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.

 

Whispers in the Dark

In the stillness of the dark

When all the senses rise to shine

And every nuance of a clear

Subconscious mind is kindled new,

Every whisper becomes thunder

Echoing from bedroom walls

Of darkened canyons cut by glaciers

A hundred million years ago.

 

No one answers when I call;

Not a soul for miles around;

Just the shadow of the raven

Gliding across canyon floor.

 

I search for you to hear my whispers,

Long to find your gentle voice,

Need to feel your heather hair

Brush gently on my waiting skin.

But senses fail me... no response...

Nighttime becomes cold and stark, and

No one's there to quench this thirst

Or answer whispers in the dark.

 

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.

 

Saint or Sinner

Mother Theresa, save the children.

Be their beam; their guiding light.

Show them by your pure example

Good from evil...right from wrong.

Keep a distance from their praise

That you may not be vainly turned,

And hold your candle in the air

So you may lead and not be burned.

 

Had young Adolph known your wisdom as

A growing Aryan child,

How much grief might have been spared

A World beleaguered and beguiled

By his charisma at a time

When hope wore out and hearts were sore;

Finding audience to lead

A world embattled, primed for war.

 

Worlds apart, yet oh, so near;

Subtle differences abide.

Choosing between saint and sinner;

Sailing off with evening tide.

 

A Fox in the Henhouse

Someone must have left the latch

Unhinged and open overnight

For the late night hunter, nocturne villain

Hiding in the faded light.

 

The crickets cry, the bullfrog sings,

The night owl questions, "Who is there?"

But not a sound the stealth night raider

Makes as he roams far and near.

 

Could I have faltered so unwary?

So assured? So confident?

Must I now pay for caution's flaws?

The answer is self-evident.

 

The fox will raid but to survive,

And he will journey far and wide

To find the point of least resistance

In the shadows where he hides.

 

The Mighty Have Fallen

Such a tall parapet to be stood upon;

All the world gazing up, anxious to see

If your wings will carry you over the rainbow

That rides, like a crescent, your haloed head.

 

Humanity worships its coveted heroes,

Lifted on shoulders of sinewy brawn and

Placed on a pedestal, put on display;

Rose petaled path on a carpet of red.

 

You never asked to be part and parcel

To overwrought passion carelessly aimed

In random direction, seeking a savior

To fill the void of the grossly mundane.

 

Yet favor has fallen in your direction

Placing a laurel-leaf crown on your head

That doesn't quite fit and strangely has thorns

That start early on to harbinger pain.

 

And those who placed you there gather below

Holding their breath to see how you will fly.

Waiting to see how the mighty have fallen,

Giving no pardon...

No alibi.

 

Flying Downhill

I had a recurring dream as a child

That I could stand on the crest of a peak

And, with the aid of a running start

And a trailing wind, could fly downhill.

 

Light as a feather I glide on the current

Of upswept air beneath my feet,

Gliding the wind to converse with the eagles,

To share their adventures, the uncommon thrill

Of the danger inherent when anyone tries

To defy the nature of gravity's rule.

 

But in a dream rules stand for nothing;

Everything's possible; anything goes.

Worlds expand and vision increases

Beyond the horizon and into the future

Where eyes are born of imagination,

And rules can never restrict or impose.

 

Ah! The wonder!  The absolute thrill!

Capturing Heaven...  Flying downhill.

 

 

Backlash

Maybe I should have been more in tune

With her sea of emotion racing to shore.

Always obsessed with the raving and craving

Attention, I often neglected her needs.

 

Pity the soul who is blind to the passion

Of everyday Odyssey born on the wind.

The caring and giving is lost in the shadows,

And naked compassion is measured in deeds.

 

There comes a time when the piper needs paying.

It usually comes at the end of the dance

When it's too late to take back the words

That were spoken in anger like hurricane winds.

 

The backlash has torn every stitch of her fiber,

Ripped at the seams and carried away

All the essence of caring leaving a void. Filled

With rock-hard emotion of hearts on the mend.

 

Tabloid Trash

I can't believe you read that trifling,

Half-baked, made up garbage can liner...

