Getting My Money’s Worth

I called the Super Deluxe Service Company
to come and repair my air conditioning,
they were so professional and efficiency
that they actually came out
before I even called.

And so affordable that they did the service
for less that it cost
so after they were done
instead of a bill,
what I got was a refund.

Why there is no company like this one,
which has never failed to provide
perfect and complete service
even when they never show up
since they got the job done
without actually having to do any work.

So come and enjoy this miracle
it will make you so darn happy,
in fact you will want to break your AC
to have a chance to admire their work
whether they do any or not.

I’m sure you will enjoy
the added benefit
of their money back guarantee,
but since you can’t read what is says,
all you can do is savor
those words you imagine are there.

Crawling

Forgiveness’s petals
grow
after naked crawls

where bruises
heal
from love’s bandages.

Confidence

Never fear
eight balls

when you’re nimble


and holes
are only
litter boxes!

Stereo Instructions

The paragon of idyllic dulcet resonance
awaited at the stereo store,
replete with a manual of miniscule details,
that allowed the listener
to savor the most incredible stereophonic quintessence,
a fantastic plethora of amazing reverberations
more intense and vivid
than any sounds the ear could detect.

It’s fame as an hearing wizard
able to summon fantastic audible expressions
drew flocks to purchase it
by scores in patrons,
all lusting for a chance
at hearing the impossible,
a butterfly’s fluttering wings,
the sounds of grass growing
even the tones of ice melting.

How quickly people brought them home
obsessed to hook up their new equipment,
barely flipping through the instructions,
most failing to notice the warning page
about setting the controls
so they filtered out certain frequencies
known to result in causing insanity.

In homes around the land
people sit with headphones on,
minds fried from those dark decimal detriments,
but with smiles on their face
from the smugness of being too smart
for truly perceiving the words in a manual.

Catching Shadows

I saw ogres in the shade,
ran away
from their darkness,
but they roared
in my solitude,
until I stopped running
and exposed the illusion
beyond my fears.

Holding The Dream

Holding the dream through the frail excursion of promises
to let the heart hear the soft echoes in sweet assurance
that tomorrow our love won’t become a feigned truth,
a gossamer memory that fades from the fingers,
slowly left to hold the wind instead of a touch.

But I shall not let your night
fall into the crypt in loneliness,
left to dwell in the ache of only hearing words
and not feeling the gentle tremors linger
from those tender traces made upon you skin.

For my darling let our love be the fireplace,
which you sit by with flames from our times together
as the warmth that will not cool,
even though this moment keeps me distant,
it is only until I can once again hold you.

Nothing shall prevent my return,
no weather, time or test,
because you are the strength of my soul,
the only reason I have to even breathe.

So when you gaze into that emptiness
picture me there coming towards you,
and while the solitude holds you hostage
know that I will always come to your rescue
with your face my only light to keep me alive
until our arms once again can embrace in oneness.

Cataclysms

How many times leaders see
the wispy curtain of inclement inklings
spread as a sprawling leaden sheet over the sky,
but use a calculator in the head to digest
what the torrid canvas truly suggests to our mind.

Even when any calendar of the past
records the peril of such harm,
which is on time’s ledger for comparison,
inward is often the voice of lethargic reasoning
as an atrophy of acumen’s astute eyes,
who wil not discern the real potent demise
that lies outside the comfort zone
where they dwell in the illusion of true control,
still treating the will as crown over every climate,
then channel an impotence in reaction
through rationale’s corridor in justified inactivity.

But then when the camera of consequence
reveals the fodder in every creature
left as shrapnel of that cataclysm cannon,
it is dealt with by sermonized excuses
so impassioned in their feigned compassion.

What tragedy lingers in the truth
of how this is a circle too often in human behavior,
sadly one that history records
through the enduring nature of institutionalized rulership,
when facing the warning signs of imminent destruction.

They Never Mentioned This Back In The Hen House

We thought we had it made,
no chicks inside to ruin our lives,
just sitting in that nice comfy carton
thinking the good life
was out there for us.

Sure was nice and cool in that ice box,
man thought this was a sign
of how good luck
had come our way.

Then that lady with a friendly face
woke us from a nap to put us in a cart,
thought it was something great.

Now this agony awaits
makes us watch this cruel fate
heard rumors about some one
called Humpty Dumpty
by the kids on the farm
who knew they meant us
and our shells would come to this end?

