FINE TIMES

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Winners so abound,
Strapped and bounded.
Elated all around,
Joyously dumb-founded.

Those fine times
Speaks for all kinds.
Saying as do chimes,
That time do binds.

Rare times of winning
Brings forth the hidden.
Revealing all missing;
Fingers in the mitten.

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Collection of over 250 poems
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FRIEND OF FOE

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After taking stock of our relationships
And how we all manage to practice them,
With the thorough scan of stewardships
Serving or waiting on this our system.

I come to the stunningly true conclusion
That there is always a thin line between
A foe or a friend in this summation
And it is there for all to lose or win.

It is as thin as is the common thread
Or as is any selfish or selfless whim
That guides man’s search for bread
Or his thoughts, his actions or him.

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Collection of over 250 poems
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FLIES AND LIES

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In so many eggs
Form these pests,
With hairy legs
And little nests.

Homelessly so
They come alive.
Into lives they saw
Like a heartless knife.

Hollow dreams,
Misty realizations.
Spiteful screams
Claps consolations.

Hopes are meals
Infected in feeding.
Health it steals
With insidious seasoning.

Into lives
Glide monsters,
Flee and leaves
Sorrow in clusters.

Sightless lie
Full of might,
Visible fly
Trading fright.

Coming true
In various ways.
Ever they’re new
In buzzing forays.

Mail your worst,
Untrue are lies.
Come the most
You’re just flies.

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Seeing Too Far

“And my quivering eyes
throb with the fear of the future.”
VERY DEEP POWERFUL STUFF

Just Another Impurity

Open orbs of sight

watching scarlet tint

the furled of leaves.

 

Roots upturning cement

exploring the world above

poking through like a whale in the sea

frozen half-way out.

 

Gnarled lines etched deep –

a markage of memories.

 

Red brick ash lies silent

as senile beds sink lower

while the Earth caves deeper beneath the weight

of humanity.

 

And my quivering eyes

throb with the fear of the future.

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THE HEN’S ODD CHICK

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The grass blades shake off droplets
As she led on her mild yellow train.
Her own adorable dozen little pets
Squealing within their own tiny rain,
Before the morning dew finally melts
And all the worms go deep down again.

She beaks a large borrowing worm
And they crowd round her as quick,
Wrestle the struggling stringy form
From her higher and bigger beak.
They pieces it all amongst their sum,
Except again that weird odd chick.

Scratching off the sandy soil top
To pick and feed on the grains sort,
The serious Hen and her low troop;
All except that chick which does not.
Strangely though in a marshy mud top
It walks easily as fed with its beak blunt.

Then it happens like it does always,
Her dozen subtracts after and after.
At the stream where a worm ever plays
Danger is more and always there to alter.
The odd chick water takes in its ways;
Strangely it floats on, to the Hen’s whimper.

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THE WORLD IN A LITTLE ROOM

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What you have seen before now
Is nothing like you will yet know.
Mountains higher than the clouds
Or galaxies from fictional worlds
Will flash before you in fast floods.

The breath of a lung transits
Or to anti-bodies a virus submits.
The skeleton of a lonely fetus,
As that of a Mammoth is shown us
And not a scene is ever a loss.

The Red sea had betrayed
The depth’s Egyptians embraced.
White Mountains of ice only
In the south pole melts slowly
As you watch it all so warmly.

Roof of this world up high
Marbles the earth down here.
Clusters of fish eggs hatches,
Soldier ant worker matches,
As its eyelids blinks its lashes.

The wedding of a Queen’s maid
Or a Roman shield in a pyramid.
A shark outwit a dozen sailors,
Unlike Caesar in his senate of traitors
Centuries ago showed their failures.

A terrorist and freedom fighter
Are both made a fire and its lighter.
A domesticated wolf devours a man,
For a just reason it is shown it can.
You enjoy the deserts’ heat under a fan.

Bloody vessels in vain roam a sea,
A ghost discusses and drinks tea.
The passengers of an old plane crash
Board the same plane again and smash.
The wealth you see leaves you no cash.

Every conceivable game is played
By men, animals and plants displayed.
The thickest clouds parade the sky
On pillars Himalayans peak up high
Or over raging ocean waters they fly.

Dancing birds dressed up to mate,
Two collapsing towers dust their fate.
The deepest valleys in the ocean waters
Reveal their secrets nature only alters
And nothing else in the world matters.

The uproar of a stampede crowds on,
Boiling heat erupting within the sun.
Sudden death stills a pumping heart,
A sprints heat repeated again from start
And the tracks appear your viewing mat.

Ash, gas and molten are experienced
As a volcano erupts its bowels so tensed.
Frogs hopping on water incredibly,
Like a pebble tossed so skillfully.
Sand storms windowed so luxuriously.

Satan’s countless personifications,
Lords of every era that raped nations.
Dancers of every race, sort and style,
Every single bubble in a mug of ale.
You see the characters in every tale.

The sparingly dressed wives in a harem,
Cardinal and son talk as you hear them.
A good view beneath a standing Scot’s kilt,
All the happenings in a billionaire’s treat.
Everything within sight, with every tilt.

Bullets leaving a closed steel chamber,
A pierced lung as all its air wonder.
Endless flocks of Pelicans go south,
Yellow cloud of Monarchs flicker north,
Their beauty fills every mind with thought.

Angels shielding a saint on a mission,
A nerve’s twitching response to a decision.
Ant like pedestrians on a city street,
That unsympathetic, selfish and proud fleet
Leaving tastes bitter, salty, sour and sweet.

Man’s endless quest for unknown perfections
Blurs minds with omissions and commissions.
The constructed aids in their achieved means
Entertain, educate and inform all the beings,
Yet in all its glory, humanity’s future it weans.

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WOUNDS OF THE WORLD

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Visible cuts we saw,
Deep set and so raw.
It had the pretty torn
And the beholder run.

Worn with its pride
As any true bride.
A scar from a war
Is like a lion’s roar.

Not on Everest’s peak
Must anyone do seek,
For even on all hills
Are these worlds ills.

The baby that cries,
Steals away and tries;
To be his own parent,
Where he is only sent.

That spouse out back;
Behind one Holy Ark,
Leaves the same vow
Yet remains, some how.

They; as many, are
So near and not far.
Wounds made bold
In this very world.

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AA- THE POET IN THE POEM (Cover)
Collection of over 250 poems
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