Headline grabber, sensational bilker

Of common sense reasoning out on a ledge.

Even the Ancients knew two-headed monsters

Were only a fable made up on a lark,

But tabloids would have us believe they are real,

Would push to the brink and go over the edge.

Alien babies and six-year-old mothers,

Sightings of Elvis and J.F.K...

Three headed llamas and reincarnations

Of Christ on the cross on the Vatican walls.

Stories "bizzaro" ... Stories "fantastique" ...

Psychic phenomenon spoken as truth.

Callous predictions of armed Armageddon

Sweeping the Earth as democracy falls.

Such a waste of out forest's treasure;

Unwanted ink spilled onto a page.

To think that the human race is so gullible

First makes me wonder, then

Fills me with rage.

 

Stealing Lives

They buried Weaver Tuck today;

A child of six barely sprung from the womb;

Caught in a cross-fire, snuffed like a candle,

Victim of senselessness barren of shame.

Where was his crime to be paid for so heavily?

What did he do to deserve such a fate?

He only wanted to play on the sidewalk;

Sidewalks demented by torrents of hate

And the violent steaming of senseless demands

That sink the level of genuine worth

To a point so low that life loses value,

As urges and cravings beguile common sense.

Shame becomes shapeless without recompense

And the Preacher is helpless

For no one will hear,

No one stands close enough to shed a tear,

And justice is silent or slow to dispense.

 

We live in a jungle where no one survives,

And hate is allowed to go on stealing lives.

 

A Kiss and Then...

I remember the anticipation

Sitting on the saber’s edge,

Not knowing how the blade might slice

Or just how deep may be its thrust.

 

We were children, so it seemed,

Bursting full with naiveté,

Asking questions born of promise,

Seeking out each other's trust.

 

You with lips so full and ready,

Waiting, Oh! So patiently to

Give your heart, your very all

To one whose step will match your own.

 

I look deep in the well of your eyes

And see right through your very soul

To realize that I was meant to

Spend my life with you alone.

 

I hesitate for but a moment,

Savoring the sweetest sin;

Moving closer, hearts aflutter...

Lips commit...  A kiss, and then....

 

Thrown In a Well

Pebbles cause ripples that no one sees

When unceremoniously thrown in a well.

Like the tree in a forest when no one's around;

If it falls does it matter if it makes a sound?

Do the squirrels or the rabbits, the foxes or bees

Really care if it cried as in anguish it fell.

 

Pain that's unseen; is it pain at all?

Does silence absolve and secrets abjure

All the senses to feelingless flights of emotion?

Tasting the dredges of serpentine potion

'Til no one remembers, no eyes recall all

The torrents of torment we're meant to endure.

 

No one will know us.

No one will tell.

Our lives are like pebbles

Thrown into a well.

 

Breakwaters

Staring out beyond the horizon,

Past the breakwaters of

Souls lost at sea;

Stories abound of lives

Filled with adventure,

Of poets and pirates

And slaves of indenture,

Monsters and mutinies,

And dark mystery.

 

Shelter and safety out of harms way

Abides in the harbor,

Lives on the shore.

Aweighing the anchor belays every caution,

Reeking of danger

From every direction,

Permeating every pore.

Such fools, the land-lubbers,

Playing it safe;

Denying the ocean spray

Pounding their skin.

Praying the moorings of

Pristine white harbor

To coddle their comfort

As they yearn in silence

Watching with longing

The ships sailing out.

Watching in wonder

The ships sailing in.

 

When Will It End

It builds in silence

Like a wake...

A teardrop shed,

A moan, a sigh...

The dreadful quake of a muffled cry

As emotions burst into open flame

And the circle breaks

To a world of dread,

As the Serpent comes to

Lay his claim.

 

We leave this life

In a silent rage,

So unsure yet

Longing for more

As we leaf through the book

Reviewing each page,

Wistfully hoping the

Final score

Will prove us worthy

Of a second look.

Not really sure what made it begin...

Life's fatal question:

"When will it end?"

