No More Hey Diddle, Diddle

Oh we are as tired from this daily anxiety
when our owner ruins our feline variety,
now that this her infant son is old enough to roam
and she’s got fairy tale rhymes ringing in the home.

We just can’t bear another round of diddle, diddle
plus that silliness about some cat with a fiddle,
don’t want hear again about some cow jumping over the moon
because after fifties times it sure makes us nuts by every noon.

Well we are trying a new approach with my son and I in cahoots
just hoping our poses and antics will remind her of puss and boots,
at least it’s a start while we figure a new strategy for attention,
which will be a true masterpiece of my cat’s clever invention.

Meanwhile we will practice this cuteness nap
to see if it will close the infant’s opening gap,
between our snacks and play time that were just fine
before that darn kid’s dumb luck took was use to be mine.

It’s okay because my darling kitten is worth it all
already learned my lesson about curling in a ball,
besides unlike junior my son doesn’t require any diapers
that are disgusting like some pit of venomous vipers.

So we will keep up our fur and cuddly act
as our grand and glorious mother and son pact,
for no little rug rat is going to get the best of us
since we can meow, be adorable to outshine any kid’s fuss.

Mouth Magic

There’s nothing more amazing
than a luscious slice of chocolate cream pie,
that incredibly, smooth creamy topping
before you bite into that chocolate filling,
it nearly melts in the mouth
as all the textures blend together
with that pastry pie crust,
so soft and chewy
just perfect to complete the taste.

What a cool and fantastic dessert
how it makes the meal so perfect
to end it with such true magic
of a fork full of heaven
slowly fed into the mouth,
which you can let bring its sweet happiness
while chewing it slowly
in order to not miss any moment of joy
from what it has to offer.

 

Question Marks

She holds a locket
containing a golden watch
in her palm,
its hands move backwards,
sometimes stopping,
never points to true time,

On the cover of the locket
are faces that constantly change,
each a life she sees in whimsical glances
deciding to bless or curse
as her mood inspires.

For she is fate, goddess of fortune,
daughter of a god and mortal queen,
who has ethereal talons to sway any seconds,
but posses of the most tempest spirit.
A legacy of her mother's nature,
still unable to believe at times
how her mixed breeding
left her ethereal essence
experiencing cycles of PMS,
but when it strikes
her thoughts turn dark,
venting in some special creative way
a dash of bad luck upon any soul who catches her attention.

In happier times
beset of generosity
passing out the diamonds of joy
to someone that caught her eye.

This lark of tempest flair
always leaving questions in every heart
about the way life works,
but it truly serves a divine purpose
for the immortals understood
without a few question marks in life
man's creativity wouldn't be inspired
to look for answers.

Costumes

Oh the sheaths
woven
from summer's seraph threads,
a membrane shrouding
with Oz radiation.

It suffocates
when exposed
unto dehydration.
Inflating as hot air balloon
if thirst for rain
gives flight to the disguise.

Elevators

Falling from ambition's frail ladder
while attempting to reach
the spires painted in the sky.

Camelot clouds envisioned when sleeping
linger as someday mirage of hope's hovering
above the desolate ruins
that once were a sand castle of potential
created when life still fluttered with promise.

Eyes gaze towards the sun piercing bluntness
to find the stairway that reaches the gems
twinkling in one mind's night.

To ascend the fortress that lives in the heart
visits by angels as paramours of light.
Until no moment's caress blends with despair
and the citadel sought as desire
reaches forth from imagination's inviting air.

Riding the elevator of faith
unto the level where reality sees possibilities
so one can hold heaven with spiritual arms,
dream and have it be truth
watch with eyes that can see the world
with Eagle's flared vision.

Lifted from purgatory to Nirvana
on a plateau full of serenity's breeze
because one pushed the buttons in the soul,
becoming a passenger of choice
going to heights others have never imagined.

Losing Control

Roaring rage and red line lies
roam against the tires of sanity
holding reliance's frail wheel
upon the reflection's racetrack
towards obscurity's trailer park.

Curve in calamity's edge
bends the mind towards collision
with the accusing landscape of desire
that dances in the eyes
when peeking into the looking glass
by artificially induced clarity.

