Jaws

what a big bite that sinks beneath
Oh, there will be skin in our teeth
tomorrow, and I’ll say it was fun
 
that spear, it was rapture
that had me tossing, but captured
the target in the sites of your gun
 
Oh sweet misery, captain
I reluctantly lapt in
your ocean, viscous and pale
 
On your wall, mount me
to your fish-friends, recount me
the resplendent bonny white wale
fishing-for-women
Published in: on December 28, 2008 at 10:37 pm  Comments (2)  
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Don’t be harsh with your stoner brother

Most claim to have aim and purpose
but how many fail
due to chance, and some to luck
when circumstances beyond control
mangle best laid plans
and a retrospect proves
a life of fruitless trying
was more a waste than a difference
 
And then there are those, with
the purpose of finding something better,
ignoring the treasure they have
stuffed in musky closets, under couch cushions
and in old wedding photo albums
These are the starving animals
who search for fresh meat, but
look only in bear traps.
 
And, woe, to those that only aim to please
anyone who stops for a mere minute to give attention
These are the ones, giving themselves wholly
and tossing themselves at the feet of oblivious self-worshippers;
who are not complete until someone will accept their smothering affection and return it with a pat on the head.
 
And forget not those that are gracious and strong
but still do wrong, reluctantly, but gladly
who say one thing but do another without thought
and are wrought with guilt and deflect the love of others
feeling unworthy but put on the face that makes their troubles invisible
 
And last, the indifferent, who let chance guide them
doing only what must be done and whittle hours paying
attention to nothing, themselves, or anyone entertaining enough
who have little to show for their lives, but have made an impact on things that matter to them, in whatever small way, unintentionally
but with the greatest fervor they could muster.
Published in: on December 28, 2008 at 9:34 pm  Comments (2)  
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Shakespeare’s Extended Staff

There is a bard, hard
full of irreverent revelry
likely scarred
but adorned with mystic chivalry
 
This verser, perverser
enchanting and lewd
a disburser
of lines, pulchritude
 
His craft, daft
but also shocking, sublime
his handicraft
exquisitely mine
Published in: on December 28, 2008 at 8:26 pm  Comments (1)  
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I ate too much this Christmas

Some post-Christmas swine
stand in a long line
exchanging gifts with dread
 
Whilst, Mr. and I
also post-Christmas swine
exchange sweat equity instead
Published in: on December 27, 2008 at 7:42 pm  Comments (2)  
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Epitome

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The pit in me
is the epitome
of hidden
insecurities
 
A stenching hole
that holds my soul
To which I’ve handed you
my self-control
 
My chasm, narrow
deep, harrowed,
is a mine
of exposed marrow
 
My crevasse, so incredible
No credit, not inedible
savored by the beasts
that find this grave so bedable
 
At the bottom of this great well,
Is a puddle and a shell
Of the woman, 16 years ago
So perniciously fell
 
Published in: on December 26, 2008 at 10:47 am  Comments (5)  
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The choir of balance

Can an angel and a devil
respect each other?
I have employed them both
to sing in my choir
Harmoniously, with a sad song
making one squirm,
elated and troubled,
discomfort and pleasure,
raising the pulse
and then dropping it
suddenly
with a quiet pause
like an elevator, cables cut
and before one can redraw the lost breath
from the ominous plunge,
the glorious voices rejoin
giving the audience weightlessness
and fresh air that blows clear through
to the toes and fingers, and every cell
Not sure if it’s heaven or hell,
But the choir of balance
that makes me glad to be
a human
immersed in imperfection and perfection
simultaneously
with my angels and devils in perfect harmony
Published in: on December 13, 2008 at 11:32 pm  Comments (3)  
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God’s Grace has Sexy Legs

The beads of sweat roll down my shins
Once more the time begins
When I am kneeling
with no healing
so I confess, to her, my sin.
 
A lump builds in my throat when she walks by
Discomfort from the mixture of all the wrong and right
When, from Grace, I fall
Human, am I, after all
And if it weren’t the truth, I’d be lying
 
Grace has me by the balls
And our Lord has my tormented soul
And, of my body, what’s left
also broken and bereft
of the peace that should be there within my skull
  
So between the serving of two masters
I must choose the one that will long last’er
If I could halve my whole
To save my soul
Perhaps I could avoid disaster
Published in: on December 12, 2008 at 12:26 am  Comments (1)  
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Secrets

Beware of the one
who keeps secrets.
If they do not tell
a friend, a lover, a priest
God, a stranger,
and take it to the grave,
the words having never passed lips
or fingertips
Their soul has rotted
well before
their body.

Published in: on December 10, 2008 at 9:05 am  Comments (4)  
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Your wishes, granted

let me
whet
your mind
with wonders of
what can be
and then, like a bright star
make these dreams, this telepathy
come real
a pulsing idea
that quickens
and with all the fruition
you can handle
exploding
overflowing
until your eyes, your mind
blind and swelling
have dropped from your consciousness
into the pan that I keep
under the bed
a collection
of spent dreams
to sift through
one day
when I am old,
dry, and have quit shining

Published in: on December 6, 2008 at 12:08 am  Comments (4)  
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