April 29th Challenge
Without warning
though by Bane the Bat was broken
Jokers by the pale moonlight
uses fear to battle evil
cloaked in darkness full of might
rage and trauma forge a hero
loses everything that's dear
parents murdered
child of privilege
Gotham city web of fear
underworld corruption
Decay
April 28th Challenge
Over coffee we discuss a painting which we've seen:
I think it is a little girl with hands up on the counter.
To me it is a foundry blazing hot and belching smoke.
You both are wrong the painting is the artist in a rage.
The colours are emotions on the canvas as it's staged.
Abstract art expertly fashioned to achieve effect.
Mona Lisa in a bind awaiting Leonardo.
The painter racing from the whale to stave off being swallowed.
A damaged soul with friend beside to lend a helping hand.
A vengeful redhead in the wings about to get her due.
An underwater sunset or the abattoir in action.
The Artist painting with the flames his colors represent.
Logic in a circle leading from the dark to light.
An angel from the heavens sent to counteract man's spite.
It's letting go the ones you love to live free and to grow.
At that we all were quiet ... and in time we all agreed ... to disagree.
April 30th Challenge (Free at last! ... Now what are we gonna do?)
Can you see me? Transparent in plain sight. Wishing from afar.
Can you hear me? Speechless in the spot light. Wishing from afar.
Digging with impunity through toxic spoils of hate and war.
Can you forgive? At the tiller less sight. Wishing from afar.
Hoarding massive stores of wealth though neighbor's children go hungry.
Can you save me? Depth of soul is so slight. Wishing from afar.
Building massive ships of war to spread freedom and keep the peace.
Can I open arms and fists? Embrace right. Wishing from afar.
Waiting while my cake is served as masses labor for a crust.
Can I share the burden? Join the good fight. Wishing from afar.
Standing silently while bullies rule with smug entitlement.
Can you arm me? Insecure in the night. Wishing from afar.
Toiling without reason to perpetuate the fog of fear.
Do you need me? Without passion contrite. Wishing from afar.
Writing drivel without substance hoping challenge end is near.
Muse don't hear me. Composing late at night. Wishing from afar.
Falling for the prime distraction prestidigitation flair.
Can I see you? Reaching for the stage sleight. Wishing from afar.
Reaching out to offer comfort taken as a selfish threat.
Do you fear me? Seeing through an old fright. Wishing from afar.
Wanting what I claim I don't. Flirting through a broken veneer.
Will you free me? Self deception too tight. Wishing from afar.
Holding to the moral compass without heed of wanton lust.
Can I trust you? An empty lure, won't bite. Fishing from afar.
Dictating the road of progress though the science is unclear.
Can you see through me? To the path of right. Wishing from afar.
Wanting only to be cherished without pretense without lies.
Can you feel me? Numb with fear the dream will die. Wishing from afar.
Free will Frederick Andrew's illusion of the reality
Can you feel me? Terrified it's right. Wishing from afar.
April 27th challenge
The mem'ry has grown tattered
color faded details lost
and yet I cling, tenacious
for it's all of her remains
Sunny Sunday afternoon
bright blue sky crisply clear
Momma's cookies baked and racked
on the counter cooling
White and cotton sundress
pigtails, brown eyes big as pools
hands on counter smiling, waiting
chocolate chip smell in the air.
Never sure if I was ready
worried from the time I knew
tried to put the best face on it
Parents...how the world would change
Then she came and I held her
wrinkled peanut small and warm
In that moment my heart stolen
hers forever and a day.
Four years to the cookie counter
daddy's girl so full of love
life before drab and forgotten
she's the center of my world.
Not long after came the darkness
quickly stole her body's strength
but her spirit strong and singing
'til the final kiss goodbye.
Cookie at the counter
tattered memory remains.
April 26th challenge
Critical Mass or Much Ado About Nothing?
Prophets of Doom or Doctors of Spin?
Quickening or Quicken not?
Awash in a sea of data
intoxicated
with it's heady perfume
paper thin the separations
gone the luxury of
Time. And. Space.
to consider and reflect
upon the implications of the
techno-geo-politico whatsis
of the day the hour minute nano
second is too long to take
This offer for a limited time
haves and havenots
global warming
social contract
yours and mine
Free will. Or won't.