Hearing the crash impending
not even attempting to apply the brake,
ride towards fate
more thrills
than tooling down the road
in a coffin of excuses.

Time clings the conscious to the highway
no traffic cops of truth
come to cite one's illusions,
racing forward to the horizon
smothered in anxiety's dust cloud
accepting having no power
over the destination,
but foot still glued to accelerator.

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Let’s See What Develops

It was the turn of the century at 1900 in England
the population had declined and the government was concerned
so they issued a decree that any couple who didn’t conceive
after a year of marriage would have a male substitute sent
that was considered to be sure the wife got pregnant.

On this given morning a husband left for work
aware that the government stud representative was due that morning,
only in this case a baby photographer happen to show up
who was out soliciting to take pictures.

Well the woman let him into the house
where he told her his specialty was twins,
her eyes widen in curiosity
then he whipped out an album
to show off examples of his work.

Then he went on to talk about some of his “jobs”
like the one on the back of a pony,
which he said took all day.

By now the woman was shocked
saying she had never tried such a thing.
Was then the photographer mentioned
how the really hard part was using a tripod,
she looked confused and asked why a tripod?

He replied that because his “equipment” was so big
it was the only way he could use it,
immediately the woman fainted.

It’s A Jungle Out There

There’s just too many risks for the paparazzi these days,
all those angry celebrities causing them possible harm,
so the anxious rag magazines deciding they needed
a new way to catch those famous people.

Now’s it’s up to Rag Rocking Rocky,
who they trained to spy out
all those juicy bits of gossip
for his nose can sniff up places others can’t,
plus he works for nuts and string
it’s a bargain for them all.

Oh he loves bushes and trees
as places to hide for that candid shot,
and they used a trainer named M A Sleaze
so he’s sure to find the best candid shots,
every exposed evidence of secrets,
wherever the stars try to hide.

Now beware because he’s out there
ready to snap that photo,
only if you don’t pose right
he’s even been trained in trick photography!

Yeah, there’s no fear on his part,
no place he won’t go,
as long as the nuts are there,
which includes the crazy people,
then its click and flash
before it shows up on the next cover page.

Shifting

Clutched bed sheets
twisted in the mind,
fingers feeling for lovers
vaporized by the light.

Ripples flow over the skin,
tight enticing teases
of tawdry thoughts
from pebble’s tossed
upon night’s lake.

Then reaching outwards
with a desperate grasp
towards the shore
where a paradisiacal sea
brings the tides of twinkles.
They are stars from lustrous horizons
worn as reverie’s overcoat.

While trying to trace
their vibrant auras as sand castles,
a palace sparkling as the jewels
bedecked as a diadem of dreams.

The struggles comes
from shifting through the sands
to sculpt the heart with spellbound images
of sea shell songs
and mold a vision for the sunrise
one can stroll
in a beachcomber’s tranquil steps.

But learning as those grains
oft fall from the hands,
how frail are those figures
who can so easily decay
into mounds burying
what never came to life.

Tarsier

A tiny ball of primate fur
with more eyes than head
was the world such a shock
that his sight outgrew his face?

Now his bulging gaze
is frozen in place
makes you wonder
does he see more
than the rest of us?

Hope it isn’t something mean
or really threatening
since this creature
will never speak
what his glances tell.

The Expected Unexpected

Fears form their night over the mind
erecting walls so hard to destroy
so the story comes within the head,
don’t go there is the vow
never try and find the gate
for there’s nothing gained
from wandering in a darkness
when you only learn
how it proves you’re a lost.

But what lies in the places
where we paint by brushes
created out of our thoughts
instead of the facts,
often produce some artistry
full of holes and seldom clear.

Truth is often the opposite
of what we think is real
and in that darkness
where we think it is so hard to see
there is a flame from insight
that can burn so bright within
giving an incredible vision
even when we thought
it was a place we would just be blind.

That Certain Glow

It is amazing how fast
an inspired thought that glows with creativity
can spread after being shared,
rise in other’s mind like a sunrise
then slowly eclipse what else was being imagined
and eventually cross the continents, even oceans.

