The Blemish

Beside you I lie and lean on my right arm--

My left hand massages the bare skin, so warm,

Of your back, until I notice a small charm

Of dark color there.

Did you know a mole is on your back, my dear?

It sits right where tail-bone meets the back, right here

Where you feel my finger--one place that's not clear,

So small, dark, and rare.

"What does it look like? Is it wrinkled and strange?

I can't see it--I'm afraid it's out of range

Of my field of sight. Will it grow? Will it change?

Does it have a hair?

"I'm glad you can't see it--that makes it all mine.

A small part of you alone--I'm sure it's benign--

That you can't see, but through me--a point, a line

To your everywhere.

"Rub my back some more and leave my moles alone.

And while usually I do not dare condone

My parts claimed, I'll let you have the mole I own,

To keep us a pair.

Beside you I like and lean on my left arm--

My right hand massages the the smooth skin, so warm,

Of your back, enjoying the sight of your charm

Of dark color there. 

Pro and Contra Fraser

Timeless light shines through the window, the day

Making electric the atoms likely

To bring every object certain to move

Into the life that feeds and breathes and breeds

With slight intention over organic

Ways of seeing those symbolic goals we

Have made into concrete houses for us

To turn over to history--or, no,

History actually precedes by far

The uniquely human, the social found

In all our ape ancestors, chimpanzee

Culture, ritual, even medicine

Bringing them closer to us socially,

Since social history precedes humans,

Each of us, loosely, was already us,

Social like other social mammals, not,

Thankfully, like the murderous social ants--

We have built a very different house,

One where love lives, a bright electric light.

There is no such thing as collective love,

As we can learn from the collective ants,

There is only found among them murder. 

Melina and the Serpent

The plush toy rainbow snake I bought

Became alive in your sixteen-

Month-old imagination. Thought

Took hold of you to make a scene--

An eye-spark warning, then--attack!--

You thrust the snake toward your mom

And hissed, expecting her to back

Away in fear. An insight bomb

Goes off in me--you know before

You're told that snakes are scary things,

And that your mom should be afraid--

Your spark belies intention, flings 

Away false theories. You have made

The argument for knowledge we

Were born with. Hissing snakes invade

And your Dimetrodon bites me

Across my belly as you grin--

You were not taught these things, but you

Use ancient knowledge found within,

Evolved to help us know what's true.

Melina's Infant Dreams

I clean Melina's mouth now that she's full--

My lovely girl in blue has blue eyes closed,

And now she'll cuddle close to me to sleep--

I love to watch her when awake or dozed

Off sleeping--so I wonder, does she dream

Of her beloved mother feeding her? 

Perhaps she dreams her future--crocodiles

And music, acting plays--dreams she'll defer.

Self-Organization

Listen, all you false life-lovers:

Consider your wise man who says,

"Look upon the tree, does it live

Off of the deaths of any other?

So, too, must you live your own life."

Such wisdom is such foolishness:

All life continues if the sun

Continues on its path to death.

Birth belongs in death's love-embrace--

Parents die so their child may live--

Antelope die in lions' jaws--

Leaves are ground in antelopes' teeth.

Humans, the most alive of all

All the more require the deaths

Of others as a sacrifice--

The simple making more complex

Human thought and life possible.

The foolish haters of all life

Reject change, embrace death

That makes the more turn into less.

Unchanging nature is this death--

Humans made into animals, 

Animals made mere chemicals,

Chemicals made into atoms,

Atoms made into energy,

And all of this aline, mere death--

This is the image of evil;

Creative growth is that of good

And why God sees it all as such--

As beautiful and just and true. 

Traveling Without Moving

I have passed from the past, I have moved

From science and history, traveled to

The realm of poetry and my story,

I have moved to the future, the void

That is the realm of nought, philosophy.

I traveled all the way by river boat,

I am rocked by the waves of its time.

I sink the screw into the water, churn

My way upstream, then lift it out again

So I drift once again in the frothy flow.

I seek at once both mouths and sources, sense

And dark nonsense and, between, a new sense.

Can I rule, be a hero, and a saint?

An artist, with each image that I paint?

