When I Grow Old

I’m looking forward to growing old,
As strange as it may seem.
When faced with the alternative
It gives me quite a chill.
Gumming meals and spinning wheels,
Although vicariously,
Is oh so far superior to
Lying lifeless, cold and still.

Age is more a state of mind
Than clocked by calendar,
Creeping by at lightning speed
To wonder where it’s gone.
Melancholy musings muddle
Multi-facet memories
As plaintive pipers, sweetly strumming,
Play a favorite song.
Looking back with sweet regret,
Recapturing the gold.
Tilting windmills in my lusty dreams
When I grow old.

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When We Were Young

We could run a marathon
And never leave the sweet confines
Of our front yard. It wasn’t hard
To scale the walls of Everest.

Breathlessly encountering
Unordinary circumstance
As though a challenge had been issued
From an unexpected foe.

We would go from dawn to dusk,
And then play hard into the night.
Never thinking of tomorrow
As we went about our quest.

Beaches stormed armed fully
With a treasure trove of lilting laughter.
Wanting naught for endless folly,
Waiting not the ebb and flow.

And love was easy, falling in
Or out before each song was sung.
Riding rockets to the moon was possible
When we were young.

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My Wish for You

Blessings fall to those in need.
Even in the darkest night
A single star may lead the way
As sinners pray to unseen Host.
Shielded from a tragic fate
May you know the healing light
That brings you peace, gives you feast
When hope, it seems, is all but lost.
There will be a time for praise.
Though you’re tempted with denial,
May you revel in the undemanding gaze
For yet a while.
May your heart be ever free
To find and fill with loving care.
Open arms to charity to
Take you flying anywhere.
Countless blessings fill your life,
Many dreams come true.
Peaceful when the day is done.
This is my wish for you.

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The World Could Be…

The world could be such
A wondrous garden
Filled with the magic of
Lilly and rose.
Lush green countryside
High on a cloud where
Benevolent shepherds
Tend gently their flock.
White-walled castles of
Fanciful treasure,
Princes and princesses
To idolize.
Seas of adventure to
Offer up challenge for
Brave souls with lofty goals
Set in their heads.
So sad reality,
Tragic to see,
When I imagine what
The world could be.

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Best Foot Forward

Stepping up and stepping out
Of the bottomless black hole
Drenched in self-doubt.
Prancing and posturing,
Best foot forward,
Battling pretenses
Battered about.
Listening lightly to
Whimsical wishes,
Boisterous banter
Buffets my brain.
Crowded cotillions of
Dolls dressed in merriment,
Paltry pretensions of
Meaningless mutter.
Why should I play
Your best foot game?
Time spent in agony.
Little to gain.

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Control

Tempest around me,
Reach for control.
Something to ground me
Where I can take hold.
Challenge confounds me.
I must be bold.
Nuances drown me
Under their hold.
Ghost voices hound me
Darker than coal.
Dread as they pound me
Deep in my soul.
Then the light found me
Down in the hole.
Freed and unbound me,
Paying my toll.
Whispers surround me,
Angels, I’m told.
Lifting me, putting me
Back in control.

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Piled on

You’re a pip! You know that?
Putting all the weight on me as if
My shoulders easily can sore endure
The heavy load.
Possibly you’re trying hard
To break my spirit with your will.
Then again, you’re probably
Just being you, you helpless toad.
Take the burdens, pile them on.
Make the most of my contrition.
Rake my will til I submit
Forsaking hope of recompense.
Let me yield to your agenda,
Jet your burdens far away,
Get you to a safer haven,
Set the clock to common sense.
Put your frazzled mind at ease.
I will save you once again.
All your problems piled on.
Such a price to call you friend.

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Fru Fru

Such a prissy, sissy missy
Pattering, prattering all day long.
Light foot prancing, always dancing,
Making your master sing your song.
Just a fluffy little fru fru.
Nervous Nellie, take a pill.
Pompous with your pompadour.
Looking at you makes me ill.
When you speak, instead of warning,
Only an annoying whine.
All I want to tell you is to
Stick it where the sun don’t shine.
Some may say that you’re a sweet
And precious little cuddle-bug.
But it would suit me to a tee
To never see your fru fru mug.

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Bathed in Mediocrity

But seriously, what is really important to you?
When you’re home at the end of your busy day,
After fighting the wars of your daily trade,
Do you listen with interest to the evening news?
Do you vegetate til you slowly fade
To oblivious numbness? Blocking it out,
Hoping the world is a better place
Than the one portrayed. You want to shout
At the phantom, if you could find his face.
Hard to say what is truly important.
Always so much going on,
So bathed in mediocrity
You fail to see your Rubicon.
Time to find the larger picture,
Get the check and pony up.
Will you drink the loser’s lager,
Or sip champagne from the winner’s cup?