Fragile

Like rose petals,
life blossoms in the wind,
but wither so quickly,
then decay
when replaced by thorns
as the heart’s flowers.

Slices

And the steel feels cold and smooth
when you first touch the edge,
harmless at first never causing fear
until that first slice of stress
slowly swipes over the skin.

But how can this be?
This wound from one you trust
who said I love you
then produces a blade
you thought was to cut away
any violations to your love,
only the blood drains
from deep inside.

Suddenly it hurts
more than any pain.
Until you walk way
dripping from the cut,
continuing to lie to yourself
how it wasn’t that bad
as you slowly pass out.


 

National Traffic Law Amnesty Day

There are no good holidays in August,
aren’t we truly deprived in that month,
so let’s make it one day when traffic laws don’t count,
when for once there are no stop signs or signal lights,
just travel by your own desires on any side of the road.

Now it is a day when horns don’t exist or brake lights either
press that accelerator until it hurts,
because for once we can totally feel freedom behind the wheel,
no traffic jams since any place can be used as a road
with only rule you can’t sue if you have an accident
for everyone is given amnesty for their driving.

How it would make life less serious as we could even dress up,
be a gorilla or monster no big problem
then if we were really feeling lucky
we could even let the insane out to drive or the blind.




 

Reveries

Pangs of the soul in embryonic swells within
as gyrations of passion’s seeds fermenting
from the reveries percolating in the heart.

And fear strangles desire's umbilical cord
slowly transforming the mind's inventive angel
that is the winged vision of future feel
until it stings inside as a steady ache.

Wishing out of regret to cease the torment,
writhing from its fetal truth of unborn creative stillness,
yet the womb of will wants its child.
The offspring of what love has wrought
in the nights of entwined thoughts.

Torn between letting go and dwelling
at the intuitive ward in maternity of expression,
always agonized by the pain of waiting
for life to come unto what is imagined.

Every day of another dream left stillborn
is another morning of struggle.
But the poet is the muse’s surrogate
and being a parent of verse
finally comes in its delivery.
Sometimes sweaty,
sometimes with misery,
though always proud of your infant’s life.

 
 

Five Minutes To Five

Five minutes to five,
and then I would escape,
just three hundred seconds
before the plans and plots would be realized.
All the strategy and deception, every detail considered,
writing down those customer facts on that piece of paper,
not risking using the copier nor the computer,
since both were monitored.

So many months of waiting
until the perfect opportunity availed itself,
then leaving the office with that information
on the back of a business card slipped into my wallet,
behind my driver’s license,
it was simple, flawless and perfect or so I assumed.

Then my boss asked to see me,
his poker face always hiding his true feelings,
he spoke of the way some employees
carelessly tossed confidential data into the trash.

Stared at me with those steel blue eyes,
reminding me that violating company privacy could lead to termination.

I mumbled a few words,
but could tell he had someone figured out my ploy,
heart beating faster as I started to sweat,
claiming I was running a temperature from having a cold.

The tension great tight in my muscles,
finally leaving his office and work,
yet aware I had managed to screw up somehow,
my con I thought was working had obviously failed,
my double life as turn coat accountant,
clearly ending with a question mark,
could I figure a way to replace that evidence
knowing I was now constantly under surveillance,
hoping I could get job with the competitor paying for other data,
though I knew they seldom rewarded those who disappointed.
And do it all before he finally found a way to prove
that I was guilty of corporate espionage.

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Armor

I heard the cling of her armor
it shined from her bruised eyes,
sword clutched in her hand
from the last hug.

There was battle on her lips
out of the field of slaughtered
where hearts were martyr
on the way to a wedding.

Then I set aflame
over her metal
until it melted
though she felt its pain,
but in her scorched nakedness
we walked,
unto a pool of tears,
bathing in its waters
cleansed the scars
leaving only a thirst
for what honey could replace
once her defenses where shambles.

Engulfed

Peace hides from me in this sanctuary,
ferns cloak the portraits I have feared,
I sit in the doorway
between my emptiness and future,
dying in the serenity,
unable to forgive,
can’t erase what scalds my heart.

This passage through lush foliage vest
a sojourn sought for silent tranquility,
some sweet hush for the screams
of my own pain,
wanting, desperately aching,
for a tomorrow without pain.

Seeking every fissure of bliss
in the emerald shaded tapestry,
inhaling the rich colors and cool air,
yet it restraining its balm
as if my barren life was unworthy.

