All routes we traverse
Places and phases diverse
Speck of Universe

Human race in prime
“A Brief History of Time”
An era sublime?

Striking Mother lode
Many light years from abode
To enforce our code

Established in Space
Living our usual ways
An alien race?

I remember to look up
into recycled air.
Slow gray waves weave around the curves and necks-
of liquor bottles.
Slabs of smoke drift across the blue light
like Wales rolling in the sea
and fall into my lungs,
un-asked, un-thanked, and are expelled out again.
The guy next to me takes a deep breath
leaning into the bar -
embracing it, like a child and its mother.
He tilts his glass on its coaster
and gazes into its eyes
falling helplessly into the same old stories-
things he’d rather forget.

Wasted days lounging late I hear them build
their house in our meadow over the wall....

Sad summer then autumn lost time has spilled,
without you, quick into that dismal, too small

box; the bare white rooms, the bright black door.
All wait for the new people, for fortune to fall
glad under the flaming ash, a familiar sycamore.

Come seek you keepers of our grave in the field,
where we buried a pet in a pine desk drawer,
unearth this proof of times awful harvest yield,

Syndicates covert
ply, perpetrate and pervert
Human Rights overt

Moon shy
with millions
gazing wide eyed

gorgeous
celestial
ballerina

waving
from close range
to each gazer

[Style/Type: I have tried to use 2-3-4 syllable line with three stanzas, an innovative form thought of by fellow member IRiz. Please visit her Form Topic Page "Haiku and English Language" for more detail and give your shout. Hopefully those who like trim forms like Haiku may like to try i]

I ain't nothing but a crow
flying high above the ground
above neat suburbs and wild fencerow
as I call out the same old sound.

For almost two decades now
my wings have gone from sea to sea.
Often I raised a feathered brow
at contradictions that I see.

I've glided over cities filled with people.
sometimes they march and carry signs.
And I've flapped while lighting on a steeple
all by itself save vast dense pines.

Remember this for all Times

When you leave Lords
you won't even know
so burn up all your dough
that's what I am doing
all will as it is blow
why not we do it our self also

yet leave a few cents for cremation
else all will curse you know
all want plus dollars
but would hate to spend few cents
why was he so miserly
they will say
thank God he has gone away

Need to acquire might
often prelude to a fight
not upholding Right

a wren flaps away
beak full of juicy meal worms
for fledglings revel

Bacchus

No dark tide of wine can wash
the whale tongue that bleats of fear,
no miracle grape or grain
can coax the whittle wind to dissapear

When silence comes, grasp rushing in
between the lips of miracles shelved
which prophet water will benign begin
to wash the warring wounded self?

Trust then, not in cities
and rationale of fevered minds,
rather find the quiet quell inducing blood
of holy wine