A Song for Anna

I love my life

I love my wife

I love the home we made

I'm full of praise

For all the days

We've live and loved and played

She is my source of happiness

With her I feel most free

With her I feel I must caress

The life she's given me. 

I love my life

I love my wife

I love the home we made

I'm full of praise

For all the days

We've live and loved and played

Time Saved

An hourglass, its waist too wide--the sand

Falls through too fast--in seconds it is over.

What good is it to tell time for my trip?

I travel down the parkway, missing sights

On highways that would wander through the trees.

It's faster on the parkway. More efficient

Time saved. Time saved at the expense of beauty. 

For More Timefulness

I spend my days in constant study,

Finding how I need a more timeful life

Wherein existence becomes less muddy

And I've evolved to clarify this strife

Which lies inherent in this existence,

Where only small green buds may slowly form,

Meeting every new and old resistance

To such cool, open flowers from the warm

Buds from plants from sun and minerals came,

Complexity bringing forth much more time

Than we can at this low, bud-level name

Or understand or even start to mime.

And yet, I feel the pull into complex

New timeful levels than my mind reflects.

Mammon

A Prayer to Mammon

"I bow down and worship, ready to serve--

You are all, what I live for. And even if

I see no soul staring at me from my

Mirrored eyes, I will see no evil

In anything you make me do. For the promise

Of cars and planes and vacations

To places I have never been, I will turn 

Myself into your supplicant, manipulate

Every man I can manage to your ends.

All means shall be open, as necessary--

Charm and meanness, truth and lies.

There is no meaning but what can be purchased

By you who rules all. I will sacrifice

Myself, my friends, my family--

My happiness and joy, the growth of my soul--

To making more of you, my god.

With you, I can purchase all I lost--

Let my anger flair at those who stand

Between me and having more of you.

Amen."

The Happy Man Speaks to Mammon

"You are a way, and not the end

To which we all must aim. Things

Will not bring me joy--only comforts

Of life, clothes, a belly full

Of good food--good things one can enjoy

With family, friends, and wife.

You are a means to physical comfort,

Experiences, a relaxing life,

To books and music, movies, plays, and art--

May I never forget that is all you are."

Conjoined

Perfection is conjoined to death

Just as the soul is truly breath,

As to a carcass vultures fly,

The breath is gone, the dreams will die.

The vultures hop upon the earth,

Devouring what you are worth--

The worms that wriggle on their beaks

Will sound the soul's resounding shrieks.

Your carcass writhes--you're living yet--

Utopia is where you met

The onyx blade, hear beating still--

The vultures, maggots get their fill.

From chaos you can't order life--

From vulture bones you'll make the fife

That leads you children to despair--

Your beauty's one that is not fair.

Yes, you bring death, the vulture's meal--

The culture's ground beneath the wheel,

And you rise up--the Devil's son--

For death's conjoined to perfection. 

Contemplation

I'm asking you to contemplate

The meaning of the stars,

The placement of the planets, fate,

How Venus seduced Mars.

And I will contemplate your eyes,

The beauty of the turns

Of galaxies and fern, your sighs

That make sure my blood burns.

And we will contemplate the birds

That sing their mourning song,

And all the phrases and the words

That make us both belong.

And they will contemplate the two

Who sit upon the hill:

The moon, her mate, the sun, who do

For each the other's will.

The earth, well, it will contemplate

The life that makes it live--

The animals, the plants debate

The love that we must give. 

And you will contemplate, I ask,

These words I sing, the song

Declaring death won't deal its task--

This, love, will right that wrong. 

Speaking Poetry

The key to speaking poetry

Is practice, practice, practicing,

For then your language will not walk,

But take the music, dance and sing. 

The Golden Age

Was poetry revered

In some forgotten age?

Was rhythm, rhyme once cheered,

Each author seemed a sage?

Perhaps I'll sing a song--

That poetry's alive--

And you will sing along--

My words will then arrive.

Perhaps a future time

Will love mere poetry,

Where conversations rhyme

And rules make language free. 

Replicas

I climb these stairs, a replica of stairs

That are a replica of stairs the nuns

Would climb--yes, Plato'd be appalled. Each bears

The cares of children, artists, each one runs

Deft dewy droplets down the long, lined leaves

And waves in wavelets then, each dancing, leaves.

