Tag Archives: poetry

9/30 – Cascade

Crashing cadence, coordinated but uncordial,

uncontainable and casual, casting cascade casualities in collaboration naturally,

factually irrational nationalists stock stepping for fascist restoration,

dissuasion of erasing the abrasion for the fallacies of past generations,

crashing discourse with carosels of calamitous cruelty,

damning destiny for desire of a perspective expired as though it were duty,

mires mankind for lolz astutely, loves a languishing foe,

unopposed to using false facts and unable to eat crow,

unstowable but stoppable, may be a constant obstacle,

but crashing cascades of waves are surmountable.

8/30 – Struggle

Small sparrow struggles against a loose leaf

beak against branch, whittiling away for a nest,

unresting, using its only resource for a fortune,

seeing perfection on this one attached sprig,

ignoring those that fell already,

knowing the pride at that one struggled-for piece,

a lesson to little hatchlings that some things are worth it,

expend more energy but are their own earned rewards,

because nothing worth having comes easy,

at least that’s what the living tell their kin,

that consciousness is precious,

because it is short, and you might get eaten.

7/30 – Whirlwind

She swirled in a whirlwind fire storm that fought all norms,

Disavowed unconformed commerce for other problems, got it, solved them,

She’s on to conduct, constructs, chatbots in cyber, quick wit, always slick on a cypher, tidbits, slips sacred sanctimony off antipathy in geometry, defies all logic and astounds me.

As a whirlwind wonder that wanders dust storms through encounters, of what I am grateful for is her countenance.

6/30 – Misplaced

Something in their hearts

insists love,

based on architecture and opportunity,

lofty lines that leave them listless,

longing for the lever that opens his heart,

not knowing that he penned it purposefully,

too torn to function the way it had,

too confounded to let others into its labyrinthine layout,

unable to alleviate the lessons of love and loss,

misplaced magics that mystics mistook for malice,

so potions and spells fell fallow,

improbable possibilities that never manifested,

the vestiges of valiance that fell to vagrancy and vanished.

5/30 – Temple

There she stood,

Grace on earth,

A testament to ingenuity,

Brilliance in wood,

Simple slats tucked into each other

making a haven for every

inkstain remembrance and offered sacrifice

of pain and heartache and loss,

where a dozen tongues and rituals mixed

to make a melody of hurt and healing,

to offer spirit to even the most jaded,

the hardest of hearts.

O, Temple, you burned bright,

twisting tornado upon itself,

every ember an avalanche of emotion that poured in upon itself and flitted on the desert wind,

a memory of a memory,

an ethereal recollection that only lives in words and the hearts that walked away from you,

tears in every eye.

1/30 – April’s Fool

It didn’t take much,
just to open mouth again,
to let fly assumptions to certainty,
because wise men speak when they have something to say,
fools speak because they have to say something.

Bluster bubbled over, boisterous bravado that barters livelihoods on a lark,
throws caution to the wind and arms enemies and allies alike,
some with words, some with weapons,
waging warfare for a fortune,
because our greatest export has always been


Leaves pieces of our soldiers on foreign lands,
limbs and lives and innocence lost buried abroad,

good for making fertilizer of our fellow brethren,
and theirs, all others (forgetting the inextricable fact, there are no “others”),

we will all be soil, someday, but some lead us astray,
bullets and blades for the sake of the wealthy,
who can take all these lives in stride because they believe “it doesn’t affect me,”

but it does, each of us has the same rust in our veins,
exploded stars and their dust, and we all breathe the same,
they have sold us their poisons, and we’ve inherited polluted earth,
because politicians and corporations can tell you precisely what all life’s worth.

Instead of wallowing in dearth,

we should overthrow oligarchs and each extend the wreath
and the laurel, stick to the moral,

that what is hateful to you should be saved from your quarrels,
treat everyone like you’d like to be treated,
the golden rule of every theological treatise,

before we completely deplete the seat of our small sovereignty,

this fair blue marble floating in the void.

To the Girl in the Back of the Room with the Dark Eyes and Warm Smile

You may think poems have never been writ about you,
That pen never met ink never met paper to do no justice to the radiance of you,
That you have never inspired a divine word from the altar of lips sacrificed on a tongue that could not help but be turned to you, sweet smelling syllogisms burning half as brilliant as you,
And you’d be wrong.

There are a hundred million punctuation points, the pauses in epics, in sonnets, in every cento every cobbled together piecemeal,
you are present in them,
You have been written into code in odes.