Disorder

 

Disorder, Disorder, my newly-found friend,
when Order finds me, our reign will end.

Judging and thinking I have not a base,
Order will swoop in and stifle my pace.

So please, Disorder, help me remember
that when freezing to death, you are my ember

and when trekking through these rigid lands
I can still create fire with my frozen hands.

That fire can roar and burn into the night
and signal old Order that we’ll be alright.

Advertisements

The Listener

in a cool, dark room
quiet, tinted blue
a song was click-played
obscure and new.

the listener
anxious to be impressed
did not fully
in the ordeal invest;

with critical ears
and hands of decree
the song stopped too soon
unfortunately.

another song
was then given go
as the listener
checked the window,

this one was beautiful
and uplifting of soul
for impatient hands
had left the control.

Loom

When I read a stranger’s poetry,
I often do prepare
for too much sentimentality
and more clichés than I care bare.

Rhyming words are thrown abound;
archaic words are too much seen.
The poets merely like the sound,
with little care for what they mean.

But sometimes, I’m forced to stand,
and I pace around the room,
for the poet has put heart to hand,
and deep within me their words loom.

Mine to Ponder

Thousands of movies and books
have shown me things that I’ve not seen,

but I don’t know how it all looks
away from the pages and the screen.

I look out upon the falling snow
as it paints and fluffs the village yonder

and I see it as some art to know,
with the rest still mine to ponder.

Peace

A budding peace
that I don’t know
surrounds my mind.

Thinking will cease
if I move slow
and act resigned.

If I move soon,
and think a lot,
I can evade

and be immune
to the onslaught
of peace’s aid.

And if I stay
who will I be?
And what is being?

I’ll find out today,
quite possibly;
I won’t be feeling.

Bite

Bite6 Poster

I see a human
across from me.
We’ve got no common
philosophy.

When I was alone
and judging rough,
I had no doubt
that I’d be tough.

But now, I’ve hopped up
like a goat;
my canine fangs
were just a gloat.

My wolf howl
is diminished, hid.
I’m just a gentle,
trustful kid.

Let it be known
that if I must,
I’ll put an end
to betrayed trust,

but I hope
we’ll be alright.
I’ll never be
the first to bite.

Music Land

I have a home
away from here,
but it’s not on
the map.

Pluck that string,
give it an ear;
I’ll show you
in a snap.

This is where
I’m truly from;
it’s beauty,
so profuse.

And if you would,
give it a strum
so we can
cut you loose.

Now the music
swells within,
and we can
freely dance.

We are touching
without skin,
so let’s explore this
vast expanse.

If I lose you
along the way,
just hold out
your hand.

You can listen,
or you can play
to connect in
Music Land.

In Dreams

In dreams, you are alive,
and we glide and visit places
that we used to hike and laugh
with sunlit smiles on our faces.

Birds perch and sing;
snakes soak up the sun.
The topics we discuss are wild
and our meanderings are fun.

But heroin is sad and boring
and so, I think, is being dead.
On both accounts, you took a path
that only you would tread.

I never understood the craving;
I built a statue out of sticks,
and fished for answers in the river
while you went and got your fix.

You’re never coming back,
and the dreams will never end.
Waking life is so much better
when we hike around the bend.