Hey operator,
Can you transfer me to paradise?

I’ll pay all the fees
If it lets me hear their voice
For just a minute or two.

I want to ask about their day,
Should I pick up dinner
Or throw some steaks on the barbeque?

Are the kids okay?
Did little Mikey get his homework in on time?
Oh, sorry, I got lost in conversation,
As if they were still on the phone.

Oh, operator, please
Give me the number to heaven tonight.
I swear it will only be a couple of minutes.

Carefully, I constructed
our love.
Every screw and nail and bolt
was in place.
I knew it from top
to pink ivory bottom.
Eventually, our love
splintered, falling around our feet.
I was at a loss as to
how it could be anchored.
I searched for the instructions,
but I think
I must have
discarded them.
I mourn the loss
when I can't remember
how our love was
made strong.

Blast! Where have I put them?
I've looked all through the place;
Can't find the instruction manual,
Nowhere is there a trace.

Never mind, I'm not that stupid,
Though some may think it so,
I'll show I can put it together;
I'll take it nice and slow.

Lets see now, this bit goes here,
Perhaps this bit goes there,
Yes got it, ooooooo! a wee bit tight,
A strong push, it'll be alright.

The nettles amongst veteran oak breathe
From mighty Moore, Atlantic surge from distant shore
Takes note our humble fortune that plains unscathed
Align in peace undisturbed by planetary ails.
Yet with the Coombe lies a lifeless Combe
Bereft of honey since which bees have flown.
Neither reason nor madness provoke such a thing
When commonality of man is but to sting
But generational shift of virtue to sin.

I’m talentless, but stirred to scribe.
Least member of the rhymester tribe.
I’ll never paint a work of art,
but ‘neath my rhymes there beats a heart.

A heart of gold, not heart of stone.
A mortal, made of flesh and bone.
A poet, who a Muse once kissed,
Then vanished like the morning mist.

Standing here for decades
On one wooden leg
A native English species,
An old grey oak.
Its naked bark bleached,
Ashen white like alabaster.

She is a nameless uncarved block
Unyielding and proud,
Exposed to the elements.
Wind and weather beaten
An organic body of life,
Her beauty gaunt and raw.

Striking to an admirer’s eye,
Picture perfect from a distance,
A stone sculpture, arms cut down to stumps.

Predicated on his paying obese sense
to Ronald McDonald patron saint
buzzfeeding his pie hole
courtesy "two Big Macs, Fillet-O-Fish
and a chocolate malted,"
he hungrily nabbed the ⁦Tuesday,
November 5, 2024⁩ election
ofttimes series of unfortunate events
found him holed up
in his Mar-a-Lago Donjon club.

You dismissed my trauma,
For second hand drama.
With sardonic selfish wit,
Hating me, but loving every minute.

My pain to you was so enticing,
So warm, sweet and inviting 
The psychic vampire, so easily fed
By my emotions bleeding in my head.

I'm hurting for believing in a dream,
Us happy together, so it seemed
Now just dust and disappointment 
I've never felt pain so poignant.

I'm grieving the loss of hope
for the future we planned

the loss of the memories
we could have made

the loss of the family
I thought I'd have

the loss of the life
I was promised

---

And the pain tears at my chest
The pain of never knowing

What would've happened...
What could've been

If I had tried
just one more time...

This World
The devil’s playpen,
Enduring it without
pressing “Undo”
is a milestone—

Pain,
a step on a ladder
that stretches
ever higher.

Jumping off
seems easy,
but why not
embrace the climb?

We are not
pain’s jesters;
we were built
to be crowned
as kings and queens.

Some nights,
doubt whispers,
“You are weak.”
But doubt
is merely a child
throwing a tantrum.