Irony digs its heels into my brain,
a loft I came
by seer’s aid,
astral touch upon this Eden,
promised to purge
my deepest wounds.

Voyager through that white tunnel,
deposited in this oasis,
was another wanderer’s stop sign,
one more diamond shattered when held.

Engulfed in the clarity,
traveling to splendor
only heals
when you finally accept yourself.

Bumper Souls

Oh my god Ethel,
I knew you said we were soul mates,
sharing the same destiny,
but didn’t know that meant
reincarnating like this
for doing it so much
in the back seat of cars.

Wouldn’t complain
if you hadn’t had so many passengers
other than me,
finding that out now
sure ain’t making me shout with jubilee.

Could have let me know,
seeing how you were psychic and all,
that cheating with that gal mechanic
would also bring this kind of karma..

What am I supposed to do now?
My stiff “tailpipe” won’t
begin to fill your trunk.
Don’t even have a right hand
to do some special cruising.

And will you stop looking
at that darn limo
with that enormous equipment.

Stop flirting with your horn,
because I don’t care what you say,
it ain’t a poetry kind of horny.

Now I know that I’m in trouble,
you got that stud as an owner,
bet he’ll please all your knobs,
while I got some dude dressed in pink,
sure hope he don’t plan on filling my tank
using something other than gas.

What If

What if this dimension doesn’t exists?
And if all we know and hope to learn
is a delusion of someone’s indigestion
who died eons ago
in another realm
where flesh and blood are in fact
mere hallucinations
with inanimate objects
the only actual form of life?

Or perhaps reality is a spiral
of ascending levels in consciousness
connected by dream silk,
where we slide along its threads
before birth and after death,
in between having flashbacks.

Then all the minds we call insane
would be prophets and seers
along the entwined invisible lairs of existence,
leaving what we think is chaos
being the wisdom
that is truth
beyond this place
where we dwell.

Déjà vu and nightmares
serving as the soft and numbing echoes
from the night touches of the brain,
which visit terraces in lucidity
nagging at our thoughts
as abstract images
we just never can explain.

The World Is Made Of Clay

The world is made of clay
to be shaped and molded
anyway our minds care to see,
in either splendor or waste
a planet blessed or doomed.

We can watch fertile fields
and see only death and decay
or gaze at a rubbish littered land
with eyes that discover treasures.

In the heart remains the gems
found by our wandering ways
happy when we discover hope
among the soil sought and searched.

Upon this mantle of earthen features
there is the rhythmic resonance
totally ringing its tones
deep into our senses.

Is it a song we celebrate,
a memorable tune with magic
instead of some funeral dirge,
it is up to our choice
our thoughts to gleam
what we define as beauty.

How we easily elect
what is the taste we find
among the flavors
spilled by this spinning orb’s
many sources of wells.

Just Keeps Getting Better And Better

Oh dear god, this has got to stop,
first being stuck in that lab
running that stupid maze
and the whole time
having to worry
the scientist pet cat was going to
fancy me his dinner!

Got out of that one
snuck out through this hole,
only now I’m not sure
I’m all the better off.

The man had such a nice smile,
how was I to know,
he would stick me in this computer thing
to test reactions to hand soaps.

Bad enough all this testers have sweaty hands,
but getting stuck breathing these scents
sure ain’t making me day,
yeah, honeysuckle was okay
only why did the maniac
blend it with litter box and sauerkraut?

Just feeling so tired from holding my breath
since I got a whiff of his latest creation,
onion, road kill, manure and strawberry!

If I’m lucky I figure a way to escape
before he gets even more insane.



 

Her Silhouette

Each scenic stretch silently shares her image
felt in the quiet ways that touch so deep
as Mother Earth becomes more like a being,
beating her heart in the tremors felt
the rain coming like her tears
and the wind blowing her breath
to remind the planet is not just soil,
but also a very source of life
where we can sense the way she has a womb
that was a birth for more that creation.

So we stroll each inch of her presence
while it touches in so many subtle ways,
though we may ignore those soft strokes
upon on our conscious,
which quietly nudge our thoughts.

It’s all a walk we take with her
any time we wander among her landscapes
let the sky summon its song
or find some music in the animals.

How it all is part of her profile
when we take time to truly look,
though often we have not paid attention
during our pursuit of our own curiosities.

