Sonnet (vigil)

24 Mar 2017 – Sonnet

This mount is tired, both life and death astride –
they struggle for the reins, and what a fight –
where failing flesh and will of iron collide –
as we keep vigil here, throughout the night.
Who comes here on negotiated terms
worked out before the caravan arrives?
And what fool stands and arrogantly affirms
he signs his shipping manifest? He lies!
And what do I know, kneeling here in prayer?
What does a wise men seek at Heaven’s door?
Her pain exchanged for grief we then will bear,
the strength to offer ‘thank you’ – nothing more?
Content I am to wait, for this is right.
She struggles still, but I have ceased to fight.


Tanka (dropping)

24 Mar 2017 – Tanka

We spend a lifetime
dropping ossified demands
until we’re weightless,
ready for a caravan
that laughs when fools pack luggage!


Tanka (“NO!”)

24 Mar 2017 – Tanka

“NO!” – as it turns out,
does not, in and of itself,
suffice to govern.
Wrecking tools in voters hands –
that’s how you’ll be remembered.


Haiku (chopsticks)

23 Mar 2017 – Haiku
  (for Jason)

these chopsticks, soundless,
picking through the broken bits
of soul and sorrow.


Tanka (wasted ink)

In anticipation of poetry month…

23 Mar 2017 – Tanka

So young! Deluded –
dreaming I could stir the stars
with wisdom’s dagger!
All wasted ink! But now I know
that passion changes nothing!


Sonnet (give up)

22 Mar 2017 – Sonnet

She takes a stand and states her case: contempt
for men. Believe her. Walk away. What hope
is there for you, young fool, that you’re exempt?
You fall outside her disappointments’ scope?
Young men don’t see the warning signs old men
read easily enough: Back Off!” “Don’t Touch!”
Experience expands a young fools’ ken,
deluded with great knightly quests and such.
You cannot change this, once the deal is struck.
The princess feeds her Dragon, she’s the bait
that serves him dinner: racks of armored schmuck,
who all believed that they could cheat their fate.
You what a challenge? Teach the world to love.
Give up on taming razor-taloned doves.



21 Mar 2017 – Seventeen

Star-struck. Seventeen years old.
Back into the bitter cold,
beauty like a hammer-blow
met you in that midnight show.

Hopes for which you have no words,
dreams your family calls absurd,
caught between your childhoods’ end
and this singing in the wind.

No one starts on level ground.
Everybody swims or drowns.
Life provides the undertow,
stars point out the way to go.

You were seventeen years old.
Looking back, that night – you know –
left its mark there on your soul,
Orion never seemed so close.