musket

a few hundred years
both a blink and an age
reality is not the same
as once written on the page
an Uzi is not a musket
and women have the vote
we can recognize the framers
and see beyond just what they wrote

tempestuous

what if instead
of a lifetime spent
staring in the mirror of a morning
as an art critic at an opening
finding something wanting
(the circle under an eye too morose,
the blemish on a temple defiant,
the awkward freckle on a nose,
tempestuous hair unruly,
enthusiastic eyebrows)
what if instead,
we reveled in our body rebellious
instead of gangling or ungainly
we saw, instead,
the glorious changeability
the canvas painted each day
by nature anew
a study in you

gloss

I never learnt the rules
someday there was
whence I could be taught
but I must have been out sick

so through pages and pages
in which those tenants
have been glossed
I have read and nothing gleamed

I make my way
without the knowledge
by others gained with grace

I search for one in vain
who may define both time and space
and wherein lies my place

curfew

I hear the klaxon bells
and creep onward regardless
like my more youthful self
rule breaking climbing through
a window after curfew
for who can stay ensconced
when adventure calls
I know the danger
but possibility stalks
the darkened corridors
and whispers like a lover
to draw me out into the night
to make the same mistake again
but ever with a knowing smile

reticent

impressive
the trapeze swing
from one extreme and back again
either i cannot stop my mouth
or reticent retreat to silent defeat
no in between
my nerves betray
and it could go either way
i wonder which it will be today

inchmeal

through dark on padded claws

it stalks

creeping up so quietly

inchmeal across night's transom

with melancholic grace

so you wake with an ache

and a tear

behemoth

like cells dividing and multiplying
so grows one small anxiety
into a behemoth
blocking out the sun
towering over and threatening
to tumble and trap you in the rubble
but if you are brave and in it a foothold find
you can scale it and climb and climb and climb
and from the heights perspective gain
and over all you see, rightly claim domain

languid

I cocoon myself
in a chrysalis
of longing
the casing made
of aspirations
spun of
reminiscence
and possibility
my languid
transformation
to the world
appearing
as stagnation
but within me
the butterfly stirs
preparing to stretch
her wings in the sun

pro rata

parsimonious pal
measuring out affection
in painstaking precision
each act matched pro rata
so you're never caught
in debt or indebted
to anyone or by anyone
owed one endearment more
it must be exhausting
friendship's auditor

festinate

time seems to move at constant rate
if we step outside ourselves
but within we festinate
towards a certain end
at a variable pace

some moments last
beyond their span
reverberate well past
their sell by date
and paint eternity
with just a kiss
or one goodbye
a lover's laugh
a child's cry

like rubber band
time elasticates
springs us forward
then snaps us back
into the ever moving now
it bends within us
though we're not sure how

acolyte

All those willing acolytes
who've sold their soul
to serve false gods
of money, power and hate...
what are the odds
they'd turn their backs
on country too?
I wouldn't bet on them,
would you?

paste (verb)

heads hung low
as a preteen
soccer team
who've been pasted
by their rivals
but still required
to walk the line
and "good game" along
never mind
the refs were wrong
paid off
by some colluding mom
still we're expected
to remain calm, collected
and if we dare
to pitch a fit
we're unsportsmanlike
I call bullshit

halcyon

limbs entwined
on a blanket
on dewy grass

whispers rise
like supplications
spinning suppositions
fabricating superstitions

we build our mythology
in synchronicity
predicting halcyon days
sinking in to scintillating nights

as we kiss under the lights
of the stars in the skies
of the stars in our eyes

salvo

there is moment of quiet
in the pause
before the thunderclap
the inrush of air
before the song
when hair on end
alerts the thing to come
so this hesitation
before the salvo begins
before the world
haphazardly spins
where everyone loses
and nobody wins

vouchsafe

the world precarious
spins as on a pin
the merest breath of wind
could send us all flying
I cannot vouchsafe
that those in charge
will keep up safe
when the wind blows hard
blowhards themselves
they live for chaos
their allegiance solely self
they care not if they betray us

