antithetical

Resolutions

1) try to do the things I ought
2) don't fret about what I've not got
3) eat my greens
4) call my mother
5) stop sexting with that old lover
6) forgive myself my faults some more
7) kick bad habits out the door
8) stop behavior antithetical to what I want
9) go on sabbatical
10) always, always say "i love you"
11) pay my bills before they're past due
12) be kind
13) be grateful
14) don't be a doormat
15) laugh loud and often
16) get treats for cat

spiel

exhaustion overcomes
from swiping to and fro
reading little spiels
of what you "ought to know"
pictures of people petting tigers
and bathroom shirtless selfies
the brain ceases function
grey matter screaming "HELP ME"
and worse than this; the knowing
that you yourself no better
parsing all your profile
down to every single letter
perhaps the days in bars
drinking with blurry strangers
weren't all that bad
despite obvious danger
of ending up no more
than a head in someone's freezer
because you trusted wrongly,
you stupid people-pleaser

pooh-bah

world expands but we contract
so tiny and confined
pooh-bahs of our little fiefdoms
to little lives resigned
biggest fish in shrinking ponds
as sun burns up the sky
we have to look beyond our ken
or else we all shall die

debilitate

remember as your rage
rises up like an alien
to burst through rib cage
and throttle the smug face across
that their loss will also be your loss
the anger will debilitate you so
it will choke you to death
and as you first will go
you won't live long enough
to witness their demise
better to smile and pass the sides

hortative

a year foreclosed like dilapidated buildings
and we sad squatters forcefully removed
the joie de vivre of revolution mislaid
as we crack & crumble & tumble into tomorrow
looking back on broken yesterdays
wrapped like a present in hortative police tape
to keep the condemned from caving in and
in collapse becoming trapped in lang syne
forever consigned to extricate instead of expand

abeyance

given freely
too oft to those
that squandered
or frittered on
some other
while she left
on meager rations
as now we find
she holds her love
in abeyance for
one who spends
it with her
invests it in her
and not in spite

conciliate

forgiving
I wish to be
to answer to
the angels within
and knowing
that I'm soon to see
the one who lied
so thoroughly
who still tries
to conciliate me
while evading truth
I find it harder
to absolve him
than I'd like
but no less
than deserved

nativity

under the overpass 

huddled in a pile 

of squalid blankets

tired and dirty and low

through the desert they came

fleeing the ones who would

murder their children

and so here they are 

on a cold December night

with no where else to go

no wise men to aid them

no gifts at their feet laid

this nativity different 

but somehow the same 

unless men grow kinder

the ending also different

but also unchanged

flamboyant

my love
like a garden
was arrayed in set rows
now decayed into chaos
still lovelier grows
into fountain of roses
overflowing the walls
into daises and mums
and trellises falling from the weight
of blooms and birds nesting
and honeysuckle creeping
and wisteria weeping
and sunflowers leaping
in flamboyant displays
beckoning the bees
to keep gloom at bay
awaiting a gardener
to spread yet more seeds
but leave my love wildish
and pluck out the weeds

vespertine

the veritas of vino in the vespertine gloaming
conversation sparkling like the stars up above
and intimacy sped by the tilt of her head
as he leans in slightly for a kiss good night
and she closes her eyes to better surmise
if the sparks she thought she felt
were real or hope's little white lies

boniface

she craves the safety of the light
thought here it's just a little too bright
like summer hangover mornings
a mouse symphony plays naugahyde etudes
as she shifts in the booth
to wrap her hands in coffee mug mittens
while a cold rain pounds the windows
louder than the malevolent lover she left
and she hides in the corner behind
formica and cynicism
like the boniface of an all-night diner
in a Tom Waits song
surveying the cast of hackneyed strangers
anonymous but familiar
as she sips coffee and courage
and waits for the dawn

recumbent

begin by having to dig out
from indignities blizzard
heaped upon while recumbent
lulling asleep the avalanche
of a million minuscule coldnesses
whispering to surrender 

stultify

after all the years I spent
listening to the Nos
reverberate in my head
the Maybes that never
came to fruition
the Yeses that were lies
and filled me with dread
these echoes would stultify
leave me breathless & dumb
unable to move on
and now so long fought
and so hard won
perspective like a picture framed
in optimism self-taught
instead of being told
I am too cynical or jaded
too cheerful is now the cry
ah well, I am persuaded
that some people
one can never satisfy

permeable

"you have toughen up," they say
"if you ever want to win"
and, god knows, i'd likely be better off
with somewhat thicker skin
a delicate balance to figure out
a fine line to walk within
impervious enough to keep derision out
but permeable, still, to let love in

Lothario

hindsight instructs
what hope oft obstructs
oh, I have fallen for them all
one Lothario to the next
taken in by easy charm
and a kind of smile
too practiced and smooth
that naught but desire
and loneliness can ignore
no more, NO MORE
now give me the awkward grin
the bashful and chagrined
sans half promises hinted
love only implied or inferred
lest joy be yet further deferred

terpsichorean

wild abandon

on the dance floor

flail and gyrate

and limbs in

semaphore waving

messages back to 

the empty shore

in terpsichorean tempo

as the beat below

throngs through you

and sweat rolls off you

as your body remembers

though you may not

exuberant youth

you thought forgot

fructify

it may take an age
in barren soil sown
but winds and rain
and tempest thrown
flotsam here landed
to fertilize and fortify
and little plans
now fructify from
schemes and dreams
into perhaps and maybe
for though this tree
may not bear fruit
in this year or the next
the roots dig in
and so begin to grow
from simple to complex

gravamen

that you blame me
for not knowing you
for not seeing through
the lies you used to synthesize
the facade you built to self-aggrandize
and you demonized me
for believing your deceiving
as though the fault in me lay
for naively trusting the things you'd say
the gravamen of my grudge is this
you cannot chide a girl for falling
when you created the abyss

diaphanous

some days
one must
content oneself
with content
when happiness
as diaphanous
as a mirage
above the asphalt
of a summers day
leads one astray
we must find
another way
and remember
we are promised
the pursuit but
not the prize

sustain

this wretched space wherein
the walls come closing in
and nevermore has grace appeared
since first the door did close behind
combining tedium with terror
torture in equal measure
and tempered with disdain
such a place cannot sustain
and yet, I know not why,
I remain

