Asters Frown

Hey di da lally
Asters frown and reach the ground
Politicians can't pay their bills
Mowing's done, the grass is dry
Seasons change and old men lie
Hey di da lally
Where did you put my tools
Planting the plum make me a fool
Cool weather is warm again
Blood flows out of wrinkled sacks
Hey di da lally
Leaves come down and then some more
Boxes topped with glass are coming
Charcoal might melt the snow away
In the hospital they look to plug the gaps
Hey di da lally
Thanks be given round about
Pruning fruit trees is almost here
No one knows if the man will die
Or dance away the next day
Hey di da lally

Melancholy

Dancing with a girl named Melancholy
She has a smile on her face
But the sadness never leaves her eyes
She knows every dance from the last hundred years
Every step caries all the pain from each of those years
And she won't stop when her own feet hurt
I ask, but she won't disengage even when
My body burns and burns and burns
'Til nothing is left but an ache in my soul
And my face matches hers, smile for smile
Eye for eye
Still we dance, always touching
But never together

Twelve Soldiers

I'm an old solder who has lost his friends
Tired and alone I sit, refusing to follow
Their path into woe
Each one left in turn, with a faint smile
And a final overwhelming sigh
I'm an old Soldier guarding the banes of his lost friends
Twelve swords that used to be bright and true
Now sitting covered with rust
And cursed by twelve tiered men
Who had no better friend to stay their hands

No One at His Back

A middle age man sits

     in a crowded restaurant

His back to the wall

     his eyes looking

For a restful spot

     away from the chaos

Memories of sitting behind

     a wall on guard

With no one at his back

     or to the right and left

Curiously exposed he knows

     he is more sacrifice

Than protection

The increase of noise brings

     him back to the present

And forces his eyes

     toward the door

Too much, he must escape

     bidding curt farewells

He rushes through a maze

     to the door

Outside he relaxes

     just a bit

But his eyes still roam

     looking for threat

His back still itches

     waiting for an attack

That will never come

Florescent Black Plastic

I look through thick panes
At the world, who not noticing
The bulky frames and mullions
Or florescent black plastic guarantied
To prevent pregnancy and sexual assault
But oddly, no one seems to notice
The glaring from my face
I remove the frames and panes
Turning the world to fuzzy softness
To squint at what is now
Just a pair of blocky, black glasses
And put them on again
To see
That no one really cares
But me

We are Only

The hardest distance across the line
Comes from the ancient test of dignity
Versus honesty with contempt
For the lies we tell ourselves
Regarding who we are and the 
Values we disregard so that
We can place ourselves as being
Better than the rest of the world
As we attempt to hold them down
With self righteousness that we are only
'Doing it for their own good'

Muse's Angel

The angel stood over my bed

Curly ebony hair cascading over her shoulders

Her eyes glassy bludgeons

And with her lips she moulded fire

'You are to do as you are bidden'

Her voice rang through my head

Though only a wisp of flame passed her lips

'The Muse has sent me

She will not deal so lightly again'

The angel vanished and left me with blindness

From the radiance protecting me from her fire

I tripped out of bed and crawled

Until I found a table with paper and pen

And I scribbled, blind:

To whom I must serve

Amusement Clouds

Talking about objects being dragged along the floor
Only leads to a distraction of a haggard face
Blowing bubbles into distant clouds for the amusement
Of large children with wrinkled faces
Racing wheelchairs in a dark park
Across from hell's gates

Occupational Therapy

I'm looking through magazines
It is OT time, I know
I have heard the name before
What OT means, I should know
I should be making
Myself better, with healing
But instead I turn the page
And question the purpose
Because my brain can't make sense
Of all the things that used to
Be normal, and clear, and plain
And instead fight back black tears
That turn to molasses and
Smother me at night

A Banner

A banner, loose and flying in the wind
Calls to all those trapped in drudgery
Speaks to the slaves of mindless discipline
Shouts, 'Stand for freedom, liberty to all!'
And then she puts her streaming hair safely
Again into a regulation bun
I fight back the tears and cries of, 'How could you?
We all need you. Lead us to freedom!'
I pass running, silenty murmuring
In defeat
'We need you.'

