Incomplete Delivery

I’ve never been the problem

But then again, never had the solution,

To solve the misery that ponders us all

I’ve always been another question

In a long line of rhetoric,

an exclamation point in the middle of a hypothesis.

There’ve been times I thought I had the answers

But the easier things are,

The harsher scream the fouls

Watching the sudden twist of a turbine’s gale,

Trysting nautically, amidst a fresh gust of carbonic air,

Fleeting, permissive, derision, dismissing—

A damage plan for the self-defeatist, a manifesto for a never-ender—Sword of promise in disguise, a fury with a roving eye—Assemble NOW the gallery of rogues!

Too often we assimilate with those ravenous chills, elucidating amidst the shiver of a broken dream— a few moments truncated, by grammar, both bent and unrelieved…

Plastic Saviors for Paper Ghosts

A backgammon reservoir

rules the castle ever-more

for it was the bishop

that chose not to address the poor

Stranded tiles wait in-turn

for their time of elocution

yet time grows lost

approaching vindication

Vacant properties remain unsold

for ghosts I’ve heard live within

and as time does drift, the condemned stir

a passive voice attending to one’s present sin

Failed hypotheses draw the man,

upon a scaffolding’s verbose display,

ill-conceived choices and unlikely

provocations impel theory to a swift decay

For plastic saviors come to show

when paper ghosts entrench what’s known

To Rise Again (Greater Heights Have Been Scaled)

Slew foot polygon—a gross manipulator

one in the same—as facts—details—skew the page

for all the ins and outs—

for all the feral symmetry—

for all the finite skills suppressed—

for all the jungle operations hunkered

down—

So deep, that vacuous well—

forever locked—up, down, side x side—

jaw draped—from the random parallels—

between awe—and the every word spoken against, 

in spell—

in prisms—

of polarities—dualities—

beacons—cadmium contrition’s—

acting out—

for the veil of false pretense—

for the guise of diction—

for the holographic mark of time—

for the itch turned untimely cue—

Fate breathers,

henchmen to the idle ones—

content to float through belligerencies—

within broken vessels— meant for

toys, not for man

But who should cast such blame?

Is it he who skips the perfect stone?

Is it she, wielding such a silvered tongue?

or perhaps, it’s just those that need not sweat

yet are still the ones who always get?

the everyman sitting there—

on hands, on knees—trying to find

whatever comes naturally—trying to discover

whatever may come to mind?

—anything, something, anything please—

but what can be done?

but what else is there to do—

when we are many and they are few?

until the skies shift and the tides can turn

we cannot protect against the subsets spurn

when voices meet but never blend

and until they do and we can

 it seems the facts remain the same

that Everyman doesn’t stand a chance

As conditions can’t change

until one voice is heard

as progress can’t begin

until Everyman gathers ears

and states its case

   

The history of mankind is overrun with tales of ordinary men and women fighting the odds and climbing out from the deepest and darkest of pits.  The precedents are right there in the record books, it has been done and can be done again.    

Agitu

I’ve been riding

A wave of indigestion

With every single thought

Breaking through

Breaking in

I can’t stop feeling

I can’t stop

Seeing how this will end

The highs, the lows

The valleys and the peaks

Flashing hot

Before me here

I can see the joy,

Yet I see the agony still

Been tight-roping

Across the straws

And

Not the bendy kind

Been breeding fire

Way down deep

Been having trouble

Not falling asleep

I see the crutch

I cling on to

I grab the noose

Where it hangs

Yet the chair won’t budge

Before the sky falls in

I’ve been riding

A wave of indigestion

Through the good and the bad

Each step I take

By flame I’ve been had

Been riding

A wave of indigestion

It’s been so long

I’d forgotten

The ending to this song


Linked to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  Stop by and see who else linked up.

Scrag

Candor spigots icy stream

Cap frock foundry

Zeitgeist in skullduggery

Governing bodies here do stand

Stained

Knee high deep

Swimming upstream

Keep floating on

Arms gnash in the river’s thick

While colossal blusters bate id

Vile little germinating weed

Forever hungering

Atrocious soft-shelled scrag

Never plucking

Never dining

A wash, a wish, viciously swift

Rage skirts the bone

As the current calms

You’ll find yourself dead or strong