Perhaps great Plato's thoughts and dreams absurds

Our views on art that Aristotle cured--

A copy of a copy set in words

Makes voiceless every sweetly singing bird

That makes the poet swoon and rise and bow

And even love the seagulls on the bow. 

Why sail in seas and row on rivers rising

From deep, dark places in our souls, from death

Where deepest knowledge rise from our surmising,

Through our unforgetting, warmth letting breath

Communicate in complex chaos, life

In art, the beauty forming endless life. 

The Artist and His Muse

She lays across my shoulder, head--I lift

Her high--she whispers in my ear--I'll die

If I don't cede--my winged soul must shift

To take her sirens' song I can't deny.

She is a burden I must love--her beauty

Breeding more beauty through my fog-filled voice--

I love, I hate to feel her song--my duty

Is always to obey--I love my choice.

Beloved, there's no burden that can raise

The soul to realms of child-play--she'll prey 

Upon your feathered mind--yes, she will raze

It to rebuild, and to her you will pray.

The sirens are the sisters to the Muses--

Creation or destruction--each one chooses.

Salvation

A painting is a meditative space

Whose beauty lifts the troubled soul to grace.

Mind

The man-made cavern mind of coal and white

The monster dust delights the nose to cough

The blackest phlegm that yellows with delight

Our eyes and all the bowler hats they doff

The sigh wrens tiptoe on the tide abide

And do not know and dare not hide their scales

And teeth that tear their caverns opened wide

And blowing air that belly out the sails

The belly of the leaf is coral who

Has lectured us on pataphysical

Soft diamonds who speak every lie that’s true

And mark the world with every alpha bull

Akkadia is where the soul now rests

Assyria has eaten every heart

Behold the concrete nowhere and the breasts

That drag with chains the abalone cart. 

North and South

Summer sunshine in July

Darkness to December

Dancing in the turquoise sky

Nothing to remember

Paradox will drive the ox

Slowly down the field

Crashing, caught upon the rocks

Knowing it won't yield

Sex and sex and sex and sex--

Nothing, nothing, nothing--

See the sun, how it reflects--

The lake, the moon are bluffing

The Garden

Above the soil cracked by drying mist,

Above the river flowing, eddy-kissed,

Glass flowers bloom up on their stems of steel,
Their rainbow swirls against the earthy bricks
Refracting fractals focused light we feel

As heat that harrows off our hides and licks

The lemon, orange, the watermelon green,

Raspberry and blue--fruitful, true, and blown

By breath that bears the love of life unseen

Until the transformation to known

Unfragrant understanding is unwound

And fractured flowers do not make a sound.

Wandering Mind

I'm bored--I think of writing poetry

I'm bored--I'm thinking about you and sex

I'm bored--my soul is aching to be free

I'm bored--I'm drained down to my very drecks

I'm bored--oh, did I mention sex with you?

I'm bored--my mind is flitting, flying, fleeting

I'm bored--I have no wings, my feathers flew

I'm bored--the time has stopped, always repeating

I'm bored--I need some liquor and some food

I'm bored--I don't know what to do today

I'm bored--I visualize you in the nude

I'm bored--I want you in the bed to play

I am so bored that I've become perplexed--

So send me naked pictures via text. 

Careless Culture's Consequences

In this world's longest, widest, deepest valley

The world's tallest and strongest dam was built

And left to fill, and then forgotten. Silt

Built up as water filled. It drowned each tree

And bush and covered every tiny hill

Across the mountains' slopes, filled every cave,

Until the great dam could not longer stave

Away the weight of water, slit, until 

The waiting water pushed across the top

And cracked the concrete until it broke

And all the water washed, a single wall,

Downriver. Force, no force could ever stop

What they'd unleashed upon themselves--they woke,

The ones who could, to what destroyed it all. 

Stories Need Be Told

Postmodernism--voice of the elite--

Their poems reverted in the sure defeat

Of all the voices of minorities

Whose stories need be told. A story frees

The soul from Hell. A story will give birth 

To future paths we never thought were worth

The time to contemplate, perhaps a new

And branching branch of time. Each voice is due,

Each voice should sing its single subtle song

To show autistics, women, both belong,

To show that African-Americans,

Hispanics, Asians, all the world have plans

And goals and stories we should hear, are told

In lovely lines of lyric poetry

That free us all and make the blind to see. 