We make the call.
What will come?
All's Well That Ends Well.
April 25th challenge
from orbit earth seems in a state of grace
on ground that state is more like agony
an ambiguity so bittersweet
how can the two exist inside the one
i long for some cosmic epiphany
and then i drink the coffee from my cup
So smooth the glass from which is made my cup
it's curves remind me of the dancer's grace
and as it falls there comes epiphany
concurrent with a slivered agony
so many shards descended from the one
the taste of blood is hot and bittersweet
the cry of life at birth is bittersweet
and how such fullness from so small a cup
the noise of many emanates from one
the father prays that God will grant the grace
he needs to bear exquisite agony
as daughter's life blooms through epiphany
Some light some dark in each epiphany
the rare one doesn't taste of bittersweet
and bring with it some sense of agony
that adds the salt of tears into your cup
a toast which bears humility and grace
your stifled fire reserved to strike the one
what will you do when chance to strike the one
delivered like that dark epiphany
a sharpened blade wielded with strength and grace
or passed unused and swallow bittersweet
regret remaining in your loving cup
unsure of future joy or agony
was it more than transient agony
resultant from the sparing of the one
whose reckless greed begets the shattered cup
and with it once again epiphany
that all experience is bittersweet
and can, nay, should be borne with simple grace
it's ever fresh, the one epiphany
the shattered cup brimmed with the bittersweet
is both at once the agony and grace
We please their summer sweat and lust to whisper bloodless mist above a languid bed.
I go as wind.
April 23rd challenge
Oh, is it wise to mess with twenty three?
Just corelation. Ain't enough to see
arrangement of the bloody cart and horse.
Is twenty three the cause or the effect?
Or just a silly attribute along
for quite the long and strange chaotic run?
It could be that I'm pissing up a rope.
Oh, is it wise to mess with twenty three?
It could be my turn at Russian roulette.
Oh, is it wise to mess with twenty three?
It could be armageddon ... or just tea.
Oh, is it wise to mess with twenty three?
Perhaps this invocation is a ward
that keeps the evil poltergeists at bay,
a talisman of goodness and the light
designed to keep the speaker in the right.
But I digress. Ah there!
Oh, is it wise to mess with twenty three?
It certainly invokes my OCD
and niggles by the fact that it is odd.
Unbalanced like a tire that is cupped.
Annoying like a reading glass that's smudged.
Or like the frayed thread keeping Damocles alive ... for now.
Akita / PITBULL / Terrier, the legend on the cage
the middle breed stood out in sharp relief.
The shelter gave him A+, great with kids and other pets
a contradiction beyond my belief.
We met him that day anyway, despite my grave concerns
which I gave voice to only tacitly.
When he came in he made it clear the breed they did not say
was double XL lap dog wannabe.
At sixty five or better pounds he was a little large
to situate himself upon my lap.
He gave it the all college try and before very long
two thirds of him was comfortably at home.
Face to face and eye to eye my worries disappeared
truth is there was room for only one
concern resulting from his singular pit love attack
the fear of drowning from his lapping tongue.
So he came home that very day, my brown eye, blue eye, pirate dog
a vict'ry lap around the yard he zoomed
There's one remaining answer. Alex, Pit bulls for 2k.
It's me by Duke when asked, "who rescued whom?"
April 20th challenge
The morning ritual, in part, involves my coffee mug.
Especially on winter days it helps ward off a chill.
My hands, you see, last half of fall through early part of spring
are blocks of ice
just ask my wife
and so my morning prayer.
My pen and journal count as one, apart they're incomplete.
For observations, bits of verse, and lists of things to do
the tactile act of written note has magic properties
It pantographs
upon my brain
in triplicate, you see.
Finally my walking shoes, here pictured nearly new.
You wouldn't recognize them now, so scuffed and soles worn through.
They cost a pretty penny which I almost didn't pay
but comfy feet
cannot be beat
for getting through the day.
So now I've shared three touchstones
from my daily carousel.
