The dead follow bliss with hound dog eyes.
cornfields are pawed with their hopes,
rusty legos, found objects in private renown.
Ellipsis is another key by the tomb.
So knitting thimble, so garage sale ring,
oak shiver by the moon’s garlands,
the chaplet cupboard’s slide.
The dead leave holly fields barely touched,
green a cold breakfast whittled
in small bruises. So knitting thimbles,
so mommy’s hearted baseball.
Only a fool stirs up a bodiless brew.
The dead mesmerize passerby

I’m a bundle of nerves
That fire
Like a firing squad
Or shoot
Like a shooting star

I am guilt and fear
A kid who has put himself
In the corner

I am hope
Like a pelican’s huge beak
Scooping up
The water of life

I am ecstatic joy
And a daily mourner

Like Whitman says
“I contain multitudes”

I am a neural network
A heart in my foot
A heart in my chest
A heart in my eyes

The dark of day
And the combustable
Light of night

I love you more than life itself
as long as the life isn't mine
and long to place you on a shelf
then sip you like a fine old wine.

Your eyes are clear as a spring day
when you are not drunk
.I live to watch your tail sashay
like a departing skunk.

And when I waken beside you
I can't believe my luck
that I am then able to view
a sight like a wrecked truck.

Destiny for Dreamy Dopes...

Religious politicians will end us all,
like Lemmings we sleepwalk behind.
Let’s leave Europe, or build a wall,
It’s the politics of the blind.

Let’s stand foursquare with corruption,
greedily gorging giant golden grounds.
being a part of mother earths destruction,
believing it’s never as bad as it sounds.

We’d rather listen to soothsayers,
peddling poison propagating pap.
Remembering them in our prayers,
tepidly trooping towards the trap.

My heart is a basin of hope

But I struggle
Like a frantic bird
To turn on
The faucet

I am a maple tree
Filled with syrup
That could delight the tongue
Of another

But I’m afraid to cut my skin
And insert the tap

So you can drink

EVERYBODY'S STRANGER
Submitted by scribbler on Fri, 2019-05-24 23:22
I gaze into the looking glass
and begin to move my lips
while outside that pane times slowly pass
in tics and toss and beeping blips.

My reflection answers questions asked.
Should I trust the answers given
or obey the commands tasked?
Should that person be forgiven?

For how is it that I can tell
if all he says is true?
he could merely be giving me a sell
as so many strangers do.

ashes of cities left
by burning atmosphere-
a temper tantrum

The premise of my newest poetic piece reaches out to a woman suffering from bipolar disease she grows ill.
Further, realizes that life is short by listening to a beautiful song then gets touched by nature in the form of a butterfly...,
The woman reached out with everything in her very being to discover the presence of love.
Lastly, this is a touching piece I hope it will warm your heart

Crime has many eyes
Wings but can't fly
Long as snake
bites itself often
Has extended family
And through the generations--distant relatives

Justice sees no sound
Hears no insight
The thorn amidst the crop
Because what's "a lion without tooth
Tree without root
Lie without truth?"---justice.

my souls a ploughed ground
in a folding chandler of bones
staring into a night of burnt steal
black star
third eye
a wing with sight
sitting on the knee of lotus
the knee of listening
the knee of your voice
speak-less
i move from some inner locomotion
distant from the minds arson
that old inner argument,
self; plucked thorn
a burning city dire