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 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 that you are in my constant 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 works ‘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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Gator by the Tail

Cripes! I really did it this time.

Grabbed that gator by the tail.

Its 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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Wake Up and Smell the Morning

Crisp nocturnal air comes creeping

In my head as sunrise beckons

And the night bird sings its pleasure

Welcoming the coming day.

In the kitchen, no denying,

Coffee lifts its aromatics to

The membrane of my being,

Treasure served on silver tray.

Crispy bacon, toast with jelly,

Luscious melon on the side.

Cornucopic feast of fancy,

So much more than I deserve.

Keeping with the rituals of

Staunch traditions eons old,

Nourishing our temple to

Obediently serve.

How can you lie silent when

The dawning calls your name?

Wake and smell the morning

Sweetly joining in the game. 

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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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