Little things that counteract the spin.
If they can help you tame your rollercoaster loop de loop,
you are welcome, grab a mug and jump right in.
April 19th challenge
Oh what to write when nothing comes to mind?
A mind is such an awful thing to waste.
My muse plays coy and leaves me in a bind.
It's empty. Like a watermelon rind
my brain a blank as if it's been erased.
Oh what to write when nothing comes to mind?
I search my heart for insights très sublime
and scour my blog for things to cut and paste.
My muse plays coy and leaves me in a bind.
The morning news has nothing that I find
sufficiently compelling to make haste
with what to write when nothing comes to mind.
And in the darkness where I'm all but blind
no images unchaste excite the chase.
My muse is coy and leaves me in a bind.
And why, oh muse, do you remain unkind?
My mind an oven'd turkey to be baste.
Oh! What to write when Nothing comes to mind?
My muse is coy and leaves me in a bind.
The spaceman in his spacesuit
had a sour looking face
as the airlock cycled for his EVA.
Seems the buddy he relieved
had relieved himself as well
and the gaseous remainder had him peeved.
What's that smell?
Last night's freeze dried chili. With Nacho cheese!
April 18th challenge
Said the Captain of Inspections to the Captain of the Ship ...
"We're here to help you."
To the Captain of Inspections said the Captain of the Ship ...
"We're glad to have you."
April 17th challenge
distillation correspondence choreography
encapsulated moment or fantastical journey
a silent scream a whisper a chorus or a band
the naked truth an outright lie go walking hand in hand
a call to arms a cry for help a verbal celebration
a question or an answer filled with bittersweet elation
an intricate construction Bach or Goldberg would be proud
a freely floating stream of thought ... but I digress
one or more or all or none of the above by poll
but ever and always a throbbing piece of poet's soul.
It's day sixteen
I'm full of grief
We're just past halfway in.
The end I guess
beyond belief
as far as we have come.
In our behalf
a photograph
of winners in a line
will make us laugh
and cry enough.
ENOUGH!
April 15th challenge
What's that noise I see, come creeping 'neath the door?
It's looking mighty furtive and nothing like discrete.
It has the smell of softness and the taste of cymbal clangs!
(I wish I hadn't dropped that window pane.)
I hear it's hue of bilious green and struggle with my gorge,
a battle which I fear I've lost in technicolor streams
which make a tasty rainbow wrapping me in swaddling chains,
which feel the color purple and sound salty more than sweet.
This verse of synesthesia has gone on for quite a while.
I feel it stinks and hope your patience is enough
to let me extricate my foot from out my mouth.
That sounds a bit tasteless. I assure you, that it's snot.
I never know when I'm a pest
My welcome worn to shreds.
If when I think I see a smile
It's just a cringe instead
or, perhaps, a bit of undigested beef
but I digress.
I start to feel this nagging sense
that I am in the way,
and that my posts and comments
over complicate the day of
others whom I wish were friends.
As I review this post I write
what strikes me is the overuse of "I."
Preoccupied and selfish, clearly.
This gives me pause. I take to heart
this lesson, and for a time (I) will not
darken any door with vibes less than embracing.
Good night. Sleep tight.
April 14th challenge
The tears long dried to salt upon my face
could season endless feasts for kings and queens.
They taste of all the sins the human race
has rained upon itself since Eden's sheen
was dulled by apple feast so long ago.
And yet the tears which are no longer wet
have found a cause to cease their endless flow
related to that feast which sealed our debt.
Alone I was replete with sin and pain.
Complicit?, Nay! A principal of rage
and war intended for ill gotten gain,
Author pierced by words upon his page.
Then you appeared and offered apple's feast
and in your gift my tears have found surcease.
April 13th challenge
Found untreated. Won't say where.
Suffice to say the author, treated though he was, wasn't there.
A quest begins...