Orphic

as in the dark of night
I blunder and fumble 
grasping for a light
scan my tea leaves
read my cards to no avail
for never yet have
soggy weeds or cardboard
told me aught I ought to know
no Orphic hint to guide me so
I stumble on and
blindly find some way
tripping through the shadows
and longing for the day

cachinnate

raise a glass to the nights that last forever

the first dates that start at five and end at four

wherein you and they speak as if 

no one had ever spoken before

wherein the silence flees as you cachinnate 

like the kookaburras of song

wherein your face hurts from smiling

and eleven hours doesn't seem so very long

raise your glass to those nights;

the ones to come & ones that went before 

and hope that of first dates, at least,

there aren't very many more

zoomorphic

down winding path
the crunching tread
of foot in snow and ahead
a light post on park path
beneath the festooned trees
gives way to expectation
that the next to pass can only be
some zoomorphic fellow
leading you into a Narnian dream

wend

up the hill past the back of beyond
they wend their way through
the cockeyed gravestones
and one hand rests in another
as easy as the promise of "someday"
while they pause their wander
to wonder in the shadow
of ancient architecture laid bare
by time and an ages decline
how fleeting the days
of which their own lives composed
she leans against the sturdier structure
of his chest as she his arms enclose
beneath the vaulting sky
in a sanctuary more sacred
than promontory relics
and forgotten bones

maieutic

once the seed of empathy planted
finally taken root
so it grows in maieutic succession
twig from branch the recognition
that we are all leaves on the very same tree
and though one may get more light
should the tree grow sick
we are all subject to the blight

candor

motes dance in sunshine as the curtains pulled
like butterfly wings fluttering
like stars in sleepy eyes
like a dandelion puff dissipating in the wind
contrary to the sepia filters that cover the world with lies
the candor of life unvarnished dusty and bedraggled in the light
shines with the beauty of broken things
the aching triumph of flight with broken wings
the authenticity from which love springs

encapsulate

if brevity be wit's soul
then my wit is soulless
though I hope my soul not witless
I am quite unable to bind my thoughts
and encapsulate the whole in just a snippet
the entirety seems to come at once
all or nothing and ramble on
straight to the end from the incipit
so pith beyond me yet
Dickens perhaps a better fit

maudlin

no more is the juniper my friend
time was once when
in her fragrant fumes
my sorrows oft I drowned
but a man in black behind the bar
told me he would serve me no more
if I insisted on drinking gin
for it made me too maudlin

pillory

a time of reckoning
at long last
has finally come
at least for some
and those that dodge, I hope
will stop or still
in some other place or time
themselves upon the pillory find
to pay for sins in dark
no longer hid
to beg forgivness
for the wrongs they did

intersperse

conversation
like music
and the quiet
we intersperse
amidst the notes
of daily consequence
and the inconsequential
in seemingly random sequence
as single melody 
swells to harmony
and then symphony
rest and recitative
adagio and crescendo
so we write the score of us
with which to play
out our years

anachronism

an anachronism
in her skin
kept her
from fitting in
so she learned to hide
her steampunk side
and now you'd never know
the cylon below
the skin job
you see
but there's an it
beneath the she

scurrilous

after benefit of the doubt was given
and rumor, for too long, dismissed as scurrilous
now the bile rises as the scuttlebutt turns out true
from another and another and it all returns to you
and someday you may, indeed, forgiven be
but I hope it will never be forgot
this devastation that you slyly wrought
and the reckoning in which you're finally caught

bludge

why is it on the days
that i most want to bludge
the work comes thick and heavy
flowing over me like sludge

harbinger

a young falcon has alighted
on my office windowsill
and there he sits still
more than an hour gone
as if to grace me with goodwill
preening his baby feathers
he puffs up fluffed by breeze
as beady eye upon me turns
and nods his head
in a sort of recognition
of one also on a precipice
for I have of late felt so low and lost
and cheerful grin to grimace turned
but this moment's magic
harbinger, perhaps, of better days to come
has brought me near to weeping
yet through a smile
that such a rare gift
to me was given

anneal

would that I could
like steel anneal
when temper flares
to cool into strength
instead I burn away
or cool too quick
and shatter at the first

illustrious

i remember all the promise
that i held like a firefly
caught in childish hands
set free again
believing it would fly
but perhaps i gripped too hard
for i fear that youthful prospects
now have died
or flit but limpingly and low
the illustrious future once i dreamed
somehow unfulfilled and full of woe
and in such thoughts
i cannot see the sky
the world is cloaked
in fog of dread
i struggle with the weight
of forging on ahead knowing not
where next to set each step
and measure out my tread
bewildered by a path i cannot see
but still the onward march
and trust that somewhere
further down the road
the light will grow
and winds will blow away
the smog surrounding me

non sequitur

it's been a while since one of those nights
you know the nights, the nights that last till dawn
where the conversation just goes on and on
from one non sequitur to the next, to the next
the nights where inside jokes are born
where laughter flows like wine
and all the world adorned with a certain glow
where you already know someone
you've no reason to already know
where the banter never seems to end
and you find a new love or a new old friend
I miss those nights and the promise that they bring
but the best thing about those nights
is you know somehow they'll always come again