Metaphors for Vengeance

The vengeful cannot grow in love—

You cannot see in red

Each actions that your loved ones take.

Your feelings will be dead.

 

The vengeful cannot grow in virtue—

Machetes don’t grow trees—

Its scythe with harvest poisoned grains

For death’s all it can seize.

 

The vengeful cannot grow in peace—

They live in constant war—

The valleys flow with horse-high blood—

You’ll slip upon the gore. 

 

The vengeful cannot calmly sleep—

They toss and turn in hate—

They’re slashing throats and gouging eyes,

Distributing their own fate.

The Future Immigrant

The future immigrant is longing for 

A mystery, a hope, a future new

And so romantic--it's an open door

Into a meadow full of morning dew.

Dissatisfied with where he lives, was born,

The future immigrant will gladly pass

Through deserts, over mountains that adorn

The body of the earth. Her endless grass,

Her flashy flowers, forests full of fear

Are ways to gain the beauty of the way.

For all the future immigrant holds dear.

He has to go, although he wants to stay.

I must admit, his wanderlust I share--

I dream his courage, going where I dare. 

Philosophizing

What questions did you ask today?

Do you live in an ossuary

Of old ideas? Do you play,

Or do you lie with those we bury?

To play with Plato brings perception--

Accepting Aristotle full,

Unquestioning brings mere deception

Of understanding--it's its cull.

But challenge all the thinkers you

Encounter--even ancients bring

Insights--and challenge poets, too,

For there’s always new songs to sing.

Flesh out the bones of mankind's past

And grow in wisdom's sunlit day--

For that is how your mind will last.

What questions will you ask today? 

Steno's Lament

My sister raped by cruel Poseidon, sea

That swirled between her thighs--and I stood by

My sister--so I shared her fate. Men flee

Before my stare, for if they catch my eye

To milky marble they'll become--I stand

Them in my garden, stony sentinel

To warn away the wise and wary. Hand

Of bronze will bring my sculpture garden full

Of mutilated men. And yet, she's gone--

My sister, murdered by a mortal man--

Her scaly torso prone, the light of dawn

Reflecting in the blood that, headless, ran.

My gorgeous, gory garden can't assuage

My guilt, eternal guilt, eternal age. 

The Odin Within

Thought and memory are flying through the sky--
Black-clad ravens which will never die--
Over all of man this pair will fly,
Bringing knowledge to deep wisdom's only due. 

Skaldic mead has quenched my thirst for many years,

Bought by suffering, pain, bane, and tears--

Yet, this honeyed drink has sent my fears

Down to Hell--I brought back up the songs man hears.

Leviathan

The bigger it grows, the larger it looms
The more that our freedoms slip into their tombs.
Whatever is broke, it breaks it again,
Disrupting our lives with the stroke of a pen.
It tries to take over what we only do best--
It should only protect--let us do the rest!
It wants to remove our freedom to choose
Whatever we want, if we win or we lose.
We want neither help nor hindrance at all--
It only demeans, in despair makes you fall.
So, down with the big and up with the small
For more only means less freedom for all.
If it's freedom you want, then don't let them pry,
And listen to me, please hearken my cry!
We need less, not more, or whatever if gives
So push for it now, where each of you lives.
So, down with the big and up with the small,
For that way we'll get a fair freedom for all.

Why

Like cattle rustlers after dusk

Like walruses with just one tusk

Like statues baring just one breast

Like children study for a test

Like artists painting made-up places

Like fast neutrinos leave no traces

Like doves on gloves in love do I

Like all your mysteries of why

Self-Portrait

Perhaps you've read my stories, poetry

And thought you saw me. You are wrong. No song

I've written ever mirrored one degree

With any part of me. There's nothing wrong

With thinking that you caught a glimpse if you

Have read my mind's mere makings over time--

But everything I've written, it is true,

Is true, but not of me, except in rhyme. 

