I face this year with trepidation; fearing my next destination.Ogres and trolls -of this past year- may cross a bridge into the New Year.I worry life is no longer a thrill and I'm nothing more than a shill.A shill destined to play in another man's scam; that may be all I truly am.Myths, legends, and campfire stories, so late in life and so few glories,I settle into my routine as paternoster, others step on and off me with...
Some men plan their lives like they plan for a trip, The destination is chosen, the direction is clear, The traveling goods are loaded, the course is set, They select the weather to sail, stay in port when rough. I steer by integrity and set my course by honesty, I tack against the winds of immorality and clear the rocks of shattered ethics, I hold the lanyards of men with respect and seek clarity over the horizon, Life...
My wife is perfect as you can see; An upturned nose, very pretty. She cooks, she cleans, she rings my bell, But it’s her drawers that I love so well. My wife’s drawers are a sight to behold, A tale to you that must be told, Of things so secret and forbidden, The contents of which are usually hidden. My wife’s drawers are like a menagerie Of playing cards and gold jewelry; Gum and matches are way down deep, Buried unde...
Poems written and hopefully sent, Never get a reply. Invitations for romantic events Are almost always denied. When invitations are not denied They are oft put off… Deferred. “I’m not ready,” is what I hear. “Too soon,” are oft your words. With patience, I wait and wonder why My advances are not accepted, Is there something about my approach? Or am I being tested? Are you repulsed and find me offensive When lying in...
A semi-circular moon in a crepuscular sky. Indigo hues of a day that passed by. I grieve at the tomb of my goddess on high, And I shake my fist at this crepuscular sky. A portentous night, cumulonimbus clouds, Her body cocooned in funereal shroud, Her life was plundered, plucked from a crowd, I shake my fist and cry, “Death, be not so proud.” A malodorous scent of decomposing musk As the indigo hues turn darker toward...
One never knows when they occur but sometimes they do, Teardrops fall, she won’t talk at all, and I wish I knew. What causes her such misery? One never knows what emotional scars have been her due, Night falls and her crying calls for justice and life anew. How do I solve this mystery?
