“A sprinkle of hope” (Prompt 24 words) POEM 12

Hope, merely stardust.
The moon slivered cheese as I dream of sleep and removing my shoes.
Silhouettes of trees
backlight by the suns return.
How often we forget
that the sun is static,
It is we who move away from
and back towards its warmth.
chasing lost goals
into the cool darkness of night.
disregarding the lies we know as truth.
Hope, merely stardust.

Tell me once again
sweet lies of forgetfulness
as i search for me
stardust beaming like new hope
old pains kindling my rebirth

revelations after dark
Teslas numbers whispering
Hope, merely stardust.

“Under the clouds with Tesla” POEM 11

Small repeating patterns
spotted revealing private messages.
The croak of bull frogs behind me
calling out, slowly. The sound is a visual thing.
Female letting out a tease
as suiters hurriedly raise their voice in desperate sequence
waiting for her to echo back the number of times they did

Three, six, nine
repeating. reminders of our continuing survival
Nine doubled, always equaling back to it’s self
One set of rolling tires on dew damp pavement.
Eight blinks of a wayward star.
Two flutters of my eye lashes as the bull croaks out seven times.
Three slaps of a branch.
Six steps to my bed.
Five bodies snoring in a space meant for four.

Can you close your eyes and hear the sequence in your space?
The numbers disguised in the rustle of the wind.
Hushed laughter of parents making an inside joke
or the staccato rhythm of my toddler wheezing,
my ear catching all of her whispers.

Be carful what you listen for…
its hard to give back secrets you’ve unlocked

“Rambling Prose” POEM 10

The loss of hope in our current circumstance, is a direct reflection on our inability to trust that anything can move forward as normal. We have landed at a point where death is a commonality we are far too familiar with. We allow our lives to be used as pawns in a game of chess. How i long for the lower class to request a game change. The vanity of class imbedded in chess, gone. Replaced with the beauty of checkers. Every piece with the possibility to gain the freedom to move like Kings. No longer confined by the marginal positions of planned sacrifice. New found movements with the ability to return where it started from, better than when it left.

Let us risk our dignity and raise our voices as we shift from what has always been to what might be. The sight of imperfections, birthing hope as the ideal that perfection equals enlightenment is erased. Sinning paupers rubbing elbows with the bourgeoise, no need to hide their dreams of becoming elite. Can you see the smiles of victory now? The perditious weight generations lifted as the new game sets a level playing field. Wealth to be had & input given, received. Can you close your eyes and see the posture of a nation changed as hope is brought back and the life support wheeled away. Checkers is the name of the game!

“The Swimming Hole” POEM 9

The swimming hole
is a pebbled river bank
with a solid bend
mountain water run off cold!
Goose fleshed skin when touched by its caress
a roiling rapid in & out
with 300 feet of calm relief
Jumping out long enough
to let hot sun warm my powdery skin,
then back in again.
Smooth rocks pressing hard
into tender feet.
Canon balls and sit dives from a tree.
A toddlers laughter on the edge of the water
as a clutch of butterflies swirl and mate
in the distance a dog plays with his new found reflection
i can see my wife
sprouting freckles from her space far from the shade
reminding herself she knows how to smile

so i enjoyed river wanders through the eyes of a child

“Books for Beginners” (hour 20 prompt) POEM 8

I should have had,
well, that implies i’m owed…
facts are, i’m not.
Cause numbers don’t lie
and 4 out of every 10 children are born to unwed mothers.
so, I wished I’d have had some guidance,
but instead I had…

“Books for beginners:
things you need to know, if you didn’t have a dad”

i’m still learning though,
because i couldn’t face the read!
Who wants to hear their own internal voice reading pep talks no one ever gave you?

i’m still that kid!
No matter how cruelly
my brother calls me out
for crying about things from so long past.

Now i dream of knowledge
from the book of war!
No longer do i seek the bond of kinship,
dreams of friendship laid to waste
for the words of Clausewitz and Sun-tzu.
I am crafting my ability to survive

There was a time i let the writings of the spirit guide me
Undoubted sent down truth.
i am still prone to seek the wisdom He has left there.
Promises of weights He knows my frame can bare,
to care for me, to not leave!
There is the smolder of a fire ready to rage in me.
The soot of sin making me desperate and dirty.