mucilaginous

there's nothing like a dive bar
a good old gritty joint
the walls painted
in long forgotten smoke
and heartaches unspoken
stools that wobble with
a precarious creak
yet never seem to break
lighting reminiscent
of clandestine kisses
from squalid affairs
and in the air the ghosts
of a million spilled beers
the floor mucilaginous
on the bottom of your shoes
bartender gruff but grinning
as he listens to old news
no, there's nothing like a dive bar
a home away from home
where they know your name
and know your drink
and you're never all alone

viand

the table set 

with grateful grace 

on paper plates

and all around 

the cheerful faces

of family made 

from friendship grown

of years and laughter sown

the viands laid abundantly 

and scents redolent of home

obliterate

that i could scrub my brain
eternal sunshine all the pain
that lingered long
after a thing was done
i wonder if i would
given the chance remove
the memories of times
i was my worst
cruel things said
cowardly acts
petty crimes
would i obliterate
that or this
or are we made as much
of shame and guilt
as love
and which marks us more
and who were we before

wifty

in the inner workings of my mind
far beyond my better judgment placed
the id knows more than what she will relate
and in her weird determinations
oft she steers me right
at least more right
than what my sense dictates
and so i find that when i contravene
my wifty whims is when i most distraught become
intuition disregarded humbles me and leaves me dumb

bombinate

as though a kitten's purr
susurrating satisfaction
wells within and bombinates
luxuriates and stretches out
in drowsing delectation
like the moment before waking
from a lackadaisical lazing
and comforts permeates
as yawning chest inflates

fervid

the passion
once I felt
now matched
though changed
with fervid disdain
and regret
that I let
myself
so burn
for one
so cold

belaud

had I all the winds that blow
still beyond my breath
the breadth of beauty
so profound that tears would well
were it not for the buffeting gusts
that nearly knock me down
against the rough hewn majesty
of stony cliffs and muddy track
to lead me there and back
through granite sky above
the crashing sea below
that churns like new found love
yet I cannot belaud the grace
beyond what place itself bestows
for words are wind as well
upon the gale overwhelmed

jalousie

i want a castle
it is true
but i don't need a castle
not if i have you
if i have you
a cottage would do me just fine
jalousies instead of windows
for the breeze in summertime
or a hut upon the beach
made of a palm frond weave
if you were there with me
i'd never want to leave
a trailer or a mansion
a penthouse or a shed
home is where the heart is
and my heart to you has led

lollygag

strength of purpose
never quite my SOP
instead I oft meander
towards whom I hope to be
lollygag at the good parts
to forge ahead with bruised
but still unbroken hearts
with kindnesses caressed
forgiving and forgiven
by transgressors
and transgressed
never apologizing
for sweet rose smelling
ambition is laudable
but I find joy
more compelling

proximity

a case of mistaken identity
confused proximity for intimacy
in the micrometre between skin
a million kilometres hidden

stellar

on the edge
of hearing
as her eyes
close to make
a midnight sky
on moonless night
a murmur undefined
of stellar whisperings
tells her that she's loved
before she falls asleep

roué

i reflect

a thousand pages full
a tome, a towering tonnage
of verbiage and time devoted

in memory of those departed
of loves lost or never started

of a cad, a roué, a ruffian
charmers all
who left me sad, or blue, or suffering
as i'd fall

but writ in blood beyond the pain
the knowledge
i would do it all again
and yet again and again

for all the woe was born in hope
and hope ineffable and perpetual
within each cell of me is scrawled
as convict calendar etched into the wall

so i with ink or on this screen
so etch my heart and contravene my sense
in search of solidarity as my recompense

shilly-shally 12/11/17

weigh it all
the pros
the cons
the cost
of moving up
and moving on
and shilly-shally
back and forth
dilly-dally to decide
whether to better to hide
or boldly face w/ brazen smile
the pain we have inside
and ride out in defiance
of those who've broken faith
alliance lost but not forgot
and though we can forgive a lot
not all

doughty 11/11/17

though buffeted by
a tempest raging
far beyond our ken
still we suit up
and set forth
doughty and determined
to make and mold our future
into something better

pathos 10/11/17

the wall I build
around myself
most formidable
may seem
and yet of
painted canvas
a scrim of solidity
no thicker
than a thumbnail
and with but little
pathos overpushed

cotton 9/11/17

for one as bright

as I purport to be

and in mind 

that ego not inflated

I still simpleminded seem

I cannot cotton on to all 

the intricacies of how

one gets to be the one

instead for some

odd reason I reside

penultimate in line

and beside myself

though to my fate resigned

mandarin 8/11/17

i've eked out the story
in drips and drabs
winkled out an axiom
coaxing a shy truth
from the mandarin morass
of your half veiled eyes
and purple prose lies
in the beautiful fiction
of created confection
i let go of my faith
in you and reflection

archetype 7/11/17

made up of fluff and fairy tales
the archetype created
till expectation all inflated
by a fiction once so planted
and the measure that we make
when against the truth is taken
the disparity so great that
we can forget the life we've led
so much better than imagined
for it's tangible instead

esemplastic - 6/11/17

a Goya in a gallery
a castle on the green
a smile over beers
hints of a might have been
fragments scattered over years
by time's esemplastic power
shaped into reminiscence
with which to while away an hour
as the fire turns to embers
and the future turns to past
and in laughter and in tears
we return to dust and ash

parable - 5/11/17

scrawled on sand
as the turning of the tide
parables and paradoxes
read like the sides
of cereal boxes and
all our midnight philosophies
repeated in refrains
leave you humming
as the world exhales
and the waves return
chalkboard beach
wiped clean again
with the new moon

clew - 2/11/17

down alleys and hidden corridors
we whisper the names
posted above shop windows
and as we pass the yarn shop
with clews and skeins draped
like tinsel around the window panes
I smile and take your arm
against the cold and in camaraderie
and knit the memory in grey matter
to wear another day

stridulate - 4/11/17

he walks the floor
sex in flannel
and corduroy
and with each step
he stridulates
among the girls
frenzied lip gloss kisses
and long hair tosses
in time to the tune
his pants creates

