Experience cum knowledge
Today ....in fact just now I read a self appraisal

At times I have noticed
one drops words of wisdom
on my poetry,
which is hardly worth a dime
as my best critics chime
always and many rightly pokes
but more than education
it’s the experience ….which counts ….
I taught my mom,…. how to sign when she was nearing seventy… so that she could sign her Will ….

alas! she had nothing left… as her loveliest son
removed all of what she had
right under her nose

*****here within the waking land
where days are spent and love is made
each day's like one more grain of sand
or blade of grass in sunny glade******

On waking I abuse the clock
like on nearly every morning
the silence brings a minor shock
as if I muted some fair warning
my bedmate groans her own distraction

I pat her on familiar flank
then yawn and stretch, let flee a fart
beneath the pillows her head sank
to avoid such a morning start
no surprise at her reaction

An Ode To Country Living

The buzzards in the trees and the inter-net fees
make country life a hassle
and its hard to sing when you're just a king
with a mortgage on your castle

it gets hot inside the old double-wide
when the summer sun is baking
but with winter’s chill comes a heating bill
that’ll make your soul start aching

My Tigers played good
Ran the big plays
Got out played

A big mouth, no humility
Two clowns poking fun
Sore winner take all

Loud mouth quarter back

It's just a game
Win some, loose one
In Tigertown

Stomped by noles
Defense shut down
In death valley

Clemson will be back

But in love-town, a lonely traveler
Walks the dark road of life
Through valley of love

Thought she connected
But you cut the power
To her love for you

A rummage of grey clouds smother on high,
threatening dark and dreary.
Boredom fidgets indoors.
pacing carpets weary.

A mottle of melancholy dawdles,
while amble billows shift.
Tedium turns over,
waking the sleeping drift.

Google eyes yawn, retired in fatigue,
weighed by the moribund void.
The dull of stimuli
arrests the cushions toyed.

The clock thumps away the daylight hours,
with the seconds heavy tick.
Striking every hour
to jerk the mosey quick.

If pain is commensurate with pleaure,
Why do I cry?
If heartache is what I treasure,
Why exacerbate the tries?

If losing is worth
The choosing
Let me not measure
Why I'd be tar- brushed by the feather
That is you!

Pp. 19/10/13

Caught within the crushing grip of grieving,
the preacher told me
“God takes and gives;
it isn’t ours to judge or question.”
Yet when I turned away,
accepting of his creed,
Cernunos took my hand
and tugged me back around
to warming sunrise,
his tails wrapped around my grief,
to whisper echoing,
“Do you wish eternal sadness,
or the spending
of your lifetime
celebrating hers?”

balcony balance
the smooth gooseflesh
ripple wind

updraft all entail gloss
lyric strand thread
undulations in dune
flat flesh
carved
with the lavish winds
tongue

beyond the tip
upturned nose
and hot rose
cigarette
end

behind the teal
iris
are ruins
forfeited and starved
with a hot fever

racing in vanities
mirror
the dark dance
a candle chance
a scandal advance

And sometimes I wonder
If my words are worth something
More than just phrases
Falling out of my mouth
Curled all around
In a bundle of nothingness
Waiting for someone
To figure them out
And sometimes I wonder
If this is all worth it
Just to end up lying
6 feet under ground
A life full of lies
To make others feel better
Without ever worrying
If you feel better yourself
So look in my eyes
And call me a cynic
But I know better
Than to take any offense

Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks light,
dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside the room-
pares its wings on the glass, falls to the windowsill,
then does it again. My eyelids do the same.    

I imagine his mouth; the ghosts under  
his tongue slide through the cracks of his teeth,  
find mine, stay there. And the birds at the  
backs of our eyes drink too much to leave.