Our world awakens

Sunlight shines on green through white

Balmy days, nights bright




Dueling Desires Triku

Pay it Forward –

When I was child
All I’d want was to be a
Successful grown up

Reverse Mortgage –

Now I’m all grown up
Not success less, yet want to
Be a little kid

Paid In Full – The End

Tis words never to
Be written nor conceived if
Death is as perceived


Hell No


Oh heavens me, look what you’ve done

You made me think and that’s not fun

Specifically of heaven, death and hell

All are places I’d prefer not to dwell


If must it be I’m to conjure this thought

I shan’t writ thy time devoted naught

Up or down or whatever which way

Or just here and here we’ll stay


For a crowded place this heaven be

If wings needed to be vertically free

But who goes high and who low?

Answers only they will know


If there is a they at all

Those who’ve risen, those who fall

Is hell dark or is it bright?

Fires light the darkest of night


Why when we age, we go where’s hot?

Are we perhaps reserving a spot?

Preparing for our infinity

A cozy place on a molten sea


Too many questions that I’ve to ask

Too little time for too big a task

Heaven and hell and death, – Oh My!

If answers had I, they’d be a lie


I’ve wandered and pondered over this stuff

I think I’ve pondered quite enough

Life’s too short and seas too wide

Save thoughts of dying for the other side


For heaven’s the pathways chosen to roam

And to hell with death ends this poem



A Cynic View

I warn you now I have no clue

Where this poem is going to

Or if it is a poem at all

I can’t decide, you make the call


Trees fallen for me to rhyme

Till out of space, bounds, breath and time

Out to lunch and there I’ll join you

We’ll rearrange words on life’s menu


Time is free, food is not

Sleep spent in dollars per spot

Feet walk, wheels run

Hands make wings to the sun


Voices singing for all who hear

Through buds growing in the ear

Tiny wires dangle from there

Yet no-one seems to give a care


With tablet and Wi-Fi at the ready

Media replaced good ole teddy

Designer binkies between the lips

Smartphones at the fingertips


Toddlers hunched, stroller bound

Multi cup-holders and Dolby sound

Of course a visor to shield the sun

The big glowing face that was once fun


Now a menace to one and all

Best to stay in until the fall

When leafy suburbs bags abound

Full of leaves, once on the ground


Cleared from lawns to keep them green

Exchanged with poisons in-between

Until the snow, when all’s forgotten

Of summer days way back when


When sunny skies made all seem bright

Laughter filling playful moonlight

Now games played with only thumbs

Killing the most for the biggest sums


Some might win the rest will lose

Most can’t, but some will choose

Now we’ve all a choice to make

Was it ever real or just a real fake?


Or if it ever will be, or ever was

Or just maybe it is – just because



Jester’s Throne


Prancing ponies in harlequin suits

Powdered faces, bells on their boots

Marionettes merrily masquerade as men

Pretty puppets pulled to be pushed again


The muses of muses paid to amuse

Chuckling clowns cry, just to confuse

Jugglers juggling, jingling our nerves

Swallowers’ swallowing for the point it serves


Pachyderms poked and packed with their trunks

With those no-stripe types, the most potent of skunks

They waddle, wander and wade through the nights

Into the big-top with big spotty spot lights


Tall tents risen, stakes struck down

The political circus has blown into town

Steaks tossed at beasts to keep at bay

The world’s greatest show will start any day


Food and fun and games for all

Prizes awarded if you heed their call

Applause not denied in a beauty contest

While the leaders with rings always do best


Just step right up and you’ll decide

Who’s to stay and who we hide

Take a chance and chance a win

Winner takes all – let the show begin!



Literally Preposterous Poetry

A poet writes literally in metaphor
Corridors long, many a door
Doors of a poet need no key
Minds always open to poetry


Times to lose finding ones right
Days painted dark, nights write bright
A knights shining armor shields sight
Whilst wings of steel soar in the light


I know not what I shall think
With heavy load, this pen and ink
Or, should not I think or care at all
Bowing beckoned to this writers call


Scribbling, scribing, screaming; I know not why
Tis the finest of line – fantasy and lie
Opinions of truths and relative fact
Explosive emotion, some just an act


Though as preposterous as it may appear
A writer’s world there’s literally no fear
We flaunt, flourish and spill our ink
Free from fear to write what we think


Thus poetry freedom, yet some never see
And that’s literally preposterous to me