Awaiting the Sun

Remember, the fallen leaves
in the frail end of the day,
must settling on the senses
like slowly falling snow,
as autumn makes it’s play.

Remember the darkened eve
stalking the faltering sun,
lifted then vanquished rays
as the new night prances
upon the embers of a day.

Dream of the new born spring
taking back it’s recast crown,
filling morn with nascent dew,
strength growing by the clock,
chasing old and frigid cold away.

Come, my king, the leafy bough
and larking bird in bright song,
regain the day full brought high.
Fill me with your brand new joy
bringing forth your spring bouquet.



To the clash of men the warriors come
They come, they come with fire
Still yet, they build to never succumb
With poised and potent desire
To the line they strut in fearless spirit
Like gods of another domain
Born to arenas where legends are writ
In the snaps of the furious game
The heads descend to a dragon’s roar
Breathing fire upon the field
Awaiting the trigger the beast lives for
The yards the snap may yield
The explosion blooms like savage ballet
Of the chastened and the hard
From orchestrations of the grand melee
They strive each arduous yard
’till nirvana beckons in the perfect throw
Or the elusive, unstoppable run
To the end zone dance they triumphantly go
When the furious dance is done.

Trolling For Supper

Illusory anonymity on the wild, wild, web
Turns to wild words much too easily said.
The meek make requite with pent vitriolic,
Saintly in the sunlight yet secretively toxic.

The licentious lead the mob in their agitation,
Superficially moralistic verbal masturbation.
Then, returning to the bosom of social propriety
Behind a mask of reason and benign normality.

The sickness sleeps. Awaits with dark intents.
For honest stumble made fat with cold offence.
The pack descends to the feast with filthy ire.
To drag the prey away to their faux-anger fire.

Suddenly sated, they turn toward their other life,
Reasonable man. Joyful paragon. Loving wife.
In mirrors they see a proud, crusading saviour,
Kept hidden like a closeted, offensive whore.

the Big sleep

He makes his sign,
displays his ink,
wears his brotherhood
like a deification
and withers his youth
as to the fire thrown.

His is the life of the knife
and gun, never alone, always
his “brothers” by his side,
‘cept those who died.
His is a life of belonging
to the life he leads,
believing in creeds,
the “brothers” by his side,
‘cept those who died.

There are others who, while
never “brothers” are as kin as others,
yet seem impervious to signs.
They, the ones who choose
a different path,
walk another way,
choose to think
along different lines,
they have their creed too.

Stay wide of those who seek
the breast of brotherhood
and fate implied,
ink for life,
and gun and knife,
‘cept those who died.

The Freedom Bell

Education is the freedom bell
We ring with each new lesson,
Its strength is in the truth we tell
Knowledge, its resulting blessing.
No gender in the gift that is given,
No dictum in its innocent supply.
No evil within their beauty written
Freedom in what they exemplify.

Against the craven purveyors of fears
They grasp their ambition to bloom
Like explorers defying ungiving frontiers
They claim their seat in their classroom.
To learn, to grow, gain emancipation
They study, they absorb, they acquire
The deliverance inherent in education,
The state of self to which they aspire.

No man in his ignorant denial of right
Can repress a desirous, vibrant mind
Yet the anxious dogs continue to fight
And there, their immorality is defined.
Humanity demands we are equal and free
Education divests us, of an ill placed chain,
So we fight for and nurture the knowledge tree
For all children, and the rights they attain.

The Grind

Take care of the days as they pass you by
Like gentle waves on your shore
Becoming the afterglow of a life less lived
Like shadows of the days before
The grinding path collides with the shoe
Life passing you by beneath
Another mile of the same old journey
Driven by the same old belief.

Change your step to change your direction
Resent the waste of your verve
Deny the passing of unloved, unlived days
Living less than a life you deserve
When the uneven path fits your ungainly gait
Felicity in stride and pace
You’ll be travelling to a different somewhere
Living life within your new space.


Does the devil encourage
Questioning faith?
Or faith crumble
Neath he who prays,
Pleads, beseeches
God to intervene,
Send us one more Nazarene.
Or is it proliferation fog
With gods aplenty
I tried counting, once
And stopped at twenty
So which door for me
The day I die
When doors abound
To fill the eye
And each comely door,
Impervious to key
Can never open
Nor closed be.
It seems surely
The question is done
Like a snowman
Melting in the midday sun
But on it rages
Like bitter war
Betwixt deities words
And scientist’s law
In the end it’s just
A choice you make
Read another book?
Or eat their cake?