How beautiful when it is a loving idea
meant to bring care and joy to those it influences,
so sad when it is the flare of hate
only inflaming some resentments inside.

But that is the sad history of life
the most passionate stars
we all often see
either move us deeply
because they burn with a light
that makes us feel good
or they strike a flame from rage,
which spreads like forest fire.

Perhaps we could extinguish
all the ones that brought evil
while helping the ones that were good,
but sometimes it is hard to tell
one from the other
for both are often so bright
until they touch within
where their heat
changing minds and causing reactions
eventually ending with either hugs or scars.

Independence

Heart trounces heavily towards fate
bearing its burden defiantly
singing yesterday's song
as a psalm of blessing
for the future's steps.

Wind crossed fortune
swings the spirit
beyond the surety of known
dangling before
an abyss of threat
from death or damage
screams
from underneath the mind's
layers of clarity.

Pounding veins
still adamantly vow
that nothing will suffer loss
when hands of will fight against
consequences.

Losing grip upon reality
gritting teeth to face
the price for being independent.

Ready with echoes of philosophical resignation
about the lesson learned from mistakes
before a hand reaches out in care and compassion
helping to bridge the illusion of traveling only
under one's own strength.

Finally understanding that survival at times
comes through freedom
of knowing
when two pairs of arms
enable to one to rise
without illusion.

The Remaining Flower

His grisly face bore its stern steely glance,
etched into stone by life's hammer as a cop,
body of iron, his insides cold, but having passion's flicker,
admired and feared, always a towering pillar of strength.

Tonight he sits upon the porch, fumbling with the remaining flower
from the bouquet he had crushed in his deep incredible pain,
silent, feeling void and full of grief that his eyes refused to admit,
having fallen in love with a goddess intending to give her the flowers
before asking her to marry him, until his heart pierced from the shock,
seeing her in cuffs at the station, arrested by vice for prostitution.

Warmth

It is the sun that lasts until the next morning,
silence from lament’s howling wind,
a place you visit between questions
where light and peace touch the heart.

Journeys taken standing still
nothing greeted,
except a friend,
nature’s tongue
licks with the rain, sights or scents
that caress and inspire,
mind immerses in a laughter
without voice or sound.

So many faces
form in the mind
bringing the pure sense of euphoria.

Like a wind it is fleeting,
has so many origins,
but for that precious moment
of inner radiant song
the world becomes a melodious piano
whose music
quiets the dogs of night.

Nods

Heart pounding in fierce fearful frenzies
so terrified every act will never see a nod
from that god who terrorizes
because of that scepter of approval being held.

Groveling in such humiliation
out of panic there might be another
shake of the head to rip apart the insides,
totally discarding any sense of pride
in hopes this time every gesture done
will end with a smile instead of a frown.

It’s the horror of living in a tail spin
since there is no being lifted
even though within you still dream
of that one moment in fantasy
when acceptable comes to your acts.

Meanwhile it’s the endless agony
that inner sickness of need
from always being a sacrifice
left bleeding and mutilated
whose pain and suffering
merely inspires a yawn
if noticed at all.

 

Cliffs

On the pilgrimage of self
amid a wayward trek in discovery
to reach that solitary precipice
rising as the cliff of contemplation.
It is where serenity cascades
in a refreshing and cool mental baptism
and gently washes over they soul
through the calming rinse of quiet
baptizing by its effervescent essence.

That is the bath that immerses
with such a tranquil flow
while the mind drowns in the bliss
of the soothing sensed sounds
sprayed by showery stimulations.

One moment reached of feeling so drunk,
so completely inebriated in this peace,
until forgetting the ravishes of life
that had cluttered the mind in their chaos.

This beautiful, breathless moment in pageantry ,
totally submerses the senses.
Finally flooded by the silky touch
summoning the feeling of being tenderly stroked
where every pore is aroused
while every nerve tingles from the encounter.

Gone, simply drained away
is the stains of stress and mental strain,
they are lost to the sweet supplication in liquid magic
truly pouring forth from the heart’s fount.

What power, what pure release comes inside
from that interlude in gushing harmony.
Felt like a soft rainfall on naked skin
by its arousing spell in fluidity
leaving the mind, body and soul
captivated and cleansed.