Marked and Scared by Runes and Charms

Vampires cluster around corners of light

Slavering, chattering, demanding blood

The light moves and dims, fades and vanishes

            They break into the night

Reckless and free they rush through the streets

Looking in widows and at passersby

Like mall shoppers picking savory wares

            None of which they touch

On one small street they cluster at a set

Of windows snuffing, murmuring, lusting

Inside a family sits eating their meal

            Laced with fire and spice

The Vampires, restless, mill and move

One breaks away, hunting, and notices

A hidden alleyway, keenly he follows

            The sent of garlic

‘Til he comes to a window lined with cloves

Next to a spell laced door, touching it once

The door opens with barely a shudder

            In he shifts and flies

Sure his prey is there, bracing behind candles

And incense she cowers, her naked white arms

Marked and scarred by runes and charms

            Stroking a cross that hangs

Cradled in front of her black draped breasts

The candles flare and smoke as he moves

Fear and dread fill her, though she always,

            Worshipped his kind

She speaks naught, as he takes her in his arms

And wonders why her witchcraft and charms fail

To protect her, soon her thoughts falter and

            Her body falls limp

The Vampire leaves unhurried and bloated

Dreaming of a frail, black clad woman

‘Till belief and hunger call him from sleep

            Again to feed

Dismissals of Light

The poetry obsesses
It demands creation
Through conglomerations
Of ink blots and 
Dismissals of light
Groupings of dissimilar
And unassociated figurines
Creating patterns
Rhythms 
Textures 
Past simple
Mortal thoughts
And travel to 
Universal ends
Beyond, beyond
'Til the end
And forms 
The New Beginning

People Murmur as They Pass

Soldiers have their band of brothers
And Christian saints set lights 
On hills to be seen
But poets lurk in dark corners


Writing words that stay sealed in books
That they hide under piles
Of heaped illusions
For fear of being found out


Hearing people murmur as they pass
Saying: there's the poet, the freak
We judge you and condemn you
As being too different from us


But I stand up and throw down the bands sealing my book
Speak word of wisdom and foolish thoughts
And point my finger and say
You too write poetry

Glass and Light and Tears

In the top of the box lay a bit of
     glass from a second hand store
I picked it up and saw three kings
     from the nativity bearing gifts
Excitedly, I stood the glass on its base
     the kings simmered in my lights
I sat and stared and a tear caught my
     eye, I had three earthly kings 
But where was their king? I was missing
     the most important part
Here in the desert, not far from
     where the three began
I was celebrating Christmas in a wooden hut
     far from my home
My friends, my family, so distant
     the sounds of guns so near
Tears ran down my face such that
     it would shame most soldiers
The glass kings changed with  
     light bending through my tears
Colors, textures became muted
     blending 'til becoming soft and real
I looked on a desert land and a
     caravan with the kings
The caravan stood still, camped for
     the night, with 
Servants, drivers, and camels burdened
     with goods needed for travel
In the distant sky hung a star
     I could feel its mission and glory
And I heard the voice of a king
     "Tonight is the night 
"Let us stop to celebrate and worship this night
     and this day"
I saw the other kings nod 
     and the vision faded
And became again glass
     and light and tears
I remembered those kings
     noble and great
Away from their homes and families
     but not alone
I wiped my eyes and left my room
     to find my fellow soldiers
To worship with

Purple Irises Fading

Our feet move more slowly

     resolved, but hesitant

A two liter bottle

     with the top cut of

Balanced in my hand

     purple irises fading

But freshly cut

     from our garden

Overflow the top

     as we pass 

Monuments to soldiers

     past and perhaps present

To a place where

     things are small

Child sized, except

     the trees that stand

A scott's pine is the guide

     and tall it stands to

Guard its burden

     beneath a small stone

I kneel almost bowed

     And place my offering

Down wetly and with no grace

     And wetly the girl

At my side and I morn

     the older brother

She never met

     and the son

I knew for too little a time

PTSD Screening

I wait, looking around the room
The faces are familiar
Though I've never heard there names
Old, young, men, women
The only common bonds
Are service and chains
Connecting them to that service