Torn Dream

She walked the tightrope of her heart
from best friend to the bride
and yet holding a torch for the groom.

Alone, the smile fades and tears flow,
stumbling over the sorrow
until she catches her gown on the edge of a dresser.

Panic presses in the sight of the hole,
her mind races for a solution,
soon finding a needle and thread,
it will be enough for the ceremony
though it will never heal
the hole inside for love that will never be.

Vernal Mirrors

Petals of thoughts sown,
shining inward passions,
stir a scent of illumination
over garden within.

Rolling On

We’re ready to rock and roll
and take over roller derby!
Going call our team
the Pooper Pack
just know we can whip
all those adults
when we leave
a dirty diaper on the track.

Oh yeah, we’re spoil and proud of it,
but we plan on proofing
when it comes to skating
us bad boys don’t take crap
off of anyone!

Sure will do our best
to pass it on to others
by spreading our poopy pants
every where we can
so none of those other teams
can every be able to stand
then it’s the championship for us
because we are winners
so anxious to be the champs!

War Is Hell Without The Right Stuff!

How can you fight a decent war,
blow up things and destroy cities
with all these darn ridiculous costs!

Plus there is all that problem
of getting kids ready for being warriors
early enough to truly be soldiers
by the time they are twelve years old.

Now a solution has come,
one of pure brilliance,
thanks to the Santa Claus War Monger’s Manufacturers
who have mixed silly putty with C-4 explosives.

What battle bliss we can have
when tiny hands
can mold this marvelous creation
into something truly lethal,
which being so small,
they can sneak into an enemy's underwear
before going back to the new North Pole basic training camp.

Oh there are plans to expand this amazing effort,
water pistols filled with cyanide,
sling shots that fight arsenic tipped darts,
yes the new Army of ten year olds
will play with toy guns that really fire bullets.

And thank to the vision
of the President of our corporation,
General Nuke Em, Slaughterfest The Hun,
our future is assured and we can finally have
the pearls of aggression
wrapped around our neck
after every child is armed and ready
to help purge the world of armed threats
even if we have to utterly destroy
anyone over the age of twenty one
in order to gain peace.

Toes

Steps in the woods within the mind
among fallen trees of dreams,
where innocence first skinned its shins
and angels lost their wings.

Still feeling the pain
of stubbed toes incurred
when trying to upon a mountain
built by the promises of those trusted.

Seasons passed and having walked so far,
yet lured again to that forest
that once help the magic of hope,

Now, visit clad in shoes,
which give nakedness a leathery strength
so you stand on that brook
filled with tears from violated visions,
they help to buffer from the remembered pains,
though the scars still hurt,
but returning gives them
a sense of healing.

Rollercoasters

Three decades and more
I've ridden the nuptial rollercoaster,
in company of the same person,
a journey of both smiles and frowns,
life adding its own twits and turns,
facing unemployment, deaths, illness,
they all add to the scenery you share for good or bad.

Along the way, the heart still beats,
you try to remember why this thing called marriage
became the major attraction of you very existence.

Perfect and paradise are two words
with phantom meanings,
but whether it is an amusement park
or torture chamber
is based on what resides within the heart.

Something shared in tears and laughter
becomes the stare of silent acceptance,
living most or the times when a thrill comes your way,
dreading the moments when an accidents happen.

Kids, debts and duties
all weave together as a mantle of thought,
love a place you keep redefining,
compromise the storybook of reality,
anniversaries the fragile capstone of one's glass house,
built upon a foundation of I do.

IF

And she painted paradise among the insanity,
using positive words to show us something good and gold
in the ruins of our dreams where we had to live.

Oh we wanted to believe in the impossible,
especially after she gave us vivid details
of how to repair and replace what didn’t work.

It was so thrilling and made us excited,
we were ready to accept perfection
just because of all her confidence.

But the days passed without change
with her eventually just vanishing
while we were haunted by the lost hope.

Turned out this expert forgot to mention
it all would only work, “if,” her meds still functioned,
they didn’t and we found ways to thrive on our own fantasies.

 

Yellow Lights

She fought against sickness
to chase her dreams
of being a marathon runner,
fighting out of bedridden starting block
where the cancer had left her crippled.

But her heart refused to give up,
months of treatment
faced with courage,
finally overcoming and battling the pain,
at last restore to be in that race,
receiving the ribbon
for crossing the finish line,
brought for the pearls of tears
their luster of joy from survival
a décor she would cherished forever.


