
Keep my thoughts flowing like streams to the sea.
Blessings abound for the seeker of knowledge.
All are welcome
And passage is free.

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Aggravate My Tush

You really know how to scorch my shorts,
Rag my rotors, fray my flaps.
Such muddle-headed mutterings
Should bring a child to shame.
Your beastly, bonehead brandishings
Are biting at my heels until I
Feel the strongest urge for
Bashing bones, to slash and maim.
Were I not born to know restraint
You may have fallen hard already,
Punished with a caning stick
For crimes as yet unknown.
But you keep harping, grinding,
Grating, pummeling my patience with
A finely tuned persistence that
Can dig right to the bone.
Oh, please Lord, let my ears fall deaf.
Allow a blessed hush.
This mindless addle prattle
Only aggravates my tush.

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Running With the Bulls

Now, let’s talk about something really nuts.
Let’s beat our heads against the wall
To find the logic, make some sense of
Running with Pamplona’s bulls.
How does such insane tradition
Find its’ feet? Much less a home.
How did this get started? What sad fiendish fluke
Has done us in?
Humans are of poor design to
Challenge nature’s noble beast,
A snorting, snarling mass of muscle,
Power-packed on cloven hoof.
But no one ever said that every person
Is of genius born,
And ego plus stupidity is
Just enough to do us ill.
Oh, Dear God, please have pity.
Show mercy on these fools,
These addle-minded idiots
Running with the bulls.

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Please, Put That Cigarette Out

Aren’t the rings so lovely as
They float above your head?
Cuddling the rafters, filling
Every little nook.
Didn’t the aroma of the shop
With all its’ blends fill you head
With silent notions as it set
Its fatal hook?
Pity. There, I said it.
I feel pity for your soul.
That one of your intelligence
Could be so far misled
By the sirens of Virginia who
Seek no earthly good,
Who manipulate and procreate
With anyone they bed.
And I mean not to be unkind,
Do not want to scream or shout.
I’ll ask you once, then once again,
Please, put that cigarette out.

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Fussy Fussy

Holy crap! Must I endure this
Never-ending fussy, whiney caterwauling?
Bleating sheep-calls,
Snorting gruffs of Billy goats, grating slowly.
Pouty pouty feline folly,
Picking every nit or gnat
Til every nerve of my endurance
Has been stepped on at least once.
Can’t you just accept a little
Imperfection now and then?
Don’t you know mistakes are human?
Can’t you learn to start again?
Must you be so fussy fussy?
Give a little.
Lighten up.
All too soon it will be over.
Details only interrupt.

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Blast the Politicians

Every time I settle in to catch a
Glimpse of the evening news or
Crack the spine of a magazine or
Open up the black on white,
I get the sinking feeling and
It’s much to my chagrin that
All good has gone out of life
And logic is on holiday.
Tell me, who’s to blame for this sad state?
Who is responsible?
Why can’t things be like they were?
The way that we remember from
Our golden days of innocence.
Things keep changing,
Common sense as foreign as an
Alien from Jupiter.
Who’s to blame?
We could blast the politicians for
Not reflecting moralistic views,
Worry where they’re leading us until
We lose our hair.
But when it comes to nuts and blots
We must accept the blame.
We’re the ones who let it happen.
We’re the ones who put them there.


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Reborn

It is theory eons old of
Souls reborn, riding on the everlasting
Wings of hope,
An act of faith so magnified
As to bring hope to huddled masses,
Destitute and starving in the massive heat
Of desert sun, or on
Frozen prongs of winter’s ice
Til all are gone.
Imagine for a moment that
The reaper’s scythe has little dread,
That hearts are light and eyes see clearly
Destinations up ahead.
Fear evaporates to dust.
Anxiety is vaporized by rays of sunlight
Trickling, sparkling on dancing feet.
Waiting now and welcoming,
Never fearing
Life reborn.

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Buzz Me In, Stupid

How long do you intend to keep me
Waiting in this dire position?
Open and exposed to every
Elementary element.
Blatant brazen passers-by.
The dirty looks, the snidely sneers,
The loud loquacious laughing louts
Out to do no earthly good.
Any moment it might rain.
Darkness filtering the trees,
The buildings, every sidewalk crevice,
Blocking out the evening sun.
You’re the one who holds my fate.
Only you can make me whole.
Only you can be my savior from
This wicked, wretched state.
Please, be kind and heed my call.
Do not let your ear go deaf.
Lifetimes do not last forever.
Now’s the time to buzz me in.

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Wrinkles

I don’t spend a lot of time in
Front of mirrors so I seldom
Notice any subtle changes
Written upon cheek or brow.
Time digs deep upon its canvas
Painting furrows line to line.
Signs of wisdom, silent witness
Tended with a painless plough.
You won’t find me bent with caring
Wrought with anguish,
Quashed with woe,
Fearing for the reaper’s harvest,
Knowing that the end must come.
Every ending has a new beginning
In the next dimension.
Every step is one step closer to
Rekindling nature’s womb.

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Stay Home

Sanctuary. Cradle of contentment
As the day winds down.
Craving of the working stiff
From 8 AM til the whistle blows.
Longing desperately to
Cross her threshold
And to melt into her arms
Where I’ll be safely settled.,
Coddled in her restful womb.
Not a thought of leaving her
Outside of grave necessity.
Feet propped up, the dishes done,
TV rolling out its’ senseless drivel
Drowning, droning until
Eyelids gently fall to peaceful slumber.
Now the day forgot,
If only for a little while.
No more obligations this day.
No more rat race cluttering the mind.
Content to let the world go by.
Content to just stay home.

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Blow Your Nose

Here, take my hankie and
Go do your business.
No one is watching so
Don’t feel ashamed.
It’s not the first time you’ve
Tear-stained the linens so
Reign in the waterworks til
It be tamed.
I don’t mean to sound hardened
Or cynical,
Beastly unkind to your heart-felt emotions.
It’s just a dose of reality talking,
Soothing the soul with its
Dark healing potions.
Tomorrow you’ll wake to the bright
Sun of morning,
Fresh from your slumber
As the dew on the rose.
For now simply struggle,
Suffering silence. Lost but not alone.
Go…. Blow your nose.

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Latent Heterosexuality

Something about the opposite sex
Captures my fancy. I’m not sure why.
Perhaps nothing more than the curve of a limb,
The curl of an eyelash,
A bowed upper lip.
Leg man, breast man, ass man, who knows?
It’s all in a package,
All made for capturing notice and
Interest in fools like me.
Cravings of eye-candy not meant to be.
Eyes flashing wantonly,
Lips pouting feverishly,
Turn of an ankle, a brief glimpse of thigh.
Hair tossed in flippancy, hinting of more to see,
Come-hither hinting that never asks why.
I plead voyeuristic,
A challenge of malehood
To stay my distance and only observe.
But keeping desires in check is not easy.
Constant vigilance must be preserved.

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