To days that were filled 
With monotony and time
Waisted for lack of anything
Better to do
While waiting for a time
When their skills
The needed work
Came fast, furious
Without relent


And now they wait
To find the cure for
Such precious work
Or simply to pay
The price for their
Unfulfilled waiting

Constant Rot

A black heart that spreads

Beyond and through the horizon

Neurons fire in rapid succession

Bottlenecking in tender spots

Causing migraines reminiscent of death

Fingers bleed internally

Making them red then purple then

Finally black staining hands

Up through the body

Meeting the horizon

Making all a pain of

Constant dying

Constant rot

Constant degeneration

School will never end

Licorice and Water

The Poet gets drunk on licorice and water

At first it is only a loose tongue and a small waver

But after a sip and a few more black bites

He fumbles with a small bag and brings out a tin whistle

After a few bad notes, he whips out a tune

Before unheard, unknown and now unforgettable

He throws in a second tune better than the first

And passes it on to the firefighter

Better be careful, he’s high on chocolate

I Fobbit or Sergeant Fobbit

‘Fobbits suck,’ I read this

every day as I close the

door of the port-a-john.

Nice to know I suck. Although how

this kid would know, I can’t tell.

I joined in ’87 when I was 17.

Being young and stupid I followed

my recruiter’s advise and

trained in the chemical coir.

I quickly learned that war is

            at it’s best when it only

            features blood and bullets.

Nerve agent and mustard gas

            make those old things seem

            quaint and desirable.

My war plan expanded to saving

            my guys from Cold War

            weapons of mass destruction.

I knew that if I was ever called

            to do my job, it would be

            hell for those few that survived.

And hell for me picking up the

pieces. And likely, doing my

job would be the end of me.

I taught and trained with no

            thanks and no help. Commanders

            and first sergeants shut me down.

The Gulf War came and quickly

            went. My brief moment of

            importance died.

And finally my time was up,

            I got out. I swore I

            would never do it again.

Then 9-11 came, and I though

            maybe I was wrong, but the

            time didn’t seem right.

So I stayed out.

Iraq came back, and I looked

            again. But still, even

            with chemical need,

I stayed out.

2006 and a well placed brochure,

            things had changed and

            I was needed back.

Two years later I stood in Afghanistan, with

a promise from my first sergeant:

I would not leave the wire.

So on this fob I sit, and old

            Fobbit. Doing a job I’m not trained

            for, and not needed for.

But young man, when things come

            down, and you find you’re

            not as hot as you think.

I’m the old, wise sergeant that

            is ready to reach down and

            pull you out of the mess...

You made.

Fall Spirit Fair

He hid in dark, surrounded by

bright yellow and orange, dusky

burgundy and purple

Full breasts and stomach threatened

to tear her shroud of gossamer

and lace

From the shadows he followed

from a distance he plotted

‘Till she left

peopled paths and wandered a dark

alley. He moved quickly and

from behind,

pulled her down Plucking at black

wrappings he tore the gossamer

and ripped the lace

Pinning her arms and body, he

forced a lurid kiss Which she

accepted

with an open mouth Arousing

him to disengage, but his lips

were sealed

To a burning, drawing pain.  And

when the woman released his

lips

He found his mouth drawn tight

leathery and thick. Arms floundered,

his hands

coming up to explore his face

She lovingly found a hand, he

screamed in pain

As her lips and teeth drew from wrist

and fingers And gave in return

pain and

a lessening of life force Then

moved up the arm and to the

next hand

And on to all remaining

limbs and parts ‘Til all that lingered

whole was

brain and neck and heart

Caressingly, her lips found his

throat and placed themselves

Carefully,

for their final draw, who’s pain

encompassed fully Both Mind and

Soul. 

So much that even when she left

his corpse To dance among the crowd

laced shops and rides

With her shredded clothes flowing and

bobbing behind her.  He still screamed

with his mind

and thousands of others like him

Screamed pain back, engulfing him in

misery that

only found comfort As each new

casualty joined the ranks Of

seething leathery minds