diluted glut

What is this state we call monarch,
a word poverty, what does it mean.
Can we eat a monarch’s left over’s,
so making the word poverty, clean.

I can’t see beyond monarchs first letter,
when it’s meaning fills me with outrage.
No one should be thinking their better,
than any creature they’d kill to assuage.

Should we just discard the infirm or ageing,
helping only those we deem to be an equal.
Shall a monarch applaud these ways discerning,
assuming we’ve been groomed to their will.

seed of life TIME

You do see through
metaphorically the seed of life
from within human
and
then take on another sojourn
towards a newer generation,
as the only constancy in life
is change
and
that the new seed provides
as an admixture,

West and East.

after another hundred years
there will be no
West or East

all humans will inherit the earth as meek,
poverty stricken,
nude
stark raving mad ,
raven hungry

..stuck in this eerie moment
unearth the most startling
chronicle of life’s dealings,
an indication of betrayal...

..staring keenly
at the possibilities of humiliation
from this distinct
yet surprising predicament...

..escaping was not an option,
to succeed unnoticed
was the ultimate ambition
through this mysterious prejudice...

..mortified from this certainty
confronted by fear,
anticipating strangers
with their bizarre gazes..

Innsmouth Sonnet by RW
(Thanks eternal to H.P. Lovecraft- IA IA Cthulhu ftagn!)

The flood tide pushed the barriers today
a wraith unseen is shredding its wet rage
the workers see the swells and run away
she's come intent to pull me from my cage

my look gave her permission, come inside
our business old, suppressed, and placed behind
she eddied close and kissed me satisfied
that I had called her back into my mind

Today, I have grown a heart of stone
I look not again upon the stars
Nor delve into the craters of my scars
Deep hurt already rings inside of me in an abysmal tone

I have questions. Curse them anyway
Never do I get straight answers
Nor am I ever pointed towards the right way
I foot all alone in my misery, night and day

I went forth with cloak and cowl
To tarry where the night things howl
Where shadows 'fore the moonbeams fled
And night-dreams with the darkness wed

I hear your voice,it's taunting me
Beside the foot-path by the tree
A whisper,tremor,thin and low
Calls me pleading,I will not go

What do you seek,both night and day?
Forever coming here to pray
In hope somehow this penance may
Wash your soul from sin away

the chill of the night gives me goose bumps.
my skimpy attire no longer cools me from the hot, burning, sun.
the fall of the night, the moonlight diamond white takes the sky.
i didn't bring a sweater or jacket to protect me from the chill of the night.
now i stand here with my arms folded across my chest, rubbing my cold skin, trying to create friction from my hands  to warm my frigid arms. 

I remember chasing fire flies
way back in my childhood days
beneath the star-strewn southern skies
then, still unmarred by urban haze

After supper in late spring
when the heat of day had gone
listening to the dryflies sing
we'd dart and dodge on the front lawn

Once caught I'd put them in a jar
twelve or fifteen, even more
as train whistles drifted from afar
and bull frogs croaked from near pond's shore

In the middle of the night, awake, I watch,
but not the world.

It's as if I'm waiting for some poignant phrase
to align me with the stars ...

have you anything for me
if I run up the middle will I find what I need

it's always on the tip of my tongue
could be right
but more often wrong

Exhausting,
waiting
for words to bring me life.

the mirror........
you stand right before me
in admiration
of self emulated beauty

the giggle is spontaneous
and
genuine

then you break down into a seeming reunion
now you dance
after a refreshing perfumed bath