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Visitor to This Planet

I am just a visitor
Awaiting fate as yet unknown.
Wandering through time and space
Searching for a comfort zone.
Walking on her solid surface,
Taking in her pristine air,
Basking in her golden sunlight,
Nourished by her bounty fare.
Nesting by her deep blue waters
In a land diversified
By creatures large to miniscule,
Trying gently to abide.
Clinging close to nature’s treasure,
Keeping balance in my wake.
Knowing to replace its measure,
As it is not mine to take.
I will keep my sacred promise
Not to take more than my share.
For I am just a visitor
Sampling this planet’s ware.

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The Virgin Lynching

Weep no more, oh weepless one.
You’ve no reason to feel shame
If others found you circumspect
Without foundation to their claim.
You were strident in your way
To keep your virtue all in tact.
Staunch and stoic in your views,
No regret, no looking back.
When the world called you to task
You refused their wild demands,
Holding on and holding fast
As they passed you hand to hand.
Even as the noose was placed
Upon your alabaster skin
You were proud to sing out loud,
Wouldn’t let the bastards win.
And you’ve paid. Yes, dearly so.
All your senses put upon.
But your will was never broken.
In the end, you won.

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Pushed Back, Stomped On. Ouch!

Oomph! Hey! Watch it!
What’s wrong with you?
You got a burr up your bun, or what?
Stop trying to push your way ahead.
The rest of us have to wait our turn, so
Why not you? You selfish freak.
Yeah, it’s you I’m talking to.
Hey! Watch that, buddy.
You’re outta line.
Don’t make me get physical.
Ungh! Hey! Stop! That hurt a lot.
Ooof! Man! What’s the matter with you?
Get off!
Have you gone nuts, or what?
Ouch! Now look! That really hurt!
Oh yeah! So what?
Well, same to you.
I’d get up and pound you, but
I think I might have broken something.
Yes indeed.
My injuries may have saved your ass,
But now I guess we’ll never know.

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Wedgies. I Hate That

They seem to arrive at the oddest of times,
Inopportune moments their specialty,
Creeping and riding by millimeter
Until they find their resting place.
One never knows until standing erect
The full effect or to what degree.
By then it’s too late to alter your fate
Or to hide the blush upon your face.
You must adjust, must set things right
Before you take another step.
They all will know it anyway.
They’ll see discomfort in your stride.
You try your best to be discrete,
But none are so adept
That we can cover such a move
With any semblance of pride.
Might as well admit the truth.
Wedgies happen all the time.
Best to give a tug and heave.
After all, it’s not a crime.

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Creative Destruction

I guess it all began with the caveman
Developing skills meant to keep him alive.
A rock or a club or the strength of his hands,
Anything’s fair if it helps him survive.
Then he found ways to take the offensive,
First stick, then stone, then metallic ore.
The shaping of spears and arrows and slings,
The packs and the tribes were soon making war.
Then in a flash, a new wave of terror.
A spark ignites powder and Hell is released
On an unsuspecting humankind
With a fury that will never cease.
The waves of destruction keep pounding the shore
With creative minds finding new ways to kill.
Leaving the battlefields strewn with ashes,
Leaving our prodigy to pay the bill.
We’ve been destroying ourselves since creation
Though truth is as close as our own backyard.
We never paused to consider the question.
Destruction? That’s easy.
Creation is hard.

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Walk to the Beat

You fiddle while you diddle as
You piddle with your feet.
Marking time, making rhyme,
Dilly-bopping on your way.
Finding action in the traction
In the ground beneath your feet,
As the mumble and the rumble
Meet the jumble of the day.
Terrifying, mystifying,
Evil-eying circumstance
Turns to muddle in a puddle
As you cuddle in the dark.
Wistful melancholy thinking
Edges you toward the brinking
As your ship is slowly sinking
And you fail to hit the mark.
But the tide keeps slowly turning
Casting doubt upon the yearning,
Giving way to seeds of learning
That can save you from defeat.
And you keep the rhythm going,
Ever-growing, ever flowing,
Moving forward without knowing
As you’re walking to the beat.

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Sad Old Humpty Dumpty

They tried to put him back together
After his untimely fall.
All the vast resources of
The kingdom were employed.
But every effort, bold and noble,
All that medicine could muster
Could not bring him to the state
Of happiness he once enjoyed.
He was such a jolly elf,
Rollie-pollie out to play.
Filled with tireless energy,
Bounding through the fields all day.
He was merely resting when
He climbed that fateful wall.
Never saw it coming
When succumbing to his fall.
And even though he did survive
With help from horse and men,
Sad old Humpty Dumpty
Was never the same again.

