brackish

salt marsh dreams
the screams of birds aloft
painting softened skies
and stir the air scented by
the brackish water below
ripples in their breeze
and all the reeds wave hello

martinet

I refused to be
a martinet and
make the rules
to set him straight
his crooked path
his own but one
I would not join
I’d rather walk alone

augur

I reckon that the skies will cry
and care not what you think
for one, the setting sun a sign
of time gone by the night to come
another sees the gloaming as
a hint of heaven coming
I cannot augur aught but this
tomorrow’s tear, tomorrow’s kiss
some tomorrow both will come
and neither brought by sky or sun

irascible

he sits alone
in his booth
his solitude
his pride and proof
against a world
that will not work
to the kinks
and to the quirks
of an irascible
yet kind old man
who lived a life
as best he can
but can’t make sense
of all the hate
the world now seems
to dictate

desuetude

fallen fallow
the knack
for breeze bygone
my wit lapsed
into desuetude
my attitude
too tense for ease
I cease to talk
and silence
welcomes me

wangle

that one could 

were one 

so inclined 

wangle an invitation

so I would 

with all 

my cunning bent

upon your welcome 

wrest by stealth 

or brazen begging 

a space within

your heart 

kludge

a country built
as a hasty solution
for centuries long confusion
a kludge of punishing possibility
ignoring native ancestry and
pushing a claim of manifest destiny
oppressed to oppressing rapidly
and rapidly depressed to depressing

sporadic

in the space
of a hopeful affection
sporadically sprinkled
with crushing confusion
lies the question
which is real and
which the illusion

excursion

the wide world awaits
unfolding like a paper map
with adventure in the creases
each new excursion, the path
not the diversion, and all
you leave behind either
grows or wilts in wishing
missed, unmissed, or missing

chivy

like parents of a 

recalcitrant teenager

we chivy expectation 

along towards an 

unknown destination 

shuffling and mumbling 

moving in fits and starts

yet inching future forward 

misnomer

too tentative to title
to designate
would surely tempt
the fates
and all the days
and dates
that went before
for surely
whatever I could call
would be a misnomer
and hubris comes
before the fall

ethereal

the ethereal nature
of human emotion
is that it lasts
no longer than breath

your fleetfooted joy
or plodding despair
outlive none

none but the artist
who wrestles and pins
imperfection into eternity
grasping immortality

brandish

rush into the fray
the messy melee
heart honed and
brandished like
a sword and swung
in heroic arc
deflecting the swipes
of the ungallant
to run the gauntlet
and winsomely win
the favor of Fortune

hiatus

this the respite
a hiatus from
my workaday world
new adventures
yet to come
and with them hope
a guest long-standing
but no less welcome

tortuous

life is planned
on grid lines
mapped meridians
squared and sorted
good for a guide
but life is lived
outside the lines
a tortuous path
from cradle to grave
the lines disarrayed

satiate

hope: the drink
that satiates yet
never drowns,
no matter how
much one downs

miscible

find frets unplayed
by fingers splayed
along the strings
fret a window missed
life lived so long alone
to align along the lines
of another & an other's things
yet miscible our melodies
disparate we harmonize
and universe also sings

garniture

memorize the facade
every crack and curlicue
the garnitures that grace
like the mantel above
the ancient fireplace
the pressed tin ceilings
and slated roofs
and the grooves upon
the centers of the stairs
and the melancholy
in the holy air of a
once cherished but
now forgotten place
echoed in your heart
etched across your face

smite

and he shouted
from the pulpit
"If I should lie,
may the good Lord
smite me down"
just before the puff
of smoke we all
thought was incense
until we saw
his sandals
smoldering

plaintive

so long i've sung sad songs
i raised my voice in plaintive cry
against the unvierse's
where and when and how and why
but not today, today my melody
less melancholy, more sly
for today, at least, the world
no more or less joyful but i
sing a sweeter song
than in days gone by

démarche

pencil poised
I ponder
I gather
argument
to issue out
a démarche
my thoughts
wander
pronouncements
not my purview
politics persuasion
against invasion
made not to war
but woo

balkanize

we do it to ourselves
fractious fragmentation
we balkanize our lives
seeking out differentiation
separating you and me
instead of recognizing
our common humanity

omnium-gatherum

we are the defiant detritus

the fallen flotsam brought
together by time and tide

driftwood daughters of fate
furious at the state of our
disunion and together tied

an omnium-gatherum of
gallant gallimaufry but
out of our miscellany
we find common cause

a the common enemy
the crushing yoke of patriarchy
which if
in federated unity we combine
we may ourselves disencumber
but only
when we remember
that not only do we outlast
but we outnumber

aggregate

the mother, the father,
the lover, the liar,
the doctor, the teacher,
the thief & the vet,
the child, the stranger,
the immigrant, the preacher,
the bum or the baronet.
you are the aggregate of
all the people you've ever met
so if all those people
look the same
and act the same
and think the same -
you're drawn from a smaller set.
and does that make you
more or less?
an epic or a novellette?
and which would you prefer?
and which would you regret?

ransack

nimble fingered thief
with trash panda stealth
ransacking your stores
every precious thing
you thought was yours
is debt not wealth
and brings you grief

totem

of family made or born
tiny totems incorporeal
taken out to hold
in times of trouble
or time triumphant
emblems of community
greater than just you or me

passim

my love is not

the story writ

ink soaked into the paper 

set and printed on the page 

in format fixed

my love is this 

but more than this

my love is

annotations penciled passim 

hearts scribbled and then erased 

doodles drawn & wandering words 

underlined, circled and noted

marginalia most devoted

my love is

faze

I could wish
myself unflappable
unwavering in
tempest and gale
but slightest breeze
may faze me
depending on
which way
the wind blows
and yet though
the weather may
bend my boughs
I’ve yet to break
and so in the storm
there my comfort take

silly season

winter was wont
to sober the judge
and logic dominate
judgement but now
the silly season ceaseless is
and all the judges drunk

clarion

gumshoe stuck to the pavement
under damp fedora shadowfaced
one eyebrow raised in clarion claxon
of warning more obvious than
the trenchcoat advertisement or
dangling soggy cigarette creating
a one man fog softly obscuring
the long-legged, sequin-splashed dame
who'll take his heart and make his name

luftmensch

i envy the ones who float
  buoyant dreamers
  
my pursuits weigh me
          like to drowning
                                           

      and yet

            the luftmensch
                    
                       bobs 

disencumbered by anchoring anxiety

virtual Candides cascading over waterfalls still sound 

while the rest on rock founder