Poetic purgatory’s a place between,
the best of all verse never to be seen.
Visions undefinable, feelings unfelt
and sensations inconceivable, when
squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squoze,
jumbled noise and random shapes,
blurry sounds and perception escapes.
Normalcy‘s all a part of prose.
Unheard the whispers whose echo grows,
frequency seldom as anyone knows.
Oh no, no, no and so the rhythm comes and goes.
Mind distracted by orderly thought.
Moments rest all for naught.
Escapers of dreams always caught.
Then times sold, image bought and change sought,
until the dollars sign to buy an eternity.
Though sense is never free, so why, why, why –
Why won’t desires die?
With each new day we do grow.
We flourish and whither till it’s time to go.
Our stay’s too short on this earth.
Life’s longest on our day of birth.
And the time betwixt is all we know.
So write it well, it is your show.
Free is what we all want to be.
A future’s what we want to see.
Imagination’s what we want it to be.
Dreams are what we choose to see.
Reality is what happens to be.
We are what is our reality.
Taxing Tax Free
The nice thing about
being an author is you
wrote your own paycheck.
More or Less
If you try sometime
you do find you get what you
tried for but no more.
Dueling Wits, I Coulda Had a G8
If a sum’s greater
than its parts, then parts lacking
must be a summit.
Time changes a changing day.
A change of heart just beats away.
Respect and admiration flow gleefully.
Desires swell exponentially.
Courage grows when feet should run.
Dreams await when words be fun.
With no eyes, face or voice to engage,
letters askew from heart, hand to page.
Lives texted is now the rage
Costumes change when word’s the stage.
Act’s order confused when time’s a game.
This world virtual is never the same.
Theologians seek the heavens,
Astronomers the stars above.
Philosophers seek the meaning of life,
Poets seek only love.