POEM: Ghosts in the Darkness

I have walked in deep, dark places,
and crawled through darker, still --
gas-lit slums long after the dusk,
where lamplight failed to spill.

So surprised by fleeting faces
that faded in and out --
like visions from the sleep-drift, they
never loiter about. 

They come, they see, and then they pass --
these alien observers.
They pass with just a fleeting glance,
like someone else's server.

They care not what you think you need,
or who you think you are.
You're just an automaton shopper
within the grand bazaar. 

POEM: Fairy Tale Wisdom

We watch the naked emperor
like nothing is amiss,
and recoil upon sight of frogs
wise of what lies in a kiss.

We trust the familiar too much,
and the odd too little.
We love a beauty even when 
she's selfish or she's brittle.

There is a Jack for each giant,
and many clever cats,
and, sometimes, we cheat the man who
takes out all our rats.

The other foot will always fall,
even when blinded by hope.
Sometimes it pays to play dimwit,
but not be an outright dope.

Each tale tells us of ways to be
a better, kinder soul
in a world filled with all manner
of monster, fiend, and troll. 

POEM: Downstream Movement

everything is one thing.
the way we are rivers.
and all things are nothing;
as takers are givers.

i'm flow-er and flow-ee --
twisting as I'm drifting,
not fancy or showy 
nor highly uplifting.

just a leaf on a stream,
bumping into others,
gliding through a fond dream
with sisters and brothers.

POEM: The First & The Lost

So long ago I remember 
events that weakened knees.
My mind a haze, my heartbeat hard
my soul eager to please.
When I was moved by subtle touch,
a gesture, or a tease.

But now that I'm an older soul
I've lost that state of mind,
but wish the world would grant me yet
one golden chance to find
the return to that state of life,
where love and luck are blind. 

POEM: Everyday Magic

If you can't see the magic in
a flower or a leaf,
how can you see it in the work
of some cutpurse thief?

And if you can't see it in stars
of a hinter night sky,
how can you see it in the tricks -- 
a conjuror's slick lie? 

There's woe in where we find great awe --
those simple illusions.
And what we miss reflects our keen
everyday delusions.

POEM: Sun Slave [PoMo Day 25 – Aubade]

Warm light filters through the window,
killing the perfect night.
The gravity of bed still holds -
as eyelids deny sight.

And life's order would wrench me out
from under the cover,
but for the allure and the bliss
of my love, and lover.

Why must the sun be on the march?
Why must we heed its place,
and surrender that entwinement -
chest pillow against face?

POEM: The Shepherd Dream [PoMo Day 23 – Eclogue]

I lie on the sloping hillside;
damp grass tickles my neck.
I hear the bleating beasts kibitz
as dogs keep them in check.

My eyes closed to the azure dome,
until eyelids grow dim.
I open wide to see the sky,
and note that it grows grim.

It's time to consult my sheepdog,
"Should we beat it, or stay?"

He barks to me, "Now can't you see,
the clouds 're dirty wool gray?"

"I see it clearly as my hand,
but what does that shade mean?"

"It means you're not a shepherd, and
you may need the latrine."

POEM: Infinite City

In my dream, the city stretched out
beyond what I could see.
Colorful concrete pillbox roofs
spread to infinity.

Oh, such an infinite city
must have some great allure.
Miracles, mysteries, mayhem,
and madness - that's for sure.

What secrets reside behind those
thick and dampening slabs?
What unknown fortunes have been lost,
that now are up for grabs?

How many souls are lost right now?
Panic starting to rise.
How many will be found in time
due to those spying eyes? 

There's some magic in this city,
I'm sure that there must be.
For everything can happen when
you stretch to infinity.

POEM: Into the Unknown

There's a block of gloomy darkness
beyond the gray yonder.
Since I can't see what's sitting there,
I can't help but ponder
whether there's solid ground upon
which a guy could wander.
Or would one fall into a void -
a life forthwith squandered.

Who can know if they don't ever go,
but leave it to the guessing?
No staked claims or stated aims, I find
the mystery distressing.
I listen to the stories, but
can't sup what they're expressing,
I know they've never been there either,
and it's creed they're professing.

So I'll start in that direction,
moving slowly as I go,
and if I should fall before the wall,
I'll bear that I can't know.