tin-pot - 3/11/17

threadbare satchel leaking
tin-pot trinkets
of market stall tat
affectation
bought wholesale
and marked up
beyond recall
before falling
along the wayside
to litter the gutter
with the crumpled
facsimiles of affection

apodictic - 1/11/17

expounding and propounding 

with apodictic certainty that

what you say is
what you mean to say

despite malapropisms
abounding

in measure
astounding

werewolf

the changes could not

have been more  great

were he afflicted 

as with a gothic malaise

from kindest kind to villain 

as though a switching moon 

might make of man a werewolf 

inner beast released 

and I knew not the lunar calendar 

by which to make my moves

lest rendered into nothing 

more than feast

descry

adventure unfolds

both the place and oneself

small wonders as you descry

in the Braille of a cobblestone street 

the entire world at your feet

and in the mystery of alien air

you may both lose yourself 

as well as find yourself there

causerie

a pint and a chat

comparing and complaining and commiserating 

and in the space between the words

of our casual causerie 

we cease being him and her

and become you and me 

just ourselves 

no more 

no less

and never need we be

alfresco

a battered wooden bench
in the mist of an Irish morning
somewhere off the motorway
between Dublin and Tralee
a coffee alfresco and you and me
weary but unworried as the road
and adventure beckons

wardobe

passports and plans
and faraway lands
wardrobe to suitcase
jumpers and jammies
hands clammy
aeroplanes and hopes
taking flight

slapdash

I always fancied that I knew what to do
or I'd just know where to go

a vague projection of me there
queen of the castle in the air

but avoiding the doctrinaire
I never once looked at a map

my slapdash system cacophony
inertia interspersed with industry

spontaneity's ecstasy and injury
for the whims of others or my whimsy

draws me where it will
for good or ill

sure spirit's inner compass
would guide me here to there

but a dream is not a plan
and so I never land

quite where I thought I would
for ill or good

overwhelm

tantalizingly
just out of reach
the promise
of holidays' ways
anticipation clouded by
the "did I pack"
and "did I buy"
and I make
and remake lists
and certain am
I'll still forget
a thing or two
but sans regret
try not to let
the little things
overwhelm me
and mar
optimistic expectation
engendered by adventure
and a minibar

pelf

like beggar scrambling on the ground for paltry pelf
thrown by those with wealth to watch the destitute dance
for a penny

so I was for love

no more

pauperized
I'll count my coin in other currency than gilt and guilt
enumerate opulence by any other measure
or starve before I gambol at their gambles

burke

confrontation
stomach churn
and taste of tin
so i burke
the conversation
to shirk
the agitation
before it can set in
but cowardice
no consolation
just a different frustration
and my avoidance
will be my ruination

nuncupative

undeclared, his love remained
locked within and with his pain
he tried in vain her heart to win
but never would she know
and she loved him
in silence, too
the sadness that they never knew
but at last, they can rejoice
on the wind they find their voice
millennium since both have passed
and now their ghosts have peace at last
for when the wind blows just right
in the deepest dark of night
his will nuncupative strangers hear
whispered by leaves and over weir
"Lenore, I leave you all my heart
so that we may never part."
and her reply in susurration
whispered back with sweet elation
"Edgar, darling, my heart take"
lovers' balm for eternity's ache

adversity

adversity the stone
on which we're ground
sharpened to a point
or whittled clean away
never knowing
until the wheel
begins to spin
if our mettle
made of metal
though we
are made of clay

knee-jerk

endemic and inescapable
as one is connected
and retweet selected
the headline click-bait
knee-jerk response
only to be expected
and we all pass on
half-truths gleaned
from the lede
just scanned
in the endless feed
and it's on this
the ones in power rely
that we all have opinions
but never ask why
analysis rejected
in favor of a meme
as a rallying cry

hew

having clawed
her way up
you'd think
she'd lend a hand
to the women who follow
as she from broad perch
surveys the land
and yet instead
she waves an axe
and hews the branches
just below
with wild swings
as though
another woman's gain
would be her loss
it's disappointing
in a boss

malign

whether injury by accident or design
when injured the impulse is oft to malign
the injurer

except
for some reason I've yet to discern
when sex is involved

and then some people yearn to place the blame
on the one who names names
or on the one who can't

who can't stomach the thought
who know they can't change the past
so why relive it again

why face their rapist
or the one who harassed them
in ways big and small

and if they come forward or retreat to repair
what business of yours at all
except compassion to share

euphony

i can't discern
if dream
or hope
or memory
curled up
half asleep
whispered euphony
of sweet nothings
washing over me
and the warmth of one
against my back
as arms wrap round
the tsp to his tbsp
on a rainy
Sunday morning
that was
or will be

chary

rolled up paper
pops me
repeatedly
on the snoot
rubs my face
in my failures
to boot
and yet
like eager puppy
I leap again
when others
might be chary
never letting
enthusiasm dim
despite an outcome
that never
seems to vary

razzmatazz

distracted
by the dazzle
of the shiny light
and lost in
the razzmatazz
of the click
and the like
of the hope
as we wait
through the
dot dot dot
romance forgot
in the swipe

palliate

rip the band-aid off
and know
sometimes
naught can palliate
the fears and tears
but time and cheers
of many, many beers
with friends
forgetting faults
and fails and foes
without end

lagniappe

brief affair over
I expected no encore
and yet
a friendship blooms
in ground not suited to amore
and this lagniappe
ends up meaning more
than that which came before

interdigitate

jealousy unbidden
but undeniable
as I see
how you & she
interdigitate your lives
and I become wise
to the things I miss
and missed out on
in a time
not that far gone
when I had just
a toothbrush
on the shelf
granted by yourself
but now all around
her things are spread
on shelves and ground
and everywhere
and it's as if
I was never there