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Go to the Back of the Line

No breaks – No cuts – No letsies here.
No privileged characters shunning the rules.
We all have to wait, as sad as it seems
To hear, “May I help the next person in line?”
Heaped-upon boredom, shuffling feet,
Side-to-side sashaying plucking at nerves
As the unending tedium wastes precious minutes
That could have been better spent sipping fine aged wine.
It’s one of the prices we pay to be social,
A meager concession learned in youth.
Practical practice, a way to keep order,
Fractional fairness, sensible truth.
Small wonder it evokes such am uproar
Any time anyone breaks the design.
All yell in unison steeped with displeasure,
“Go to the back of the line!”

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Stopped Just Short

Almost made it this time around.
Came so close I could smell the danger,
Feel the hunger, taste the heat,
See the adrenaline coursing through veins.
Every step a bold new adventure,
Every turn a new part of the maze,
Every sip a new taste sensation
Taking me farther away from the pain.
Golden euphoria rests on the precipice
Guarding her treasures for any so bold,
Waiting for anyone to take her measure,
Willing to give, ready to share.
All I need do is to go past impossible,
Reach beyond Heaven to capture a star.
Carry the day from here to forever,
Stalwart and onward, living the dare.
And I almost made it,
Crashed the boards.
Stopped just short
Of Heaven’s reward.

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All in All, Not a Bad Day

The sun made its usual cycle today,
Up in the east painting early sky
To midday flush where shadows grow short,
To a lingering peace as it said goodbye.
The robins were busily working all day
Taking short respites to give up their song.
Feeding their young ones with earth’s boundless treasure,
Boldly inviting me to come along.
I don my armor, prepared for the workday,
Sallie forth leaving my castle and keep.
Set to defend against dragon and beast, with
Damsels to rescue, treasures to reap.
Perched upon parapets, archers and arrows
Flail at my armor to no avail.
Drawing my saber, I vanquish my enemy
One by one until I prevail.
Alone in my chariot, the day all but done,
My castle is only a moment away.
Knowing that you await within chambers.
All in all – not a bad day.

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We Are Not Amused

You’re such a jokester, jester, jerkster,
Trying your best to mimic the fool.
So caught up in your carrying on
You can’t see how my annoyance grows.
Perhaps your intent was initially thoughtful,
Wanting to lighten a burdensome load,
Meant to brighten a smile to my lips.
Doubtful, but possible I suppose.
But you are relentless, masochist central.
Back up the dump truck and unleash your load,
Leaving me neck deep in gravel and sand
Pitifully waiting for you to reload.
Now is a good time to give it a rest.
I’m just so tired of being abused.
You’ve done your worst and called it your best.
As for the rest –
We are not amused.

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Pressure

Can you take the pressure?
Will you stand the test?
Will you fall to panic when
The button has been pressed?
Are you wise to recognize
The great chameleon dance?
Will you fail to face
The enemy as they advance?
Weakness folds. It cannot hold
In light of Evil’s charge.
The more he gets, the more he wants,
Intent on living large.
Emboldened by success he will
Continue to excess,
Feeding furious in frenzy
Without pause or second guess.
The question within questions
Is the way we will react
To the pressure of the moment
At the point we are attacked.

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West of the Echo

Here I stand at the edge of Atlantis
Looking east to the ancient shrines.
Bold winds buffet my face as the sun
Sinks over my shoulder to rest on the trees.
I call your name; lift it high over waters so deep
That the measure is more than the open sky.
But there is no answer, not even an echo.
The wind and surf only muffle my pleas.
What craze of wanderlust drew you away from
Peaceful surroundings, so safe, so secure?
How did I fail to tell you my heart?
Would it have done any good to try?
I should have seen from the very beginning
Just how the story was set to play.
You were determined, mindset on destiny,
Dreams at the ready, wings set to fly.
So here I rest, my feet in the sand
Wondering if I should be so bold.
Wondering if you would have me beside you,
Wondering where I might fit into your plan.
Wondering if you think of me
The way you are constant in my mind.
Wishing to press my cheek to your cheek.
Silently longing the touch of your hand.

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Annoy Me Not

In the great and grand scheme of things
There are times when you
Just want to be left alone.
No sad reminders, no heartaches on raven wings,
No heavy responses that soak to the bone.
No tap tap tap tapping,
And oh please! No rapping.
No stupid commercials or
Soap opera crying.
No teasing or taunting,
Nothing so daunting
That skills must be tested.
It all seems so trying.
Please, let me sit.
Just let me sit and clear
The gray matter of cumbersome clues.
It won’t take long to rejuvenate,
Then I’ll be ready for your gruesome news.

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Wet Noses

How can you measure the trust and devotion?
What is the yardstick for loyalty?
Unconditional, follow-you-anywhere,
Quick to defend against friend or foe.
Asking little, save little attention,
A pat or a rub, a quick game of fetch.
A nuzzle of muzzle to garner affection.
Total endearment lost in sad eyes.
How can you measure
When they cannot speak?
The touch of a wet nose
Against your cheek.