In the funhouse hall of mirrors
Dead end passage to the left
Of the egress to the light
Is a special little mirror,
Canvas covered and bereft
Of visitors
Shattered mirror full of spite
Wanting is a better word
Gaze upon it at your peril
Cleaving truth to vision tight
With a touch of the absurd
Inseparable
Bindings canvas far from sterile
Dust and filth and dried ichor
Once removed the shattered glass scene
doesn't make alot of sense
'Til Shard's caress and then it tastes yours
Sudden focus
Pure reflection in the mirror
Truely awful to behold
All your lies, real and imagined
Imperfections in your soul
Visage layers with conviction
Voices begin
...Do not follow.
April 12th challenge
ceaseless toil surcease
warship slips into the sea
"Look what you have done."
Steamy city after twilight
April shower washes by
screechy clatter people mover
on the el it lumbers high
street lights car lights traffic signals
revving engines squealing brakes
steam escaping manhole cover
hear the sizzle, nearly shakes
music from the nearby tavern
spills into the twilight scene
builds upon the street noise backbone
scintillating, tasty, lean -
ing back against the lamp post
eyes closed trench coat all askew
washed by rain and now by music
twilight city street milieu
and the el clatters by
April 10th challenge
Periodic car began willing debt
willing debt became fiscal ball-and-chain
fiscal ball-and-chain forecast determined credit
Determined credit appease parched society
April 9th challenge
sitting in the barbershop
waiting for my turn
to get a little off the top
conformance reaffirm.
caught in silent reverie
of infinite reflection,
opposing mirrors forming
an eternal corridor.
as I traverse that corridor
a vague sense of unease
blossoms into torschlusspanik
full blown. Weakened knees
threaten to negate my progress
while the portals close
leaving me in limbo
ever farther from my goals.
like the submariner in a
stricken boat below
watertight compartment flooding
through the hatch helps comrades go
last man left he sees the hatch close
watches as the dogs are set.
in his heart grim recognition
water swirls about his chest
the barber calls me to the chair
and breaks the reverie
asking if I'd like the standard trim
still shaken from my vision
beads of sweat upon my brow
let's change it up and take it to bare skin.
Gently steam, roll, and bake
our nutritional flakes
adding fruits and nuts balance the taste.
Irresistible flavor
less processed and crisp
natural cereal whole grain, delish
From the field to your bowl
from your bowl to your gut
from your gut to a different style bowl
the fiber and grains keep a regular flow
at my age that's a much vaunted wish.
Engineered from the back of the box!
April 7th challenge
chocolate
silky intimate
comforting melting enveloping
dark milk white rosé Rioja
liberating accentuating intoxicating
crisp cool
wine
inspired by a comment from Doug Metz
April 6th challenge
snow banks in retreat
driveway full of muddy trenches-
gloves empty of hands
snowmelt fills potholes
frost heaves in the road relax-
robins fill the yard
thermometer fills
noontime walk without a coat-
spring sun warms the stroll
deck empty of snow
spring time sun warms empty boards-
dog takes place of snow
April first challenge
Eyes wide mouth agape
Recognition slowly dawns
Lips purse and eyes slit
April 5th Challenge
Sparring
With live ammo
Emo poet's verses
The gauntlet thrown the game begins
I blink
April 4th Challenge
Alice left for Wonderland
Precisely late for tea.
RIDICULOUS! the Red Queen screamed,
Inciting Tweedle Dee to
Leap upon the croquet pitch
Flamingoes scattered far and wide!
Oysters paused and gazed aloft
Unmindful of the Walrus' cries
Resplendent in his vest whilst
The Carpenter smiles wryly and rubs his callused
Hands. (Cheshire!)
Pride and rage and sorrow
three emotions wage a war
to fill the Father's heart.
Fife and drum and bagpipes
three musicians keeping time
as the Son makes his return.
Heaven earth and hell
three stations in the journey
that the Spirit will endure.
We huddle on this grain of sand
set in an endless sea
with national allegiance
as our first priority.
Our arbitrary boundaries
we patrol from month to month
just to see another nation
won't abscond with our free lunch.
There is another way to live
upon our grain of sand
in which we don't divide ourselves
in arbitrary bands.
Together we look upward
into that endless sea
and dream of epic voyages
spelled out in poetry.
If we join hands and share the dream
we're bound to rise above
this humble little grain of sand
the key is simple. Love.