tendentious

no chance for anyone
to change their mind
when all new "news" streams
solely from tendentious sources
and every new thought already aligned
by catered curators with intention designed
to keep the populace locked in step
like horses in their designated courses
to confirm what they believe despite
any actual fact that may come to light

gregarious

oscillate like a butterfly
dancing with a dervish
from solitary splendour
to grandly gregarious
and both are me
and neither

denegation

it's not that
she didn't know
more that
she didn't want
to know
lost in
the hedge maze
of increasingly
forceful denegations
and rueful ruses
her credulity
followed gullibility
into a dead end
led astray by
his laughter
and a whisper
of truth

slake

the glimmer
of a glint
of a shimmer
of a hope
began when first
i saw the picture
of your grin
and grew when
first we met
and it was better
than i thought i'd get
and when you kissed me
the maybe became now
insatiable need
for the moment slaked
for i'd forgotten how
the sheer act of possibilty
can wipe away despair
romantics are never hopeless
if even the slightest,
slimmest, smallest chance
of love is in the air

prehension

light flicks on

and slowly 

the mind

fumbles with 

prehension

mixed with 

existential dread

as the wheres 

and whys 

and who am Is 

sort themselves 

before I rise 

bombard

in this day and age when atrocities
appear on every newspaper page
and the anchors on the tv screen
are full of tales violent and obscene
and the world it seems would bombard us
with a barrage of the worst it has to offer
importune, pernicious, disastrous, unpropitious
the richest stealing from the coffers
of those who have the least
infrastructures ruined by weather or by war
and what remains not fit for man nor beast
in times such as these
(and it's always such as these)
the best to do, I find,
is look at those we love
and in them
find peace of mind

vituperate

oh, the comments section
bitchy high school burn book
writ large for the world to see
all the infantile snark set free
as devolution follows from
disagreement to name calling
and a stranger vituperates opinions
that the other names as facts
and vitriol exchanged, by some,
for the courage to morally act
as they spew a hatred
they can never retract

agita

unsure
from whence it arose
but always
quick to laugh
quick to cry
quick to love
i don't know why
overly, according to an array
of former friends and loves,
sensitive
i know i take to heart
too easily minor slights
and yet i oft forgive too much
wanting to please
to be seen as a good sport
agita arising
as confrontation nears
and o'erwhelmed by fears
i freak out or fade away and fall
terrified that disrepute by one
means condemnation by all
not trusting that the ones i love will stay
having before seen others simply walk away

salubrious

in the hazy miasma
of strife and struggle
of life's trials juggled
there is no balm
more salubrious
than a smile
from one who sees
both forest and trees

farceur

on days like these
when bile rises
as humanity descends
it is hard to believe
our world not writ
by some dark dystopian farceur
whore for a bleak irony
relishing our fall from grace
into the fiery place
arranging our agonies
in an organized inventory
so we pray the page turns
and our tales retooled by
a kindlier author

censure

waiting with a growing dread
for the number of the dead
while one upon his golden throne
censures those who've lost their home
or censures those who take a knee
to protest the injustice they see
but at least he takes the time to tweet
between golf strokes, quite a feat

apropos

the way
in which I
express myself
so oft
sans sequitur
and apropos of nothing
I flit from thought
to word to deed
a galloping
galumphing steed

ensconce

rain patters in lulling percussion
echoing purring lap fur puddle 
gray blanket covering legs and chest
as gray blanket covers sky
book and tea on table beside
pillows and peace piled high
and I, ensconced in such comfort,
long for nothing more or less
than the quiet continuation of
this moment's cozy content

pace (preposition)

i do not think i am by nature vain
i do not consider myself
as better or brighter or righter

but i confess with some distress
i do not understand how some
justify their positions driven by suspicions

i feel i have lost some i have called friend
to ideals more fierce than mine
and though i respect their fervor
i seek a different way

the world we both see falling
and i would save some bit and use it
work from within as i cannot see how
to change the world from without

pace the righteous warrior in his rage,
i think there is still a gentler way in this day and age

and yet, and yet, and yet

and neither my way nor my friend's
seems to make those we both oppose
to yield or change or even bend

disparate

we are mosaics

laid out to set in the sun
we shine

bits of metal
broken shards
of ceramics and glass
bound to boards
with grout and grit

so similar we are
yet not

telling a millions different tales
but one story
of beauty through adversity

that it matters not
how we've shattered
if we gather
to artfully arrange
the scavenged detritus
of our souls

knowing - greater than the sum
of all our disparate parts
is our whole

broadside

a million, billion words
are writ and spat
as we bicker
over this and that
and controversy flamed
fingers pointed
and names named
by the broadsides
and the pundits
in their boxes
bellowing to
distract us
from the fact
that really
we are all the same
as those on whom
we place the blame
pawns trapped in
a larger game

anathematize

last time 
for "I wish I"
or "I should have"
conjecture and regret
and neither solves a thing
the past is static
the present fluid
the future...
intangible and insubstantial
as a gas dispersing in the air
and in situations such as these
to anathematize is facile
and fruitless and bootless
focusing on oughts and didn'ts
distracts from the business
of doing and growing
and attempts to forget
keep us from knowing better
next time

legerity

so quick with hope
the mind conjectures
even as sense lectures
a slower course
for longer distance
I outpace myself
with the legerity
of a cheetah racing
after impala leaping
but rarely catching
though needs must
else hope starve

toothsome

and yet again
from heights
to depths deployed
swept up in a moment
so toothsome and fine
that I, for a moment,
lost my mind
upended by a kiss
forgetting this
that which we sweep
goes into the dustbin
and we do not keep

yeasty

with a tentative smile he reached
across the gritty barroom high top
over the dark wood marred by
a thousand spilled stories and beers
and the board games stacked beside
continue in their pile to reside
as ignored and unnecessary
while instead searching fingers
found her own and intertwined
and within her smile returned
a yeasty hope roared and rose
that maybe here he'd find
a kiss and kismet, for once, aligned

