Glass poetry

Autumn harsh an omen carried
Lively growth claws out through green grass
earth grows armour we have buried
for winter's screech and snowy brass

There above you see the meaning
and feel the vacancy of freeze
words suggest but go careening
What better use have we for these?

The higher truths the artists seek
are bound in metaphors' dark sheet
for reasons known when poets speak
the rift of mind to hand to beat

With all the meaning sensory
Mere words become illusory

Ron

Paragon expections
Lay heavily
Gasps form

Sweet summer breeze
Caress the madness
White sheers flutter
A cradled paradise
Unperceivable

Legions history
Form the view

Scents grasped
To swallow the fever
Paradigm inhales each thought

Tangled reflections
Seep
Unbidden

Kiss of history
Smears reason
Laying unbendable

Soft greens unseen
Sounds mystery unheard
Life unbearable

Swimming toward the other side

of aging

the principle cause
of aging

is the very fear
of aging

that’s a
natural phenomenon

so relax
you will
surely age
don’t have a rage,
but do age
gracefully
not hastily

but gracefully
you must leave the stage
without any rage,
for those who are
younger in age.

Thoughts of An Intelligent Animal,
(Naked Emotion Workshop)

What kind of animal have we become,
with our uncaring ways and hurtful and
so very harmful intelligence.
We like to call ourselves human, giving
the name to acts of what we call kindness
that I call common sense.

Outside I hear the world evolving, but
are we ever given time to think why or
where too.
They keep us far to busy to stop and ask,
it’s more important to be thinking, I’m
loosing my hair, what colour are you?

Oh! The duke of Albany,
he had ten thousand men
he marched them to the top of a hill,
then he marched them down again.

Then when they were up, one day
he marched them even more,
He kept them going and didn’t stop
‘til their feet were blistered sore.

He led his army forces
and set out for a quay,
wearing battle boots and crimson coats,
and shipped them over sea.

He took his troops to Holland
to neutralize its fleet
but his soldiers died in Castricum,
so he pulled back in retreat.

It has been more than just a while
since last a sonnet left my pen
and though to me they are a trial
I'll grit my teeth and try again

Eight syllables in every line
makes for bit stilted poem----
Dang! That is seven, it's not eight
can make for a bit stilted poem

I meant to make this about love
how it can bloom in any heart
a true gift sent from heaven above
wait.... but that's nine syllables

formica flies
droning the fan rush

ghost voices from the set
and car chrome glass
the bitter slash

cold comfort from the last
pile of cigarettes
tear off the filter
and suck in the hot
lick of flame

let the rush burst in
like the crowd that
never left

at night beneath the
slew of stars
out past the hour
of redemption

I dream you alive

I was around people
But I could not see any of them,
For my mind was somewhere else,
My heart was unsteady,
And my tears wanted to flow like the nile river.

He had talked to me as if he didnt care
He had not detected the pain in my voice,
That is the man I loved,
Sadly he was a married man
And to him I was a passing thing.

When I'm down your
My first resort, my purpose towards
Living, giving reminiscence
A second vision that involves
Me being proud of us hitting it off
Not to mention the soft
Feel of your voice, filling the void
Of feeling avoided, I'm thankful
In return I call you my angel
'Til death do us part
Sadly due to the bruises and scars
I would have to rudely deter
I'm not at all moved by hollow words

some people say i'm scatterbrained.
others say i'm way too invested, too involved.
I would only say I obsess over things.
apparently I can't focus for very long because I go so hard and I burn so bright
that I burn out just as quick.
that may be true for some things, but if you're telling me a year and three or four months
is quick, then i'll tell you the sky is red as blood and romance,
and it's true I can never remember the months, but the year is all that matters, right?