But have I loved? Oh, yes, I've loved--my wife,

My children, parents, friends. And beauty called

To me and set me free and freed my words.

And I have sung of conflict and of strife

And reconciled and called out what enthralled

My heart and mind like diamond hummingbirds. 

The Arc of Expecation

Frustration fills me--expectation lost
Will ground this ship upon the island sands
Or get it sunk beneath the seas, mind tossed,
From crashing on the iceberg. Love demands
Such understanding. Love demands you warn
With time sufficient or you keep your word.
I simply ask you do not leave me torn,
Instead release to know the snow-white bird.

The Oxytocin Blues

 Love's feeling's made by oxtocin--touch
Elicits loves across the brain--my skin,
Your skin in contact--I don't ask for much--
A hug, a squeeze where loves always begin.

And when you pull away, you pull away
From love and pleasure--say you would refuse
To feel as close to me--refuse to play
What oxytocin promises and glues.

Why fight the feelings oxytocin makes?
There's none too tired for love and touch, to feel
What makes us more through marriage--what it takes
Seems small to me, as feelings will reveal.

And yes, this chemistry that's in your head
Comes flooding more when you're nude in our bed.

Punctuation

Panther hiding in the trees
One quick leap you're on your knees
Death is hiding in the night
Death's the demon you can't fight

In the darkness shadows shriek
Strong or prideful weak or meek
All will fall beneath death's jaws
All will bleed ripped by her claws

Death will pad on panther feet
Soul departs you turn to meat
You can't hide in ditch or shrubs
You will feed her darkling cubs

Free Will

The world is full of mighty winds
That blow in each direction--
You choose your wind and set your sail,
Become  the sea's reflection.

The Fool

 A man sits and thinks
Seeing what we cannot see
Understanding what

We can't understand
Knowing the unknowable
We see he's insane

He's a fool because
He sees, he understands, he
Knows what we wish not

Behemoth

 For none to see, invisibly
The giant monster slowly eats
The universe, and ultimately succeeds
Until all matter finds itself
In singularity, enwrapped in space.
No time within, but time will pass
And energy is lost, until at last
The monster, it explodes,
And all will start again.

Liber

 Listen!
Do you hear the sounds?
Do you hear the cries
Of the impoverished,
Of the hungry,
Of the oppressed?
Oh, what we could do
If only allowed:
What they could do
If freedom were theirs.
Listen!
Do you hear the sounds?
Do you hear the cries of joy
Of the wealthy,
Of the healthy,
Of the free?
Oh, what we could do,
Oh, what we can do
When we are allowed to be free
To say, to think, to dream, to do
What we wish,
As we see fit.
But we are not yet free.

Morning

 The sun peaks over darkened hill--
What a thrill!
Slowly chasing dark and stars away--
What a day!
The birds are singing loud and clear--
Do you hear?
Life is up and moving around--
What a sound!
Dew glistens bright upon the grass--
Rainbow glass!
The darkness turns to brighter blue--
All is new!
Now, come enjoy the blessed day--
Let us play!
And enjoy each bright new morning!

Mall Walkers

 Walking around with no place to go
Some go fast and some go slow
Young and old alike go round
Seeing their friends, the old that are found.
Stories they tell, their likes they relate
Enjoying their talk, and rarely debate.
Their joy and friendship overflowing abound
Within all the walkers as they walk around.

Reductionism

As light reflected from her face's atoms
And entered through the lenses of my eyes,
The image was inverted and the light
From the reflection struck the retinal,
Transforming it from trans to cis, which made
A change in certain proteins in my cone
And rod-shaped cells that sent a pulse, electric,
Down to the optic nerve, which sent electrons
Through to the brain to process with its neural
Net through chemical, electric interactions
That, due to previous synaptic forms
Caused more electric signals to be sent
By neurons down the spinal chord to neurons
That sent a signal to the diaphragm,
Resulting in its quick contraction, breath
From lungs that filled with air, released in such
A way that low vibrations then were made
And passed across my tongue and lips that curved
By other neural pathways from the brain.
The oxytocin surged across my neurons.
This happens every time I see my love.

