Family Tree

Thanks to Gostworks for the photograph.

the anonymity provided by technology
shares words with the pseudonyms author
an alter ego develops – falls then falters
with fatal character flaws
it stalls at the alter of images and words big grand design
that pushes forward the birth
of the digitally inclined
to return to their roots
of paints in decline

and the musics distant cousin – spoken word
splits down the middle a broken herd
who choose only one
never the other bird
that sings to their soul just a little

instead the fickle brittle tale
told by the authors stale pale brethren of poetry
says “woe is he who fails to see the power possessed by each”
and floating past the prose fast cast of a dripping, slowing
sleeping, glowing giant high on the bean top clouded sentry
our entry barred by gentry gently blowing storms and winds headway towards
our elementary point of entry

“push on forward” the author says
with wise-like words upon our heads
he places thirds of crowns embed
-ed with gems and jewels alike
the shine he says
so bright it might just hike the mind to endless plains
and the chains that harangue the gang
to the livid lame
are lifted as insisted by the author

before it’s twisted make a list and
move it to the household parlor
so all my see
the sweet journey
that brings the life
to the words we breathe

A Drop In The Bucket

Thanks to wallpoper for the photograph.

there is a flickering reality
that you and I cannot quite see
a broad stroked canvas meant for me
it spills on out and overflows
colors words and those who chose
the right (or wrong) “In” style of clothes…
tell them now to buy it quick!
before the channel change goes -click-
“I’m unforgiven” spoke the sick

you see the homeless starving sullen
move on past don’t stop to love them
rather see the governed gunmen
push them to the side now quickly!
move it faster we’ve been busy
watching all the world grow grizzly
all blood soaked, bullet-holed and dizzy
now turn the picture flipped down over
see the world we live in bolder

LOSE THAT WEIGHT YOU CAN’T LOOK OLDER
can’t let them see you feel,
seem colder

don’t love those who don’t have money
praise the stars who think its funny
to own it all and not share one cent
with a starving child, the innocent
and hands reached out seem indignant
to touch up close and feel the pain
they seem to lose all they have gained
ten times over, shame breeds the same…

now a question posed to you

have we all become this too?
an inadvertent hateful spew
that blows on strong while smiling savvy
looking good while praying sadly
and cruising past who needs us badly

so lets do this, turn all those off
perpetuate a goodness oft
forgot in times of careless thought
lets learn the names our dearest neighbor
give the gifts of love and labor
strip the chains of a mindless slaver
move into improve our families
this place, our world, lets do it rabidly
no need to stop, slow down, or abandon me
because our words intertwine a fantasy

it seems sometimes I dream a dream
with so much joy it stays unseen
and yet a hopeful infinite being
in me resides for all to glean
we move and move
lets move together
right here right now
until forever
let it flow, don’t block the river
I’ve moved beyond this small endeavor
since my eyes have just been opened
I see the world just like I’ve spoken
no longer tattered, beat, and broken

forget the ads that breathe sweet lies
and hold the hearts of too many lives
tear them down lets see the skies
the sun shines through and warms the world
all homes all dreams are now unfurled
for each to see the fears far hurled
as far as arms will let them

so now that we have freshened
lets take a little rest then
and step out to the west end
where the sunset paints the sky
I clearly see with my minds eyes
this future we can’t drive by
so come with me, let the time fly

there is a flickering reality
that you and I cannot quite leave
a painted canvas out for free
it spills on out an overflows
makes oceans deep for those who chose
to listen to my paltry prose
at least I hope, I do suppose
our lights are moved near end on close
the wicker burns low then explodes
with the power and force of a thousand blows

but
slowly now
lets peek and ponder
on the path that we have wandered
forget-me-nots from here to yonder

hold these words and make them action
move the earth don’t be reactive
I’ll jump first
Lets make this happen

Broken Word

Thanks to Indiana Public Media for the photograph.

I tried to find the words
but they wouldn’t come out
it was just too hard to speak
what I knew nothing about
every passing moment
brought anxiety
and questions
gears in my mind clicked and whirred
no discretions
when fears come to light
like the losing of a family
honor besmirched, or the dilly
no dallying
I constantly moved, rearranged, and made changes
my image, and my faith
my ideals
these pages
through all of these emotions
and continued shifted-shapings
nothing I had done
closer moved me to placating
the stress was still there
the unknown and the wicked
the scenes in my mind costing all but one ticket
comprised of my sanity, my heart and some soul
I felt like an empty and bottomless black coal
lit aflame with a rage
that was buried so deep
the only way to breathe again
stay locked up asleep
to pray in a beg for some semi-sweet dreams
rather than the extra dark
that keep on bursting at my seams
it seems no matter how many things life brings
I just can’t cut it
I love it
the trails and trials that I go through
the struggle that we both knew
would come too
each and every action that I attempt to make
backfires and ends up
right on my empty broke plate
full of scraps and some crumbs
for the deaf, blind, and dumb
“But Son”
some they say
it’s just another day
a chance at a glance
to find back your own way
make a mark in the world
and leave it a better gray
then when you got here
but all I hear through the day
old drying tears is fears
fears of the unknown,
the frozen,
and lost
of places that we’ve been to
at all too high a cost
of our personal well being
or to that of our family
a broken down census
that is still conducted annually
these words they just
flow from a broken pen-soul
that leaks all the ink
to bring us to the penult-
imate pinnacle of cynical
humanity
where people don’t grow old
they grow up with insanity