Poetry-Thing Thursday: Haven’t Started

One more last page.
One more closed book.
I’ve said it all before.
I’m never on the hook.

If only I could write,
every thought at light speed,
perhaps then the pages,
wouldn’t be worth a re-read.

Until then the seas,
and sun and moon,
the stars,
serve as my guides,
my only prison bars.

So one last page,
and one more new book.
I’m nowhere near done,
keep on the “out” look.

I haven’t even started.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Collectively Blessed

Words have little meaning,
when stripped and revealing,
naked and bleeding–
what wisdom we’re eating.

Silken smooth and pale-white,
the skin of a mistress that might,
in a wave of domination and foresight,
ensure we’re blind-folded against right.

Were we to see beyond the veil,
what it is these words truly entail,
from ignorant waters we’d sail,
to lands of knowledge we’d hail.

It is with great dignity,
we must admire shame, you see,
it is wanton and lustfully,
encapsulated with ignoramity.

Ah, but to what do we jest,
when we find the undressed,
has naught been caressed,
the tongues long repressed?

Educate them,
and in their minds hem,
the ever-brilliant gem,
of words and meaning with phlegm.

Only then can we,
be assured that we’ll see,
an end to a painful plea,
and within foster no more enmity.

So once our words are redressed–
this much to be pressed–
they’ll be no more distressed,
forever we’ll be,
collectively blessed.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Stitch up the Seams

Lift up a pen,
to stitch up the seams,
For evil is never as cumbersome,
as beauty or dreams.

One keeps you frightened,
with heart full of dread.
The other’s enlightened.
The last one undead.

A mistress of maidens,
cloaked in the light,
for evil works best,
under cover of night.

So let your heart be like the poles,
with weekfuls of day,
emitted by pen-hand and souls,
and ink in main-stay.

Just count to ten,
then stitch up the seams.
Let ink flow til day-come,
with images, beauty, and dreams.