A Drop

A drop of crystal water hangs daintily
From the tip of the jagged, dark green leaf,
Slowly collecting molecule amounts
Of water until finally it pulsates
On the sharp tip before it can release
Itself to fall, an undulating sphere
Splitting the scattered light and scattering
Its colors across the darkling forest
Until it surfaces a leaf-lined pool
And scatters tiny droplet in the air
That come down crashing on the circle ripples
Spreading across the surface like your love.

Significance

 One cannot look into the deep, vast night
And fail to wonder. Who could ever know
Or comprehend or understand its size.
What is it that we see? What do we not?
How far to the edge of the universe?
How far to our nearest neighboring star?
A little over four light-years, so short
A distance--a little less than thirty-two
Trillion miles--distances measured six trillion
Miles at a time. One hundred billion stars
In but one galaxy--hundreds of billions
More galaxies just like it, each surrounded
By smaller galaxies that orbit, each
Containing billions more stars--systems strewn
In patterns of far greater structures. Here
We are, one species on a tiny planet
Orbiting a medium, yellow star.
Who are you in your self-placed, certain greatness?
Who are you in a cosmos where the center
Is everywhere and therefore everyone
Is the true center of the universe?

An Ode to Black

 It's not a bright color like jade--
As a matter of fact, it's a shade.
It's often found in the night sky
And oftentimes I've wondered why
The one thing I pull off the rack
Seems almost always to be black.
Black underwear, black socks and shoes
Black shirt, black pants are what I choose.

I love black cars and long black hair,
A beautiful black starlit night--
It's something that I love to share,
It brings to me such great delight.

For me, there's something you would lack
If you never wear fair black.

The Dragon to be Slain

The great white dragon--eating, devouring
All her children. Killing all she sees. Breath
As cold as ice, making cold too soon. Wars
Because of her, dying for her. Her great wings
Beat down, lifting you up, then dropping you
Down--forever, for eternity meeting your death
For your love of her. Her beautiful eyes
Tantalize while you are devoured, shredded
By her sharp teeth, pushed past her lying tongue.
Do her bidding, meet your certain death
At the crack of her massive, meaty tail.

Parrot Literary Corner - EP08 - Poetry and the World of Troy Camplin

Happy World Poetry Day!!!

To Live

The sunlight's glinting off the morning waves
Sailing across the mountain lake,
A gentle breeze guides them to the shore.
Eagle soaring, gracefully gliding
Dipping down on the breeze. One
Sails high, turns to plunge, hits the water
With a painful crack, breaking the peeping
Frogs. A few wet flaps to break the top.
Into the air. Empty. The other eagle
Soars around the lake. Twice. Thrice.
Another attempt is made. A hit
Of the surface. A beat
Of the wings. A fish
Is plucked up from the surface.
Upwards she flies--gems glisten
Off her wings. Proudly she soars
Toward her massive home, shining
Trout in hand for her young.
Through the slowly ending day
The other eagle soars. Deep
Into the night with never a try
'Til hunger fills her humble home.

Morality?

An original thought never once entered
The cloudy mass he called his mind.
Never trusting what he saw,
But always wondering why.
He never heard nor taste nor felt
Nor smelt to be what truly was
And thought everything around to be
Nothing but illusion--illusions of illusions.
The woman that he married and the man he doesn't know
Received the selfsame love
And in his life it shows.
Because he must, not that he does
He loves and gives and gives
Then takes from others what's not his
So he can give some more.
He saw each person that he helped
Increasing by the score
And forever wondered why.
But when he saw a fellow man
Who prospered from his brow
He vowed that he'd destroy him
Without knowing why or how.

Crinoid

A gentle ocean
Swaying the animal
In the watery breeze,
Jointed stem
Bending slightly
Under the flutters
Of its feathery head feeding.
A beautiful chalk flower of the sea.
I hold in my hand
And ancient bone
A stone
A circle
Beautiful
A ring in a ring.
All that remains of the sea lily
In the ocean
That once was.

