Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Daring and Bold

There is no magic,
to the world anymore,
because we have harnessed,
reality to its core,
and have begun,
to seek out, explore,
that which at one time,
was cause for acts so sore.

Throughout human history,
there have always been those,
that keep us looking forward,
keep society on its toes.
They have been martyrs,
saints, scientists, heroes,
creatures out of time,
consumed by passion’s throes.

Without them we’d be,
much less than we are.
Our species might have faltered,
never come this far.
Earth would be nothing,
a lifeless rock orbiting its star.
Instead we’ve prospered,
ever-raising the bar.

Think on these things next time,
you turn on your television,
or fire up your radio.
Be grateful for that decision.
Without the daring of our benefactors,
and their keen mental precision,
we would be nothing,
but the butt of nature’s derision.

So thank you to the scientists,
the daring and bold,
the modern-marvel engineers,
and those of ancient old.
If it weren’t for you,
reality would scold,
any other hope for us,
and Humanity’s story could never be told.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Of That Which I Speak

Teeth gnawing bone to marrow.
Blood red spatters along a predator’s mouth.
Death taints the air with sickening sorrow.
But is it beast or man,
of that which I speak?

Cold and harsh with icy wind.
Needles stinging lungs with each breath.
Nipping frost along dew-moist eyes.
But is it love or hate,
of that which I speak?

Perspective.
Infective.
Detective.
Corrective.

Flowing outward in diverging currents.
Sounds both entrancing and distracting.
While in the middle of it all drifts dead-wood.
But is it a river or a crowd,
of that which I speak?

A million more ways it could be put.
Perhaps infinite more than that.
Going round and round in circles.
But is it life or death,
of that which I speak?

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Illusions, Delusions

Illusions. Delusions.
Superstar collusions.
What mad profusions,
have granted such allusions,
as those formed by occlusions?

We stand for fraternity,
and to procure eternity,
for all whom modernity,
garners uncertainty,
from opportunity.

With salutations,
society’s ovulations
warrant congratulations,
in hopes of greater gradations,
‘stead of capitulations.

But the painful suicide,
of the truth we do hide,
can no more deride,
than a wave at high-tide,
one hoisted port-side.

With it we contend,
but I do not depend,
on your lunatic bend,
for realities mend,
and you can be penned.

Until your reality,
meets the Wisdom Tree
We’ve no need of thee,
so you may go free,
as we pause to take knee.

Life is no game.
You should feel shame,
for the way that you maim,
the world you find tame.
Ignorance your claim.

I hereby remove,
you from the groove,
until I see that you’ve,
found life to improve,
and have wisdom behoove.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Hope-Fueled Treason

Hope-fueled treason.
A country in turmoil.
We lost our reason,
sense and logic our foil.

We voted away,
our rights to applause.
What man could say,
he took pause?

Fluorescent pride,
glowed on our trees and cars,
as those we trusted, lied,
and we instead watched stars.

Patriots died,
for oil and gold–
and now you sigh,
this story long told.

So are we lost?
Or is there hope?
What was the cost?
How do we cope?

I guess we’ll see,
in time, then act,
or perhaps flee,
the puppets intact.