shofar

segregated by his guilt
he sits alone in the
high holiday crowd
supplicant before G-d
whose forgiveness
rings in the wail
of the shofar, but
only so far as
he can forgive
himself

holus-bolus

sorrows come, as Willie said,
not single spies
and so holus-bolus
life is higgledy-piggledy,
yet again,
as we scramble
and scrape
and scrappily
ignore the ache
while we pick up the pieces
and piecemeal
make glue with our grime
to wattle and daub
the sucker back together
and rebuild better
once we're in
for some nicer weather

glabrous

porpoise with purpose and poise
you leap skyward and swivel

splash down and squee

dive again
to nose the kelp flotsam
in a gleeful game
of capture the flag

your glabrous grey and glistening

and I listen to
your clicks and whistles
and wish I was with you

amanuensis

at my best I am no writer
but merely an amanuensis
scribbling down the words
as I see them in the air
seasonal butterflies
beautiful and all too brief
wishing I had shorthand
or a stenographer's skill
that I could catch them
as they flit past and pin them
to page as the collectors of old
to be marveled at in days to come

portentous

we make our own omens
in sky color crayons
a stranger's child's fridge
finger paint Picassoing
and with as much merit
our minutia portentous
and all fairytale fictitious
as to cling to the hope
that we may divine the
indeterminate destiny

travesty

the beautiful people on screen
walk and talk and laugh
and seem to face the struggles
that you do too and yet
they somehow do not reflect
their houses all so fine
and their features all well placed
even all their tears attended
with such poise and grace
and the cast is all one shade
and the men take center stage
even in the film about a woman
of a certain age and yet it's acted
very well and so it's easy to ignore
the little things that make you
forget it well before you even
make it to the door and you
wonder at the cost that went into
the production and the other scripts
they overlooked and you leave with
the deduction that the travesty
is not in the story that they tell
but that the studio decided
that other stories wouldn't sell

inoculate

never thought I would be
so envious of those
inoculated from reality
by their steadfast certainty
that opinion is fact
and truth somehow subjective
and theirs, of course, the right

marginalia

greatness awaits us
upon the page
the empty page
to be composed
in line after lines
and row after rows
of insecurities & sureties
of treacheries & psalmistries
of life depicted & reflected & dissected
rewritten and revised and editorialized
with every drop of ink as blood
squeezed from stone and still...
it's the things doodled and scribbled
the random - both sacred and ribald
for all the tales we tell of ourselves
it's the marginalia that makes us

precocious

celebrated in youth
as preciously precocious
that position later precarious
peers prize other propensities
every gift
double-edged and handleless
grabbed by the flat
and grip fashioned
a weapon to wield
a scythe or sword or swagger
to bend the world to our will
or else
we cut ourselves

scour

this groping weed that chokes
throttles your better impulse
and leads you so astray
oh, that I could scour your soul
and find the fault, dig it out at root
I see the poison plant peek out
unfurl the slick green leaves
like groping fingers
between the branches
of nurturing shade
hiding from the sun
but cannot grasp
its stinging nettles
nor dare I brave the thorns
that enclose it so
but would that you tend
your own garden
before the insidious botany
of your jealousy
renders all round it rotten
food for fungus and decay

bibelot

Clear the Clutter & Free Yourself!
...so the magazine says,
and I imagine being free
in a moment of castle cloud bliss
until... then the truth arrives
as I sit and sort my stuff
piles of bibelot and bric-a-brac
that raise old ghosts or take me back
to the times that made or broke me 
to the ones loved and ones lost
and the ones loved and lost
and the roads traversed and the rivers crossed
and I remember the things I most often forget
and resolve to be better, have less to regret
the mementos cling to me with a magnetic pull
and the garbage bag stays empty...
and my shelves stay full

conversant

i fumble the words
as i would a ball
thrown with the call
think fast
i am not conversant
in the ways of the suave
equipoise is an enterprise
i seldom emphasize
as i realize my strength
elsewhere lies
and yet my sincerity
unmatched
my heart no less true
because i cannot find
the way to say
without saying
with sang froid
displaying
those three
forbidden words
i love you

disport

car speeding
down the highway
our voices mingled
in giddy glee
as we disport ourselves
in raucous song
all heaviness of heart
for a moment forgot
in the chorus bellowed
together off-key
but finding our own
kind of melody

extemporaneous

though being there
I knew them untrue
the yarns he'd spin
extemporaneous and
extraordinaire
so exquisite
like a city made
of blown glass
that I would wander
there and wonder
at the majesty
and ignore the fragilty
of his lovely lies
lost in the blue
of his merry eyes

propagate

time and chance

and circumstance

against that need arrayed

from choices made 

or left unmade

now upon that bed 

I'm laid

or rather...not 

my thoughts

I propagate instead

maternal instinct

the beast inside

left unfed

tho hungry

bedraggled

aging

weak

still not dead

robot

Amazingly lifelike, he had me fooled - handsome simulacrum of sincerity.

Oh, I wanted to believe in him.

How I dismissed all the signs on our road trip through the uncanny valley
and out the other side,
my robot love and I.