Alone/Fear

Alone
We have found ourselves
Alone
Without loves or cares
Alone
With the thoughts of the wicked
We cannot take the future
Why can't you understand?
I cannot take the uselessness
The future brings us by the hand

Fear
Of ourselves, our friends
Fear
That we'll make amends
Fear
Of what our lives will bring us
We don't know where we're going
But it sure as hell won't be there
Where fear is made a virtue

Why can't see see the bright white light ahead?
The sound of the bell to bring out your dead/
We want to win, to take our place
Out in the front to win the race
To seize the day in every way
'Til there's no turning back from play.

Alone at Last!

Alone,
I find myself,
I know myself,
I have some inner peace.
I clear my mind,
Easily find
The thing which I am searching for.
Within a group,
Within a crowd,
The voices all become too loud.
I cannot think,
I cannot find--
The noises make me all too blind.
I cannot think--
A well of fear--
I have to get away from here!
I'm all alone
Safe in my home
I'm with my inner self.
At company
With only me
I'm finally no longer lonely.

Words

I sit here lying in my bed
While words go dancing through my head.
Where they come from, I don't know,
Only where they try to go.
Songs and stories, poems too--
Something old and something new--
Songs of others cloud my mind
While I try to find a rhyme.
And when I try to write a book,
New poems say to take a look!
I cannot think--it's all a heap!
So I will just fall off to sleep.

Poetry

My eyes grow weary and my mind grows dull,
And thoughts and feelings then begin to flow--
First slowly, fuzzily, then poetry
Pours forth, deep from the uninhibited
Soul, mind. All worries gone, all thoughts emerge
And all that's left is beauty, rhythm, words
Making beautiful sounds throughout my mind--
Released into the world as poetry.

What It Is

One must wonder
As one wanders
All asunder
Amidst the thunder
And the pouring rain.
Lightning flashes
Temples to ashes
Out he lashes
Away he dashes
Into the crowded street.
Where can he go
He does not know
Of if it's so
That he can throw
Himself into this work.
What's it about?
Is there no doubt?
Those that just pout
Will always tout
What is had for only a short time.
Where can it be?
Why can't you see
That it is we
Who must agree
On what it's all about.

The Death of Love

Resentment will devour you,
And it will make you see

Mere phantoms of things that, untrue,

Will make you want to flee. 

 

Resentment will eat at your heart

And fill your ears with doom.

At loved ones, throw the poisoned dart—

Love slips into the tomb.

 

Resentment is the enemy

Of love and listening—

They’ll hang, rotating, from a tree

Or die from hatred’s sting. 

 

Resentment is the death of love;

So, you should never blame—

Instead, release forgiveness’ dove

To fly above the flame.

Black Hole

A large, hot star is burning brightly in the deep,
Dark depths of space and nearing its inevitable death.
Slowly, gradually expanding outward, it gets hotter, hotter
Until it can expand no more and it goes crashing inward
Upon itself. Denser and denser it becomes, its core
Slowly increasing the gravity within.
The more it implodes, the more it implodes,
Until, at last, it can become no denser
And the gravity-wrapped space ensures that even light
Cannot escape, and time stops at the center--
The singularity formed. Event horizon, the point
Of no return for anything--everything devoured,
Slowly adding mass to the ever-hungry carnavore.
Invisible except the x-rays released at the edge
Of the event horizon, where matter
And its antimatter twin are born
Of nothing. One is devoured and the other
Set free, just out of reach
releasing a photon
Of x-ray
Light.

Where the Sea Horses Live

A black room with red carpet
Black obsidian borders
And black obsidian doors
Black window panes with red curtains
Black obsidian dresser
And bed with red covers
Next to a black obsidian nightstand
Where a blacklight lamp glows
On a table in the corner sits
A black fish tank with black rocks
And black coral with small black sea horses
The black closet opens
To black clothes and black shoes
Black belts and black ties
The lights go out
And all turns black

The Raiding Party

We sail forth from the heart of Krynn--
May no one think that they can win!
We ravage, plunder, maim and kill--
To hear our names, it brings a chill!
We kill for thrill, we kill for gold,
For riches vast, treasures untold!
Now, cower down before our feet--
You know we'll win--admit defeat!
We'll kill you all or take your crew
And put them in our cosmic zoo.
And if you fly in our direction,
We'll take your ship for our collection.
So, you in your ship, don't defy,
For we can't wait to see you die!