It's the seventh month once again
the fireworks allowed that to be known,
my thoughts turn towards my daughter
and how much my girl has grown.

Turns out she's quite the mother!
She deserves some sort of crown,
she deals with so much on her plate
rarely caught letting anyone, down.

I believe she's really happy
though, in life there's always strife;
her secret is to do what she must
to achieve a happy life.

my mind is a crippled pear
speckled with afterthoughts
i get a little nervous and a little
tense if i don't get the punchline

but please don't open my skull
with the decadence of foreplay
ease me off my cloud of unknowing
with a gentle touch
and let it be

i still don't know how to play your tune
and if i must sing
i will drown
sinking like the sunset,

trembling like a leaf
on its way to the join the compost
of the nearly dead.

when the sun smiles on the leaves
just so,
they build a bridge across....

what bullshit! what banality!

i wouldn't know what a soul was
or wasn't
if it bit me on the arse,
if that
and i'd probably attribute it
to the nasty neighbor's drooling dog

and all i can do is mythopoesize
as long as i'm not in the grave,
creepy crawly things in hot pursuit,
waiting for some kind of recollection.

Pondering on the scriptures story
Of a rich man reduced to poverty
The vicissitudes of life he suffered
The struggle to keep a sane life intact
His foes warned, touch not the anointed
His wealth returned and so increased

Men, like Job are around us today
Made gains, married and multiplied
The ill wind of fortune moved around
And abided in their homes for a while
Some regained, reaped the harvest high
Graves swallowed others with their debts

There was a time when love was free
to make and share it had no price.
It was alright to just "be";
liberation was the only vice

But that was many wars ago
ere innocence of youth was lost.
Like old piles of dirty snow
now mortality figures in the cost.

For love can now result in death
and needles don't deliver life.
Where now the beauty which took my breath
cutting as deep as any scythe?

the heart of a woman

is deeply rooted

like a wild violet

and to know

the way berries warm inside a

hand

to watch vines unfold a thousand

blossoms

see poppies spread wide

open

to know this

is the only wisdom

worth knowing

The world would have been flat
One long day without the night
If a rotating earth was not to be
Imagine the world-wide weariness

A day by a half, is laid to rest
When the sun sets in the west
Man, charmed by it, takes a respite
From the flurry, fanning the flames

His actions continue, but shifted
To the realities of the dreamland
Collapsing place, space and time
As he travels through his mind

by the time you think you're a poet
you've huddled with your sacred cows
and piddled your father's fortune away
and then you think you can rhyme yourself
into oblivion with nothing but a pocketful
of verse

They say these bones are ancient
which stand sheer, cleft and gray
remnants of forgotten Everests
now near gone, weathered away.

What did they look like way back then?
Did snow cap them throughout the year,
crests far above the tree line when
Luna orbited so very near?

Among those crags what fliers soared
and what creatures trod the flanks?
Were there flowers in the nooks
blooms on rushing water's banks?

Stunning and sloppy flowers concur
Where cherubim and seraphim wait
In the garden with the wafting wind
Along with flaming swords, watching
Over the children not to eat the fruit

A child’s play, deep in memory
With the other who sought for freedom
To treat as equal in the blooming estate
What were her virtues if not assayed?
A serpent lurked, enticed with a fruit