Until he broke beyond repair,
unable even in his android way to pretend to care
and I saw behind the eyes and thinning hair
the mechanisms spinning there.

scrupulous

the pages blank
an empty book we are born
each passing day writ in ink
we scribble and scrawl
cross out and overlay
until our undulating
and dogeared leaves
like rorschach blots become
a dream perfected
in scrupulous detail arrayed
in modernist masterpiece
of joycean conquest
and our Ulysses
upon the shelf displayed

fruition

befuddlement
at life's odd serendipities
a suggestion becomes a plan
in an easy turn
and that easily
a moment of maybe
becomes a may
becomes an is
a coming to fruition
of what once
had been a whimsy
and in these
random twists
of possibilty
to prosperity
a life is built

vociferous

the gathered throng
cheers and hears
rejoinders vociferous
as if in echoed opposition
the other team's position
a balance weighed
in equipoise of noise
zero sum as one
advances the other defends
and vice versa in a
pendulum without end

enthrall

a laugh, a touch
a knowing smile
a dimple, a wink
easy my heart
to enthrall
but to lose this
use unkindness
and smallness
and rudeness

confrere

easy to retreat at the end
of another defeat
to take my ball
and head home to hermit
but for these, my confreres
in whom I confide,
and who make me realize
I've lost nothing more
than a little time
and a little pride
win or lose
whatever team we choose
life's more fun outside

soi-disant

I find myself amazed and dazed
(not by the world spinning)
but by the grandly grandiose
who claim hyperbole so oft
that those not bamboozled
are beaten down and beggared by
the braggadocio of soi-disant saviors
who value shiny over shinola,
who whine and call it winning,
and the margin for error is thinning,
I fear, before we find that
the bull in the china shop is
too bankrupt to buy what he broke.

interstice

coy anticipation
that measures time
just so...

no aeon
longer than
the interstice
between thumb's
tentative tap

and

...dots

appearing

as if to mock
the waiting
sojourn of seconds
stretching interminable
between now
and sent

coalesce

nightmare continues
struggle against sheets
that writhe like snakes
constrain and constrict
as terrors coalesce
into consensus
and rise up in waves
to wash away
the world we made
the waters break
and recede, so see
the garish face
was not a mask
but gaping clown
giving chase
and eyes opening
cannot erase
the sense of horror
at metaphor's grace

emissary

outside the window the bird begins her chirping
chest puffed with pride, loud emissary of the dawn
inside the cat begins her morning machinations
I stir to the sound of last night's leavings
keys and earrings from nightstand to floor
as my feline alarm clock rings out the time
half an hour before the ding of an actual chime
groggy and half lidded I rise and shoe the cat
out the door...if I feed her now
she'll only want more and earlier tomorrow, too
so door shut I crawl back in to bed
and will myself to sleep one tiny bit longer
before the light grows stronger
and the mewling louder, louder, louder...
as if she doesn't know she'll be fed before I shower

accoutrement

doll yourself up
in accoutrement for war
lipstick, blush
add a little more
hair let loose
inhibitions let fly
cleavage revealed
and heels rather high
a drink for courage
a second to steady
you wait at the bar
deep breath
and you're ready

burgle

on pitter pat paws
they crept in like
the proverbial fog
so soft and sweet
you never heard
the tread of feet
or snick and click
of lock and pick
as if a trick
this crew of one
or maybe two
will burgle you
so surreptitiously
that were it your heart
they stole
until deed
long past done
you never knew

picaresque

Less subtle than a frigate bird
with throat inflated,
he warbles pick-up lines
and imagines himself
the hero of a tale picaresque.
A charming Casanova
instead of degenerate inebriate;
aging Lothario full of
all the bluster he can muster
as he tomcats around
to stop his weeping sighs.
Seeking comfort in quantity -
revenge against a ghost of a girl
who pays his antics no mind,
as he has paid no mind
to those he left behind.
Now, reaping what he's sown
by inflicting pain to hide his own,
the broken man goes home alone.

opine

some days are hard so there's whine
and there's wine and I would opine
that friends with whom to former
while drinking the latter make sweeter
the grapes that were grown on the vine
in ways that words could never define
as we air all our woes about
dating a swine or wanting to resign
as blame we assign or we stiffen our spine
in this way, our friendship is tied up with twine
yes, a glass and friend.... the pairing is truly divine

flagrant

the bill that came in the mail today
quickly took all my savings away
just one doctor's visit all it took
my well being lost, my faith quite shook
not even for a specialist's care
general practitioner in a clinic here
the charge of thousands quite unfair
for an ekg and removal of wax from ear
robbed and ruined without a choice
screaming mad without a voice
the system's broke and no denying
eighteen hundred dollars
for one new patient visit
is flagrant theft and it's left me crying

nobby

keeping up
appearances
nobby facade
hides decay within
the rotten walls
the empty halls
mold, mildew,
worms and vermin
the only life
this house now hosts
except for ghosts

hebetude

in cups

he sinks into

the hebetude of

the drunken one inert

and stares into nothingness

as a heavy load upon him

and mutters injustice

ignoring the fact

that he made

the weight

himself

depredate

a world gone
in a fit of pique
that you would
say such things
and depredate
all that came before
and still would
try for more
and make it all
about yourself
apologize without
repentance assured in
forgiveness unearned
claiming wisdom
but it's me who learned

alleviate

relentless gray
across the sky
the sun has hid
her fulsome face
and I likewise
indulge in grace
of cloud blanket comfort
to rest my weary soul abed
alleviate week's worries
in a pillow and a cat asleep
upon my inert legs
to wake refreshed
for coming days
to battle on
in sunshine rays
of hope and cheer
of light to come
of better days
when this day done

waif

an oxymoron
a figment
the phantom of
a wild and willowy waif
lost yet self possessed
who requires rescue
but will save you
in return
meek yet mighty
and what defense
have I against
such nonsense
but to carry on
the pretense
of the manic
pixie dream
to seem
to be the thing
else alone remain

oppugn

whatever small sense of peace
cultivated by the conviction
that the world is not dictated
by the basest of our bunch
destroyed by the crunching
sound of the rage monster rising
and munching on the bones of our best
jaws agape to engulf the rest
and we protest but the claws
rend that notion into pieces
and we're exhausted trying to oppugn
the remorseless beast that would feast on us
yet still we must not cease to fight
against the "alt" to defend what is right