Mirrors

Reflections shine from every stare
they cast the aged, withered and weary dreams
of horizons spent and already lived
from eyes who speak softly
like that adds wisdom to mistakes.

Love is the vibration that quivers
its magnetism between the two lives,
while youth wonders if that face
with all its lines and furrows in fret
will somehow be the future.

Silence carries such an unspoken bond,
the union of two lives
who share the vase of spring flowers
where virginity once bloomed
and sit together to face the morning,
hold back the screams
smile during the yawns,
then whisper secrets
in the moments of nakedness,
call it life
though it feels like insanity
mixed with murky impressions
that can’t be defined
just experienced in their mystery
ever waiting for princes.

Cages

Howls dig into the senses
like finger being drug down a chalkboard
as the wire they control creeps up before the eyes
from those voices fill with evil.

Soon there is no place not caged
and always seeing them from inside
because of the curse, the inevitable legacy of rage
that vile inheritance of the power players
who dwell everywhere and even your brain.

Inside the terror bubbles
for life has become a prison camp
always among the condemned
with no pardon waiting in the end.

The heart still beats, but it hurt so much,
life has slipped into a labyrinth of traps,
none offering any escape.

Tonight will be a haunted stumbling stroll
through a wicked fun house
filled with psychopathic sorcerers
they’ll find you in the darkness
then drag you over cut glass.

Left lying in a pool of blood
until morning vomits its candles,
when it will be time to march off to office hell,
which is the biggest jail there is,
while it only offers release
after you die,
though you pulse stopped years ago
once the dreams were sacrificed
on an altar called a desk.


http://allpoetry.com/poem/6446151

Thirty Six Hundred Seconds

And the legs pump against the peddles,
and the arms drip the droplet of perspiration,
and the bottom tries to stay from getting numb
while sitting on that hard rubber exercise bike seat.

But my mind is off on a cloud,
listening to melodious dreams on my walkman,
when I am truly lost in its sounds
the bicycle, the gym and the world
slip into a fantasy envelope
where I kept those toys
from my quill play house.

For thirty six hundred seconds
I am not tired and aged,
not in debt and at a dead end job,
my home life isn’t a graveyard
or my future covered in mourner’s silk.

Instead I have wings and am still twenty one
all around me only sky appears
it is cool and serene
far from that sweat chasm of reality
that chains my brain to facts and details
reminding I’m mortal and marred.

So I fly above the tangles in my day,
above the tears, pains and pangs,
let my sanity lie on a cloud pillow
finding peace from all the stabs of despair,
which otherwise might nip at my joy.


 

Naps

I snoozed

through noon screams,

gave birth
to a thought

left it

under the remote control

Until August Comes

I’ll drift on sunset’s tangerine rays,
a cerebral sailboat on a serene sail
while bathed in the honeyed hue spell
until my skin is bronze and tight
and my mind is full of endless sun.

With my hair bleached by the brilliant noons
shall I live on sandy shores for its rule,
gone from the listless lairs in labor
were time stops ticking
as the day stretches so long before the eyes.

Then I’ll save my stories of daystar worshipping
for the hasty visit unto a tanning salon
in hopes of hiding the truth
of how I spent July as a couch potato.

 

Pardon Our Dust

Pardon the dust on our minds
for we are building a pillar of bones,
a remarkable mural of marrow
made from the models
our files have forgotten.
Though our speeches vowed to make
their invisibility so visible,
their plight so plain,
upon the concrete is captured
their stark and sorrowful creations
such a tribute to our artistry in amnesia bureaucracy.
It is all silent expression
from what is served as leftover lies
out of our oven in social care.

Oh transient souls who fall
upon the sticker patch of indifference
will the thorns truly be remembered
when we celebrate our civil progress?

Our gamble is to play our charade with passion
so no one will have time to react
over another destitute heart
since their own misery is so consuming.

Sidewalks become that quiet reply
while they becomes littered
by the lives left to wither
because street sweepers are included in the budget
whereas entitlements are not
without a majority vote,
which must be saved
then squandered on legislation to preserve
what beautiful edifices we can tax to make.