They burn my eyes
with flashing surprise,
heart races
to avoid their warning disaster

Pedal defiance
presses against reason,
accelerated pulse
going to beat intersection demand
just because I can.

Red light makes me liar,
one on police car
reminds
life can stop desires
regardless how hard I drive.

Room To Cry

I dreamt of daze in utopia existence,
a place of floating visions
vividly flying through my brain.
The beauty of their passions
moving through the heart
and it was paradise
an amusement park for the mind,
one special charmed sanctuary
where I could thrive and feel alive,
glowing from the magic an power.

Problem is when you don’t have keys
when someone else owns the doors
who don’t care about your fantasies.

Then your guts get ripped out by the reality
this perfect place of blessing
was the joy of a first glance.

It died in fading thrums of thought
slipping away silently,
in the vacuum that remained
there was an emptiness.

What my mind and soul had as hope
became a chamber of ghosts
made by a medicine man dreamer
that lured me into that den
because I was hungry for the taste
of dreams spun into something I could hold.

All that linger in the disappointment
where the barker of happiness had fled
was a room to sob in solitude
paying the price another had
not worried would have to be paid.

Foraging Neath The Tangerine Sky

My heart is draped
under dauntless plumes,
standing, ever standing
like an unbendable reed.

Fueled by feathered flights
gliding from summer into winter.
For my soul cleaves to the day
when the ebbing tangerine sun
remains a flame within the veins.

Ever weeping
those deep groans of grief
over the wisps of conquerors
whose mortality
withered before their dreams.

Still erect and resilient in the wake
of all that blows its fan of change
across the face, form and feelings.
Like a knife it cuts away
at the vigor of youth,
each flush in the vitality of pride.

Yet time has no claws
for the spirit
remaining resolved
and radiant in each recess.

Oh to kiss that stretch of night
intoxicating by
an airy beauty of believe
How it is where
there is a lingering tease
totally unyielding in its yearning,
because in the marrow
years have forged iron.

Warmed in that sunset’s citrine sea
unto the caress of throbbing
is formed the passage
filled with passionate breaths
so rich and intense
while others now sleep.

WE, are the voice that rises
out of the earth’s
crevices in consciousness.
Still the crane remains
unscathed of those moans,
ever ready to grab
by a fledgling's craving hold.

One tear baptizes
through its annual christening
over the lost loves
who ceased to soar.

Though the silky
texture of winged drifts
has turned leather
under so many
honeyed afternoons,
today is yesterday and tomorrow
when the mind can still dance
its waltz of sky born spells
upon the billowy carpet
with an ageless solo
in the heart.

Sweat House Goddess

They are lean and taunt
every muscle sculpted by exercise,
always wearing those tight white tank tops
accentuating every gorgeous line
and those bullet shaped breasts
that are so firm and voluptuous.

Course they never stop looking in the mirror
to admire their divine shape,
unless it is to be on the cell phone
talking to one of their many worshippers,
their conversations sometimes
worthy of some sex chat.

How they make sure to move
so every feature of their form
is noticed by all the male eyes,
careful to walk on the treadmill
with those swaying hips to torment,
making sure they never sweat
for it might risk ruining their perfect hair.

But still they do make for such an appealing sight
giving you reason to dream and fantasize,
sometimes getting so caught up
imagining such thrills,
you can have the best cardio work out you’ve ever had.

Not the recommend option though
since the trainers think you are a fanatic
about your routine,
then they start trying to get you to do more,
which you try since you don’t want to admit
about the real reason of pure lust.

Eventually figuring out some lie
in order to get a break without being embarrass
and vowing as you have so often before
you won’t let those goddesses
make you go stupid again.

Enchanted

Enchanted is the magic in the heart,
sunlight that you see in golden glows,
flowers held as if they could sing.

Spells are the wind that inspires,
eyes able to see stories
among the many lands and lives
touched on a journey
across bridges build in the mind.

We choose the dream created
within each moment seen,
find good or evil before our view,
believe in the impossible
or merely live in a prison.

Mother Goose whispers her secrets
unto those who seek,
beauty in each image,
looked at with curiosity instead of complaint.

Giants and dragons
dance through tomorrow
when you hear more than sadness,
feel more than despair,
for it is a choice held inside
to hold a wand or ruler to the world
and speak of fairies, legends and joys
rather than the death of the day.