Cumulonimbus Draconis

As a child I looked skyward
and saw the
dragons dancing in their
frightful fury.
Majestic, marble monstrosities
among the inverted sea
flashing in opalescent splendor

Such visions revealed the
magic in the world;
the Shape, and the
possibility

The dragons are still there and
I see their silhouettes
for a few seconds;
aged, emaciated mists
fading into a forgotten fog.

The memories mislaid remain,
familiar paths laid and trodden
But the visions belong to
the new generation;
the wyrms are theirs to tame.

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A Hard Left

Converging lives jockey for
position along the freeway.
Whose outstretched hands are
wetted by the wind-wrenched drizzle?
Such things no other can know.

Arms wag
like Labrador tongues;
A joyous smile reinvigorated
by nature
while thoughts of
work and responsibilities are
left in their wake.

Stop
and Go and
Stop and
Slam on the brakes.

Inertia
speeds us forward to
push the limits.
Screech to a
halt to save
your own skin
from a higher insurance rate.

Or

Miss the pedal and earn a
bruised collarbone and
emerge concussed.
Thank God for
safety features;
then curse Him for
the other driver
(thrown skyward through
shattered glass, air, and caution)
who didn’t use theirs.

Instagram Poetry

Do we truly bleed upon that page?
Since there is no page, is
our digitized blood
just as phony? Pixelated poems,
scorched sunspots on
a bleached field find
no truth for lack of trying.

Simple sentiments of
a universal disorientation
feigned as
profundity.
The sure-shock, formulaic
tripe placed with
an ideal image to
influence.

We all sell ourselves,
some of us are just in
#denial.

Type nonsense for all to read.
Remain vague to
leave little slots for
the displaced, depressed
community to deposit
self-fulfilling fallacies.
Tell others how to
live their lives and
hope it goes
#viral.

I would not remove,
or disparage,
the words of anyone writing
their truth, but
I wish for those who read to be
more discerning.
Stop emulating
mediocrity;
it gets far too much
attention as is.

Phonetics

Sownd ih towt, won sillabull attay tym
Led durs leeding tool urning and comprehenshun
Fynd tha rithum, meening, nd rime
deestroyeeng awl fee rand apprehenshun

Tayk ay mowment, dew nawt rush
Tew dew sow wood ownlee end in payn
Embare-assmint dew tew ay dezire tew push
Lewsing tha thred and rime awl tha saym.

One step forward, and tew stehps bak
Slolee sea ying the patturn and trend
Tha werds now start to may-cup for the lack
And now the poem comes to annend.

 

Blame

Where does the fault lie?

When all our fault lines crash and
burrow against one another;
who is the victim and
the culprit?

Was it the money, spent
so freely on
topical trifles
intended to increase
self-worth?

Was it the intimacy; a
physical necessity forced
upon the other through a
yielded yearning misled?

Was it the fear that
brought them together? Fear of
loss, loneliness, and
the promised price
all
must pay?

Piecemeal crust cracks and reshapes,
creating as it destroys; but
when the upset dust and detritus
finally find fractured
settlement in sediment, was
something built
or simply
broken?

Not to Dwell

It is best not to dwell on what
could have been.
Focusing on potential
passed on
does no good.

Look around; the world is still
beautiful in spite of
your pain. The sun
still shines, people go about
their days and though it may seem
callous at first, take comfort.

Your are not alone
in this and all things.
The ones you love, who
love you, who
cherish you, are
here.

You have lost,
(perhaps more than the rest)
but
you have also
gained.

Feel the sun’s kind caress as it
kisses your shoulders; smell the
soft scent of
budding flowers; hear the
busy buzzing of bumble bees in their
never-ending need for nourishment.

Life goes on, and though pain is near
someday it will be far again. So
be weak if you must, lament the plans
we made, and cry in anguish against a universe
so unfair as this. It is earned; it is
yours by right.

But, remember that
Life goes on;
and it is best
not to dwell.