 

A Voice on the Radio

I fell in love at seventeen

With a voice who's face I had never seen,

Echoing quietly, soft and serene

On the airwaves traveled a million miles

To touch my soul with angelic tones.

Speaking in voice so much like my own;

Whispering softly for my ears alone.

Soothing contentment...

Tickling smiles...

 

Where can nostalgia tempt us to go?

Seeking the joy that we knew long ago,

Harboring secrets that no one can know;

No one may enter our private domain.

 

Wild beasts may beckon to break down our door,

Serpents may slither across barren floor,

Gluttons may hunger... Longing for more,

But settle for silence...

As memories remain.

 

Search and Destroy

You were on a mission, weren't you?

You knew from the start

Where this roadway would end.

You sought me out bringing wild abandon

To the table to serve as dessert,

And I was swept up on this wild Carney ride.

Breathless and helpless to call to a halt,

We punched every ticket 'til long after sunset

Never believing the fair would shut down.

But you never stopped seeking new rides to venture;

New thrills and spectacles were your demands.

Never content to just sit close and snuggle,

Never enough to just walk holding hands.

So sad you never could learn love's contentment.

Too bad your fickle heart couldn't be coy.

I'll not participate.

I'll not be party to you on your mission

To search and destroy.

 

I Found It in the Dictionary

Prophesizing visionary

Praying hard for luminary

Foresight to the tertiary

Limits of your goal.

Ever seeking sanctuary,

Running from incendiary

Passions that could crush the very

Essence of the soul.

Nodding off to Sprite and Fairy

Cold and dark as January;

Sailing on the tributary

To an open Sea.

Every micro capillary

Plays the tune both sad and merry

From conception 'til they bury

And we cease to be.

Playing the reactionary

Found in Webster's dictionary.

 

Canvas of Life

The artist's hand moves stealthily

From palette to board and back again;

Almost as if in a single stroke

As colors unfold on the canvas of life.

 

Slowly at first as the medium blends

And lays down the backdrop on which to compose

The outline, the structure of what is to be;

Brushing the texture;

Caressing the soul.

 

Soon are the bright colors flashing and glowing,

Going in every direction at once;

Yearning a structure to give some direction,

Seeking the meaning of what is to be.

 

Days become weary and move Oh! Too swiftly,

Demanding a signing; a final review.

Praying the images left on the canvas

Will serve as a lesson for others to view.

 

Pieces of Peace

Every man searches for peace and prosperity;

Not always consciously; sometimes in vain.

Sometimes it's simple,

Like silent contentment,

The sweet fragrant air that billows the Earth

And follows the trail of a gentle Spring rain.

 

Often as not, it is more complicated

Trying to fathom the meaning of life,

Searching out goals that will somewhat relate

To the patchwork pattern

Pieced together from scraps of a cloth cut

With a dull-edged knife.

 

Seeking perfection in an imperfect World

Can lead only to madness, heartache and grief.

Pieces of peace...

The best we can hope for.

Take our contentment in snippets of joy

'Til the darkness of night arrives like a thief.

 

The Way of It All

I'm trying hard to understand,

But questions are too numerous.

They fall so hard the weight

Is like a boulder rolling down a hillside

Giving new perspective as

I view them from a distant plain

Escaping their destructive force.

 

So many wheres and whats and hows

For unwary travelers of this World;

Unwittingly I journey on

Seeking the knowledge, the freedom to choose,

And that choices be forever true

To the nature of my lowly being;

To serve the right cause,

To seek the right goal.

The plot becomes clear as stories unfold.

The answers are there,

Though not always seen.

The trick is to

Question everything.

 

Passing in Review

The old ex-soldier stood,

Bared his head and dipped his eyes

In silence as the color guard

Strode step by step in grand review.

 

Memories flood every stream

To overflowing as the symbol

Waves unfurling in the heat

Of steamy summers' sweating swelter.

 

What a grand time it had been;

Days gone by when youth was king.

How much pride could one heart hold

For honor's duty gladly done?

How many lives were his to touch?

How many differences resolved?

Could he have done just a little more?

Will he find peace at the end of his road?

 

Forever seeking

To find something new,

Lives spent

Passing in review.