declivity

Sisyphus
some days I am

to progress make
my back I break
I toil and strain
each inch to gain

but other times
I am the rock

shoved up a hill
against my will
regardless of proclivity
let fly down the declivity

either way
never quite reaching what I seek
the angels view atop the peak

mercurial

the muse mercurial
toys with me
as a cat with string
and so I am tied
in knots
made of words
twisted up
from tip to end
the muse mercurial
both enemy and friend

obviate

we wish that one success
would obviate another
but still we want
the bas-relief of need
makes contrast of
the unfulfilled
and we file away
our failures like
treasured keepsakes
to compare the day's
achievements against

gumption

like papery whispers
of grey moth wings
fluttering in the corner
almost out of spite
my conscious hisses
suggesting success
the gumption
to peel back
the cotton envelope
and sally forth
but pillowsweet inertia
sings a siren song
I sink in languorous lethargy

cerebrate

perambulate on autopilot
barely able to cerebrate
you navigate through grief
but even in the midst of it
I hope you find relief
in knowing that for certain
though the one you loved
is gone the love's not lost
despite bereavement overwhelming
the love was worth the cost

nimiety

broken night
through blinds
quilt the ceiling
as passing headlights
make midnight shadows
retreat for a moment
and in the sudden light
I see your sleepy face
and my heart swells
with a surfeit of joy
and a nimiety of grace

benevolent

kittens, we curl
into a puddle of warmth,
gazed upon by
a benevolent half-lidded eye
the dozy days of mother sun
in summer sunset

transmogrify

never once have I
been satisfied
painting my face
to face the world
too much or too little
always applied
I worry my visage
I transmogrify
and make of me
a stranger
or come across
deranged or
sad or silly for
no good cause
I'd rather wear none
and show my flaws

lucubration

someday
the scholars will
look back upon our time
and marvel how
we came to this
not listening to
our present scholars
warning how
we would repeat
the previous
follies and travesties
perpetrated by those who
did not learn from history
then claimed "what could we do?"

their lucubrations
all compended
they'll tell in depth
of how we ended
but will their people
learn from us
or read that giant omnibus
of all our wrongs
to stop their own
I hope they do
but their future
quite like ours
remains to us
unknown

eccentric

he walks the world
apart but part
dressed for a party
which only he attends
hat and tie and suit
all smart
shoes shined
from tip to ends
named by those
who are unkind
as crazy, odd and weird
a sparkle in his eyes
and glitter in his beard
but I approach
to shake his hand
for mirrored in himself
I stand
eccentric too
in my own way
upon this stage
wherein we play

sophistry

I can openly despise
those cesspools overflowing with lies
but my heart aches
at the acquaintances, once friends,
who believe their sophistry
justified by some imaginary ends
who assuage their guilt
for what this country has become
by asserting that the faults
of this one are the same as that one
not able to distinguish
the tarnish from the stain
that one can with a little work
in fact, be buffed away
the other always to remain

asseverate

how oft in youthful ardor
have I had no patience
for those who would equivocate
as I would instead asseverate
with such conviction
that the merest predilection
could become a source of friction

an inclination
become proscription

I wish that I could say
maturity has made me wiser
but in truth I think acquiescence
more attributed to shame than age
for within me still the battles rage

but so oft in youth
was I so very, very wrong
now likelier I am
to go along
to get along

pyrotechnics

this year
seems different somehow
the pyrotechnics
just for show
their symbolism
drowned in how
the world at large
ready to blow
and so instead
with book I pass the day
assert my independence
from the fray
tomorrow hope may rise again
and head held high but until then
a momentary respite

regardless

whatever
head may decree
in bulleted
block letter point
authorized
and stipulated
a commandment
clear as crystal
mind's bidding
and behest
still the heart
whispers louder
than all the rest
"regardless"

canicular

The Raise


his pause drawn out
like a canicular afternoon
sultry and humid
slightly uncomfortable
skin stuck to the seat
sweat trickling
and she waits
yet again
for a man
to determine her fate
and in her heart
a little more hate

métier

at long, long last

the day has come

I’ve found my métier

to lounge and play

and drink in the sun

now...how to make it pay?