KNITTING

Frayed affections
dangled heart's
ball of yarn.

Creating
love's lasting scarf,
when boyfriend
offered a wedding
needle.

Lying Eyes

Each day I live by forged stare
seeing with my mind's sight
a face and body, bloated and hideous,
unable to match the image
to the one staring back from the mirror.

Seven years have passed
since sickness stripped my flesh
of its rotund essence,
forced to change my life
because of health demands.

Still what I see
is the portrait from before,
never able to embrace
what is reality with more than denial
that my eyes must have lied.

Even now I wander the ordinary size sections
in clothing stores at malls
while looking over at the big and tall area
and feeling awkward as well as out of place.

Perhaps the day will come with I won't
continue to read into the looks from others
that unspoken thought carrying the word, "repulsive."

Maybe someday I'll return home for hours at the gym
without having the fear,
this change of so many years is just a dream.

Until then, I will always feel a clone of the Pillsbury Doughboy
cursed to be treated as someone to revile.

Wings

Devotion's fluttering stance
upon the cathedral's ancient cliff
uttering chants of petition for divine reclamation,
feeling plumes of anointing
from the heavenly embrace,
obeying the voice of light
that whispers to jump and soar
beyond the precipice of rituals.

Faith flies towards clouds,
heart is caught upon zephyr elation's current,
until illusion evaporates and reality's gravity
sucks the spirit towards consequence's stony rocks.

Ears heard the immortal gust breath a flame
and thought it was a psalm from God,
but never packed a scripture's parachute
for knowing His promise
instead of a deceiver's seductive sentences.

Discovering harshly that not all urges
one thinks have eternal song
come from the same source,
without the sacred scriptures strings
to tether one to the truth,
it is so easy to leap off wisdom's ledge
by the words coming from hell's liturgical charade.

Appetite

Fangs flashing
of succulent seduction,
victims feel pierce
from flared harbinger,
but willingly surrender.

Moment of purest intimacy
when trust's blood is consumed,
Dracula of soul
is one inviting taste.

Trumpets

I shall never know
a timbre of clarion call,
if it doesn’t strum the cord of my heart
because I fear the thundering hoofs of cavalry.

But of bugles blowing their defiance
against the tempest gusts
upon sacrificial plains,
there is bewitchment for the slumbering soldier,
beguiling with a warrior’s flare.

Ears sharpen in the saber serenade,
heart sheathed in the armor of militia ardor,
affixed in the surging satiation,
ire of legions unto anthem causes
inflames in the enticing charge.

Unable to deny the lure of saddle oblations,
those spells that sway to more than watch,
yielding to conviction’s banner,
while lifting a throbbing sword within the spirit
to do more than drag its shimmering emblem
across indifference’s soil.

Patriots ride by the dulcet tones
of compulsion’s psalm,
as its music has power
for transcending any retreat of indecision
and making crusaders
out of lives
hibernating among lethargy’s drifts.

Daisies

Picking flowers
in the backyard,
before going to church play,
playing he love me,
he loves me not
with the petals.

Precious flashback memory
floating through her mind
while in labor.

Feeling so happy
that the daisy test
proved to him
she was an angel
whom he married,
now waiting to delivery
of their daughter,
praying the daisies
will someday
also be prophets
for heart.

Medicated

To soak in the balm of nature’s pharmacy
slowly soothes the deepest scars upon the heart
where splendor medicates the mood and soul
and the cool air combs the skin in soft caresses.

Among the pines is inhaled the scent that calms
while streams dispense the tranquil tablets of gurgling
with the cerulean sky spreading that peaceful prescription
until it gently nurtures an end to the hurt within.

Before the earth to stroll with aching steps
is to wander through that rustic door
unto a setting where each blade and thicket
amply endows its own cure upon the mind
quietly easing away the sorrow inside.

Each meadow, mountain,
lake and ocean has its own remedy
for healing the sickness that is cancer for joy
by their scenic dozes of serenity
taken by the senses in regular amounts.

When eyes can find those numbing spells
in the many arrays spread within a day’s light
or the sprawling twilight ebony canopy of night
then life becomes a drug store
easily visited by a single gaze.