perfunctory

knocked back aghast
we perform our tasks in manner perfunctory
awaiting ascendancy or armageddon
we flip and fly, aloft in the sky
as the clock winds down
and the clowns
honk their horns and o'ertake the circus
set loose the animals from their cages
destroying with seltzer and paint the stages
so we watch a carnage commence
commanded by sense to stay above it
but there is no escape
from the roars or trumpets
and we'll swing in the breeze
by noose or trapeze

lamster

some days
I want to run
pack a bag
hop a train
flee and fly
with a wish
and a will
just go away
a lamster ducking
the doldrums
of the every day
the tedium of
the expected
eschew
and in so doing
reinvent myself
anew

bifurcate

Love the heart bifurcates,
each room halved
then halved again.
So four chambers made
and within reside Love's seasons.
Spring's anticipation
exponential
green and greedy
to grow into
hunger's declaration of
Summer's languid passion;
sticky and sweet,
dripping in the heat
until Autumn mellows
and makes harvest
or awaits Love's fall from grace
that ripe but unreaped may rot...
forgetful but not forgot
by Winter - that crisp and steadfast
sparkles implacable as diamond,
frozen and frigid until the thaw. 
That Spring may come again.

vermicular

lonely she stalks
the maze of statuary
fingers caressing
the faces of stone
her vermicular hair
writhing like ringlets
dancing in wind
she walks ever alone

temporize

love's indulgence

temptation to temporize

master builder 

of aerial architecture 

whole cities 

rendered from hope

and anticipation 

pandemonium

cranky toddlers
in temper tantrum tempo
trying to outscream the other
as they smash the lincoln log
lego lands on which we live
our weeble-wobble lives
they'd make a pandemonium
of the playpen with no care
no one taught them how to love
no one taught them how to share

élan

the thing she noticed first was his feet
or more precisely, brightly patterned socks
knit with whimsical guitars;
and when their eyes did meet
across a crowded car of subway strangers
through sacks and satchels
with élan his face alit.
and she thought "maybe, this is it."
and when he rose at her same stop
her stomach did a little flop.
he followed her right up the stairs
as if they made a smiling pair
but then he turned,
the other stairwell toward...
another train for him to board.
oh, her little love had found its end.
her little story told to fend off
the particular loneliness only found
in the city, where anonymity
made by the thronging crowd
vibrant, brash, and loud
both empowers or belittles
based on as little as a mood
in which to revel or to brood.

garble

for all the fine words
I've ever writ
my mouth
full of marbles
when I open it
to garble out
my sentiment
and I may
sound like a twit
the words
twist and buckle
like metal under strain
my meaning melts
like sugar in the rain
and you'll never
fully understand
either
my love
or my pain

immense

gratitude for small kindnesses bestowed
grows like a dry sponge held under the tap
until my heart swells to bursting
and overflows through my eyes
in tears not of sadness
but in gramercy and grace
with a little melancholy mixt
for the time and the place
whisper "what if"
a midnight kiss unanswered
for fear it was given
in somnolent confusion
and that its return
would be an intrusion
or considered the product
of a wanton delusion
mind confounded compounded
with compassion
conferring such emotion
immense and overwhelming
abundance marking
in stark contrast all that preceded

schadenfreude

some days
filled with delays
or painted in myriad greys
when you long for the peace of a simple malaise
when anger and frustration and heartbreak leave you in a daze
all you can think
as you long for a drink
is this in an endless refrain:
I hope someone I wronged or annoyed
is experiencing schadenfreude
so at least there's some joy from my pain

cthonic

nightmares into waking hours seep

the heavens painted in blood and black

against my better judgement I leap

into the cthonic, ink stained day

pools of broken sky at my feet

and the patter on my fabric shelter

belts a steady beat at pace 

with breaking heart and 

breaking heat to cool

the sticky stifle of a rancid day

regimen

try to enjoy the thing

for what it is 

and not regret the things 

it's not 

a monkey wrench 

in my regimen 

revealing the spaces

yet to be fixed

but not the tool

required to repair 

manumit

turn back the clock 

they say as if that's a good thing 

deriding progress as deviant 

disregarding evolution 

in the foment of revolution 

as if we all could be put back 

in the boxes they have made

they do not recognize 

that they make the world a cage

and by their small minds

both enslaving and enslaved

they denigrate those of us

who do not fit

and silence those who would 

the rest of us manumit 

splenetic

false frontage in odd reverse
using folksy fanfare to fan the fears
of those living in arrears
wolfing down the common food
(off plates of gold) still it's construed
that of people, by the people made
this inevitable embodiment of a time?
a splenetic red-faced raver
spitting out bile by the sound bite
140 characters to show his true character
petulant and privileged and presiding above
pretending it's the common man that he loves
while denigrating The People's House
and calling it a "dump"
making of that common man a chump
and that rhymes with...
and that rhymes with..
yes, that rhymes with...

arbitrary

embrace the chaos
dance in the rain
for the vagaries of fate
so oft seem arbitrary
don't dither over this or that
or fret about the scenic path
when still it's the thing
you never thought
that makes the net
in which you're caught
we cannot plan for disarray
and therein lies our dismay
so...
let go the compulsion
to discover correlation
or causation and accept
that joy never really
has an explanation
just revel in the sensation

diminution

at the end of things
she learned
how little it took
not even a word
just a look
and the diminution
of her esteem began
in the dissolution
from an "us" to a "they"
and she begins again
reminding herself
Rome wasn't built in a day

plausible

Murder mysteries and romcoms,

in equal measure, I devour

in epic weekend watches.

The affinity stems, I think,

from how both make plausible

the preposterous.

That a mad country vicar

in a village of forty

kills four in feats of

villainous vengeance

before being found out

by the dogged detective,

who is hailed by all,

except for the four

who can hail no more,

for his diligent deduction;

or that half a day spent

in the company of 

the movie star's fiancé

is enough to turn his head

to the clumsy cliché girl

of bookish bent.

The stories heaven sent

for one whose expectations

have yet, by real life,
to have been met.