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Forlorn hopes, a new commitment.
I have begun to practice writing. I do not say I have begun writing because that implies I know something about writing. Such as how it is done. It gives the false impression that I am perhaps moderately, passably, middling at the art of writing. Perhaps some decerning grammar fanatic has concluded that I am…
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The loss of muse
As I slowly become more invested in a young lady I have been dating my muse flees. Perhaps it is truer to say that my muse has shifted its production from whimsical nonsense to sentamental nonsense. There is a market for the sentamental nonsense, but I can’t bear to stoop that low. Here my…
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King of fools
True true the poet says.False false I bend my bread.Up the wall out the hedges.On the peak and over the edges.Nonsense chased me up and down.Seeking me to place its crown.Upon my brow and dub me king.Lord of fools has its ring.Did I run? flee or shout?No! I simply sat about.Sluggard, fool, and wicked too,But…
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Jabberings
Rhythm, rhyme, reason.Life is music, a dance, a song.Division, a single point, into three.Emphasis, weight, meaning.Words too heavy to be spoken as one.
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Music
Tempo in flight, winging its way, over mountains, through valleys, across skys.On the wings of a violin I fly. Hummingbird quick. Soaring with the trumpets.My wings cannot carry, the destination is too far, the air too thin, the sun too bright.The orchestra is but a fragment of a key to the gates of heaven.The smallest…
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Short stories from a boarding school
There are many legends of Futurmen. Dallas, infamously hard-headed. Isaac, the hardest worker at avoiding work. Frenchy restrained though not retrained. Yet what of the non-legends? What of those modestly troubled teens? The mediocrity of a life lived in semi-depravity. Allow me to shed some insight on one such boy. Jackson. What shall I say…
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poems by the lakeside
The Glimpse I walked a dry lake bed on a misty day Grey clouds shifted slowly in the sky giving no hit of warmth of sun A thick mist had risen and drifted, cover and uncovering at its whim Skeleton trees reached with their boney fingers trying to grasp the veil Perhaps to wear. It…
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Tied up.
I tie myself to you, I bind with self with words of affection, With subtle touches I draw you in. At first it was threads, small looks, witty jests. Your soul and mine travel the same path. “Here is one I could love,” said my mind. Shoe laces and yarn tied us, closer we grew. …
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Immeasurable.
Who is it that shapes me? Makes me new. Changes the old dead man within, to one of life and youth. What do men see of me? What truth is known of my soul. I am a shadow of what I was meant to be. Greater Men than I have fallen, and greater men fall…
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Bad poetry on an empty stomach and brain.
Labor oh man, shovel coal into thy furnace. Feed the fires, fan the flame. Labor oh man, break boulders into dust. Chisel away, shape thy life. Labor oh man, but do not labor in vain. What costs righteousness? What price for goodness? Your life, and soul, for all eternity. Labor oh man, forget Him not. …
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Sponge Brain.
My mind is like a sponge Under pressure all my thoughts are squeezed out. They run down the drain into my stomach where they reek havoc with my digestion. In gastric intestinal distress I stand, thoughtless, aloof. Thank God for the proverb Even a fool will be thought wise if he keeps his mouth shut.
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