Category Archives: poetry

Dainty Tyrant

A lie is only a lie when plotted against the truth,
alone, the deception is plausible;
with time enough to gestate, undeniable;
with power enough to overwhelm, unchallengeable;
with support enough to rise, unquenchable.

Determined diminutive deceptions deftly directed,
degrade democracy, defending dictators.

Truth torn to tatters, tortured through tantrums,
transitions to trepidatious tragedies, that turn tail,
                                                                                then takeoff.

The Rope Dancer

The world, a hollow husk on strings,
begs for the vitality it once entrusted.
Countless efforts shine like stars in the night,
while the sun silently hides, claiming to be a star itself.
Be not silent in that darkness, but,
loud enough to fill that space,
to name it – or at least replace it with dreams.

When you wake, wake with open eyes ready.
The end, random probabilities,
radiant whispers in reality
bright enough to see, bright enough to pursue,
labor over and finally celebrate;
having met the source of the echo you once were.

Those sounds we make resonate.
All want a voice that enjoys being heard,
climbing over them in toccata only welcomes discord.
Listen long enough to find the harmony,
make music you can be proud of,
songs that will be heard long after you’ve gone quiet.

Out of Mind, Out of Sight

Could you stash your memories in a secret box,
wrap them in chains and bind them with locks,
if it meant more memories could be made to fit,
in the space you’ve spent your life making for it?

Some thoughts grow and grow and grow
until those thoughts and those memories are all we know,
taking the place of the thoughts we should think now,
unless we can find a way to quiet them somehow.

“Perhaps if we feed them they will just go away,”
I hear a voice inside me meekly say,
but thoughts are like hungry cats pawing at your door,
no matter what you give, they still want more.

A friend told me not to think of them at all,
treat them no better than a fly on the wall,
but thoughts are bigger than flies, louder too,
and if you let them, they’ll hide, jump out and surprise you.

When I asked grown ups what to do, they said,
to find other thoughts or memories to make instead,
but some thoughts don’t like being alone,
and will steal the new ones to make them their own.

In the end I had to find for myself what to do,
because of all those I asked, no one ever really knew.
I held those memories close, whispered softly in their ear,
“I love you, but I need to move on. Don’t worry though, I’ll be near.”

And I gently tucked the thoughts away,
in a big cedar chest labeled, “for another day,”
so I could make new memories, keep the old ones at bay,
but go back to feed them or keep them company should my thoughts stray.

Singularity

The shadows feel like water.
The way they move around me,
reminds me of my daughters;
the light kept from them, the silhouette they see.

Prescient moments arise
lived backwards like memories,
rowing past soft pastel skies,
in the universe’s transient reverie.

A burst of life shines like hope,
feels compassionate like home,
the sober end of a rope,
that will throttle the throat when we are alone.

These moments shouldn’t be here,
any purpose they portend
defies the cadence once near.
We all curve in strange places as time bends.

Sympathy for Deceit

We know only fantasy,
lies we’ve carried throughout history,
on backs, on packs, on animals and carriages,
on everything we could put our name to,
because those are lies too –

A sound was uttered without intent,
echoed, and intent was gifted.
A place was found to celebrate,
loved so much it became known,
shared, and then claimed, owned.

This is how the story goes,
on and on with momentum.
What we owned owning us,
assigned value, printed on paper,
that we depend on –
to be worth more than ourselves.

Still, all these feints in chorus,
compose a symphony of notes
someone told us were chords;
love, heroism, virtue, justice;
a life fulfilled, a place to be,
a heart, a time or feeling for which we long.

Honesty in this late stage,
is a cruelty, not a kindness.
All those colorful fables,
that line our hearts and minds with aspirations,
if critiqued, practically and with reason,
are suddenly
and dispassionately
gone.

Conservation of Matter

Labor over me, I am no triviality.
When the craven shadows creep out the corners,
detritus spilling over the threshold of the coming day,
swallow your pride and come my way.

Deceit is a warm comfort to an old friend,
but that heat compounds anxiously within;
better to suffer the thin cuts of sharp ice,
than to ingest the ashes of a consuming flame.

Quiet Triumph

What armor need truth?
Truth is indefensible,
indiscriminate,
indispensable.

No monsters exist beyond truths reach,
no obstacle can withstand its might,
but few fear its conquest.

For all its weight must be wielded,
and fewer still have such strength.
They speak its name,
list its dimensions,
even threaten,
but seldom brandish it;
betting everything on mere intent.

Like a young heart beneath mortality’s veil,
truth soothes with practicality,
overwhelms with certainty,
and in their embrace, reveals;

truth needs no armor.
No monster endures truth,
not even truth itself.

Poison Ivy

Desire, the fruit of patience,
          overripe and waiting,
wrapped tightly,
throttling the trees
with coiled potentiality.

One can but see me,
and be sated.
I cannot be consumed,
burned
cared for
pruned
adorned.

What flesh I know,
is only a passing glance.
Ignorance or incompetence,
either meet at the same end.

The dirt though, is amorous
as I stretch into all its nuance,
settling that wayward soul.
The sun showers me with praise,
it’s light on me in subtle places,
echoing my fingers in the earth.

But still,
I hide a quiet passion,
to move through the world as you,
create as you.

I put that lust in sweet oils,
ambitions charming enough for honey,
for dew drops,
but too much,
far too much for you.

On your skin that passion burns with envy,
raises the flesh in sour complexions,
cries out in pain, but at least-
a part of me is with you.
At least- you won’t forget my name.