Poetry-Thing Thursday: Frail

Goodnight.
Dead light.
Out of sight.
Born in terrible fright.

Sleep,
to keep,
or to weep,
no matter its creep.

Undue,
life through.
the wrecking crew,
a heart forever blue.

Wheezy.
Pretext greasy.
It’s so cheesy
swingin’ in a treesy.

Protoplasm.
An orgasm.
For a chasm,
and they who has’m.

Throbbing.
Wet, sobbing.
Kneeling, head bobbing.
Swallowed it for swabbing.

Distaste.
A waste,
of true haste,
and milk-white waist.

Feel.
It’s real.
how to deal,
with iron and steel?

Legs,
locked, begs,
for the dregs
to fertilize her eggs.

Nail,
and rail,
hoisting the sail,
to follow smoke-trail,
where two become one, frail.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Outcast

Do you know,
what it’s like,
to go against the grain?
For every breath,
that you take,
to fight a current?
Or how it feels,
to think your life,
might all be in vain?

I have wandered,
for many days,
trapped in hate.
As many more,
have been spent,
in total despair.
For each of them,
the only spin,
a wheel of fate.

But I don’t believe,
in those,
mysterious things.
Only that,
which feels,
real in my hands.
Because I know,
from my heart,
Reality’s what freedom brings.

I couldn’t say,
just how many,
times I’ve screamed.
About as many,
as I’ve cried,
or clenched a fist.
Abuse of the heart,
is all that I knew,
or even dreamed.

But those days,
have long since passed,
with seeds un-sown.
And though I’ve grown,
will be forever known,
as The Outcast.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Just Be It Soon

Smoke curls around me,
drifts toward the window.
I take hits as I see,
it swirling in limbo.

An ember glows through darkness.
Shadows flare like caricatures on my face.
I exhale as all this,
is forced on a current from this place.

Like smoke I whirl and weave.
Through space and time.
Born to deceive.
Fight and die for the dime.

Still I sit,
at odds with fate,
ever ready for another hit,
and dinner, with death, for a date.

There is no compulsion,
greater than man’s lust.
No matter his revulsion,
at betraying those whom have his trust.

So wax philosophical, folk.
Or wane like a falling moon.
Or carry on the wind like smoke.
Whatever you be,
just be it soon.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Blue

Cool clear and blue.
Skies of azure hue.
Seas and eyes too.

Soft and sapphic sapphire.
Great lakes and muddied ire.
Swampland turned, cleansed by fire.

Neon gleams of pure cyan.
Spinning skirts dance can-can.
Jeans of denim on a man.

Electric or metallic?
Plain matte or symbolic?
Sweet or salty to lick?

On black or red with white.
Added to darkness or light.
Too sad or it to fight?

A lone color,
that’s all it is.
But so much more,
when you think of it.
So simple,
yet elegant, grand.
Imagine how much,
value is added,
to woman or man,
adult or child,
when viewed as this color,
and its infinite variants.