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?

Advertisements

Poetry-Thing Thursday: A Debt To Repay

Madness on your TV screen
looks of wrath so you scream.
Could have told you that I’d seen,
this nightmare’s no ordinary dream.

Time of man may have passed,
Our faith in ourselves lost at last,
I’ve no doubt we’ve been surpassed,
by those the furthest stars outcast.

Bombing runs and bloody nuns,
hunted beasts, corrupted priests,
I want three suns on my horizons,
or to flee from Earth’s at least.

This world was beauty, hued and bleak,
but now it is soiled, by those whom seek,
to deign an end that could never repeat,
our greatest achievements, in power’s seat.

Build a rocket, or at least a ship,
launch outward, but keep your whip,
on hand, at the ready,
to defend from the petty.

A sadness in that last assertion,
is that of one condition,
Man’s most notorious indiscretion,
to kill, or die by indecision.

So much of death I’ve spoken,
but missed the point, those I’ve awoken.
T’was ne’er to devalue life’s token,
but rather the opposite I meant you to soak in.

Life is a gift, love it’s wrapping,
death its unraveled, eponymous trapping.
You’ve only a single one that’s a-flashing
past your eyes then you’re crashing.

I’ve no more to say, ‘cept on this very day,
stop for a moment, and think of the way,
of the world and life that slowly decay,
and the debt you’ve left to repay:

You owe your existence to love and the world.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: A Horizon Ruined

A horizon ruined.
Fires ashen, blue and
red, white hot.

Nuclear winter,
snow-blackened cinder,
burns the souls of the not.

Man’s insanity,
manifests before me,
guns and bombs scream at their treat.

Overhead
birds of the dead,
prey upon the willing defeat.

No more air,
Earth’s frayed hair,
both decayed in madness.

And so I sit,
struggling with it,
for all I know is sadness.

What I have seen,
A thought only gleaned,
wolves in sheep’s clothing.

A literal moment,
atomic component,
>and with no foreboding.

A feeling was rushed,
by someone whom crushed,
a button without thought.

Now we are doomed,
forever entombed,
by what a few’s greed sought.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Ruminations

When of Death I speak,
your senses need not feel weak,
nor falter as if meek.
For these are Ruminations,
those which I keep,

locked away and out of sight,
lest I wish to incite,
a brawl, a melee, some primal fight.
So use your intuitions,
lead with only your own light.

For there may be gods or devils or kings,
none of which to my liking.
And though disagreements may be striking,
always resist the temptations,
to become the brutal viking.

Instead, live and laugh and love and die,
but fear nothing that gives no reply.
For if, with an end you must comply,
remember the best of conditions:
you were born in this world, alone, don’t cry.

To change the situation?
Accept your feeble station;
80 years or so with earth as your location.
So in my belabored loquation
I bid you luck and love, all of life’s libation.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Encompassed in Rain

It’s begun to rain,
the first drops of change,
and here I sit,
ever in chains.

Then, something new
calls out to claim
closer now I am,
to the source of pain.

Without regret
I dodge shame.
Though I never forget,
myself, I do remain.

While the thunder rolls,
out across the plain.
The drops are larger,
of fresh refrain.

Here I can become,
that beyond name.
So here I sit,
encompassed in rain.

All things succumb,
In gentle May repose
All with rule of thumb,
the meek shall ever row.

For them I say this:
never falter on the path,
nor lose sight of the math,
return in time to that past;
the deepening rain,
and literature of last.