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: Keep It Well-Versed

Pumping Red blood,
like a rushing geyser,
that’s ever-present,
sans accompaniment.

The heart of matters.
The muscle of love.
It beats for you,
believe it’s true.

Inside and within,
your love has been,
well-worn and ridden,
if even unbidden.

Though it is never forgiven,
it breeds love where livin’,
in the hands of another,
the eyes of a lover.

So never fear,
it is always near,
beating and pounding,
reddened and coursing.

Its blood is your life,
no matter your strife,
and it treats you well,
so treat it the same.

And even if, by freak chance
it be only your first,
always in love,
keep it well-versed.

Bonus Poem: Possible Realities

There is a face,
that colors my memories,
from a time long-passed,
of childhood vulnerabilities,
but looking back,
the face bears pleas,
for love and attention,
that its owner buries,
so that it might still weather,
the coming, stormy seas.

There was something then,
that I must have sensed;
a touch of daring,
in eyes, courageous, tensed,
of full earthen-hue,
or when red and incensed.
It was something that changed,
as we grew older, condensed,
into creatures arising
to rest in minds, en-fenced.

But age has withered the old,
replaced images with new,
as each passing moment,
becomes fewer and few,
and time marches onward,
ever distancing we two,
These thoughts of what could’ve been,
leave me seeking a clue,
to the truth of past moments,
and whether you see them too.

But we may never know,
what could have been,
and dwelling too long,
keeps us from looking when,
life comes a-calling.
Maybe we shouldn’t imagine,
for the roads have diverged, and in,
the light of the past,
possible realities are broken.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Life’s Unending Quest

Surf the great wave,
from atop a coral cave,
while throwing down the glaive,
for there’s Humanity to save,
and all the free and knave,
deserve to rant and rave,
about the fluids they gave,
to the insane and the brave.

And they wish they could’ve known,
before their fates were sown,
that gold-thread and bone,
and all the God-like tone,
had writ upon the cone,
that fate could not be postpone,
but instead they went alone,
and got lost there on their own.

Rarely did they sit,
while wand’ring in fit,
as the Earth’s great golden tit,
nourished them with wit,
they took for granted it,
and wound up forced to quit,
and to defeat admit.

There they settled down,
each wearing their frown,
for each was made a clown,
and lost all their renown–
and even each their noun–
to end up quite uptown,
for the ever-sparkling crown,
had turned them all aroun’.

Even at their best,
each was forced to rest,
having never passed the test,
of life’s unending quest,
for food and cumly breast,
such matters not in jest,
however doth protest,
find peace in their arrest.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Species Human

A classic abridged,
s’like an empty fridge;
all potential courage,
but no porridge,
n’ dropped from’a ridge,
takes less damage,

for there’s nothing spoiled,
nor laboriously toiled,
and man a-foiled,
when reality’s roiled,
the would-be uncoiled,
to be re-boiled.

Humanity’s no dif’rent,
that much’s apparent,
sanity for-rent,
while ev’ry torrent,
of life goes unspent.

And empty are minds,
that should’a been fined,
by their own kind,
when forced to remind,
of the contract signed,
and battles they’d wined.

If not for facts,
we’d be without tact,
for solemn’s the tract,
which man does attract,
but when he’s in pact,
he uses his knack’t,

for wit and creation,
to seek out libation,
from life’s equation,
with hopeful elation–
sunny prostration,
and ocular dilation.

So may we rejoice,
with robust-like voice,
and plentiful choice,

in light of day,
with a better way,
where none can say,
that we didn’t try,
whether obvious or sly,
to use up, fly,

as one greater than kin,
or any name-pin–
the species Human.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Trial by Fire

Trial by fire.
A fistful of ire.
Head in a mire.
A funeral pyre.
Entreating desire,
formed of a liar.

Feast on confusion,
for ignorance fusion,
is like a mental contusion,
wrought by collusion,
and the pitiful delusion,
of total inclusion.

The death of our choice,
has taken our voice,
and left to rejoice,
within a new Rolls-Royce.

It took along our freedom,
as lady-liberty went numb,
to keep from promoting ’em,
but they totaled her sum.

So now our country burns,
while Earth makes its turns,
and thinking-machines learns,
though they no longer yearns,
for the silence they earns–
we’ve seen Humanity’s urns.

We’ll all burn to ashes,
from those skeptical dashes,
whose freedom-check cashes,
from under us in flashes,
while violence mashes,
and against our heads bashes.

Our only option,
an unearthly concoction,
to launch us in auction,
of stars’ adoption.

So that one day we might,
put down the fight,
and shine out our light,
as beings of height.
What a lovely thought, right?

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Ain’t Life Grand?

Electric light.
Supersonic flight.
Pitch-black night.
Heart-attack fright.

Let ink flow.
Be in-the-know.
Take it fast or slow.
Leave room to grow.

Waste time on the mundane.
Be less the sane.
Walk with a gilded cane.
Make love, naked in rain.

Forget the present.
Live in the moment.
The past’s atonement,
assures future proponent.

Usher in good things.
Ensure your inner-darkness rings.
Learn what freedom brings,
Often spread your wings.

Pick your poison,
with some poise, son.
Turn the noise on,
and be the loud one.

Whatever you choose–
play to win or lose,
or to beat the blues,
just keep an eye off the news.

This world is ours.
We are its powers.
Making waves so history sours,
with our faces carved in marble towers–

Above the land.
Atop the sand.
Together we stand.
Ain’t life grand?