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Bring It Home

I’ve traveled half-way round the world,
Yet never really left my home.
Instead, I took it with me on that
Journey to the other side.
Wayward traveler carrying a nation
Slung across my back.
Knapsack filled with old familiar
Memories both deep and wide.
Knowing all from gentle pain of losing
In the game of love.
Seeking more than everything
To fill my eyes to overflow.
Desperate searching – who knows what –
Snatching tidbits from above
The scrambled madness. Who knows
Which direction my direction goes?
In this world of fantasy
You oft-times can’t tell sprite from gnome.
But if your eyes are on the prize
You never fail to bring it home.

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Hustle Up

Mad Hatter is waiting, Dormouse in tow,
Anticipating the festivities.
The party’s purpose uncertain and vague,
A posh celebration of tangle and tease.
You are invited. White Rabbit saw to it,
So don’t act surprised as if you never knew it.
Apologize if it helps you get through it
With magic words ‘thank you’ and ‘please’.
You need to hurry! Don’t want to be late!
Don’t want to miss even one moments joy.
You could be left with an empty plate,
Or worse, subject to the Queen’s wicked ploy.
Sip! Quickly sip your invisible tea.
Gobble a crumpet that you cannot see.
Don’t try to understand what cannot be.
It just doesn’t pay to be coy.
Wandering through Wonderland,
Desperately trying to find my bed.
Hustle! Hustle! Don’t be slow,
Or the Queen may have your head.

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Wot’s–A–Matta–w’you?

You say, “Wot’s-a-matta-w’me?”
I say, “Wot’s-a-matta-w’you?”
Covert sneaking, peeking around
Trying to get a better view.
Just stay simple. Keep your alert.
No need to skulk around looking for dirt.
There’s bountiful muck and mire to be found
For those who keep their ear to the ground.
You seem to want to keep to yourself,
Secrets you used to share, now on a shelf
Hidden behind innuendo and stealth.
I hardly know you anymore.
Whatever happened to truth between friends?
That magical unspoken bond without end.
A matchless cliché on which I could depend.
I feel as though we are at war.
“Truce,” I say. A truce must be.
You mean far too much to me to
Bash our skulls on the rocks below.
Wot’s-a-matta?
I think you know.

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Last Call

First one in.
Last one out.
The barkeep isn’t keeping track.
Just keeps on wiping down the bar
With beer-stained rag, coming back to
Fill each glass with golden wisdom,
Keep the conversation flowing,
Hanging close on every word.
Knowing all but never knowing.
All too soon the room is spinning.
Voices come from far away.
Sweet control is soon abandoned.
Body parts do not obey,
Disconnected from the brain,
Drugged and numbed to disrepair.
Someone took away my keys.
I may have soiled my underwear.
Oh! Dilemma.
Oh! Disgrace.
Such a long and lonely fall.
Can I ever show my face,
Or make it to last call?

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A Battle of Witlessness

Would you like to make a stand?
Would you like to be my friend?
Would you like to make some sense
Out of this crazy world we’re in?
In the mire of dissension
Will common sense prevail?
In the legislative process
Does simple logic fail?
When your best friend begs to differ
Do you seek a common ground?
Do you rant and rave above him,
Or demure without a sound?
When a restless world stops listening,
Tell me, who will save the day?
Who can we depend upon to
Come and put our toys away?
Battles rage on multi-fronts
And you and I alone can see that
We can only stay the course
In this futility.

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Tying a Knot in an Angry Bull’s Tail

Sometimes trying to reason with you is like
Tying a knot in an angry bull’s tail.
Notwithstanding super-human efforts
I’m still doomed to fail
When you shut down, stop listening.
Turning your receptors down to
Mute the muse of simple logic,
Silencing her every sound.
I’m not sure just why I try
To meet your measure in these days
Of metered madness, inverse logic,
Wild untempered fits of rage.
Must be something in the water
Keeps me coming back for more.
Maybe it’s the Stockholm syndrome.
Maybe I’m your prize of war.
Big whatever! Keeps me trying.
Keeps me in your cruel game.
One more effort. Just one triumph.
One more angry bull to tame.

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Lethal Madness

Serial snipers on the roadways,
Child molesters in the Priesthood,
Street-gang drug wars killing children
Or dragging them into their lowly ranks.
Who’d have thought a group of zealots
Would capture airplanes turning them
Into a weapon of destruction?
Obviously, someone did.
Today another mother lost her mind-
And she killed her children.
No excuses. No regrets. Just
Couldn’t take it anymore.
One more case of lethal madness,
One more act unjustified by
The simple act of common sense.
One more jar that’s lost its lid.
This world is such a wondrous place,
I just can’t understand
How madness becomes commonplace
And wins the upper hand.

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