Still, He reminds me His book is for old wounds and beginners too.

“You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you…” –John 15:3-4

“A long list of questions” POEM 7

What if the sounds you hear are nothing more than echoes?
Questions asked you refused to address,
bouncing their way back to you.

What if I had been heading South,
instead of North
that left, should have been a right
pointing me to the Eastern Coast
where I would be in the perfect moment
enjoying my love of sun rise beginnings
instead of the darkness sunset welcomes?

What if he had lived?
would i just have a live target
or a newly found bond
digging our way past his embarrassing Lee Jeans
or love of jigsaw puzzles…
never made sense to me,
how he could work hard to piece back together some twisted image
but no seeming interest in me
this broken thing
who would learn to like himself
“just the way I am”


What if bitcoin bounces back
or cryptos really become this more than metaverse thing?

What will a penny buy today?
Am i the last generation to know the joy
of 100 pieces of candy for a dollar?
Would you buy footies over circus chews
a grape head over a red hot?

What if the perceptions we believe,
are the roots of the lies they feed us?
Twisted truths told to toddlers till they test the tales no more!
Realities rightness roughened raucously.
Left to die while their half truth lives to water away what has always been known….

What then?

“Trapped” POEM 6

There is poetry happening here
the sound of a mouse caught in a glue trap
is melding with the hum of a sticky covered ice cream cooler
while 8bit music blips over the cries of a squeaking thief

in the building symphony that i imagine unfolding
my phone rings and i multitask vain goals
while being told of harsh realities
happening while change is nothing but a word
in a vapid conversation

Busy Bee calls to complain about a shattered leg she refuses to get healed
dreams that wont come easily
reiterated pains recycled repeatedly
i just type and say good night lovingly

“despite all my rage….
       i am still just a rat in a cage”

The resonance in my ears rises
even while my heart sinks
cycles are circles
but there is four sides to every story
So I am trapped
listening to the perceptions of defeat
being retold like a won war victory

The sky has not gone black
it is tinged aubergine
a small touch of royal color
a hidden note from The Risen King

As the sun moves on to light paths with more promise
the runway lights of an airport
silhouette the skyline
Jet fuel dumping trails
while travelers take off towards home

*Bullet With Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins

“Angry aggressive alliterations” POEM 5

Angry aggressive alliterations
Backhanded bad wishes, by the boat-load
Cold blooded cruelties, as casual as cucumbers with cheese
Double down dirty looks darted in all directions
Evasively escaped ensnarement
Feel me, friend..or foe!
Good GAWD got me getting hot!
Hush that hellaciously halitos’ed hole!
In time, imaginations will ice, inching inevitably inward
Just joke jeoulusly joyful jests
in my direction.
I will lay these angry alliterations asunder

“Duality” POEM 4

Yes, it is true.
I can not physically go right
and left at the exact same time

But i most certainly can hate your actions
while still feeling love for you

I can smile in your face
while mental loops play
grainy what-if footage of me slapping you.
Reach to save you
at the same time I don’t want to touch you.
Wish you well
while it hope be in a separate hemisphere from me!

The duality of freedom of choice
is that i can do what’s right
while thinking all the wrong thoughts

Like right here where Im wondering what do with the rest of this hour? Do i stack upon an already half baked ideal giving this run my best
or do I hit publish and make a coffee run?

“The lights are on…despite the dark” POEM 3

It is the dead of night,
i sit in awe of the noises
still being made.
No filters on the reverberations.
Exhaust echoing off of now cool black top

Tires spinning too fast as breaks pump.
The chirp of nightingales
playing holler back.
Even the dew seems to whistle
as it drips from top to bottom leaf.

The spark of my lighter
triggers tracer memories
bon fire dances, in the moonlit dark.

Before i let myself question
the bickering laughter of siblings
awake long after the sun has left,
i remind myself the neighbor is terminal.
While i am busying myself, trying to hush my memories
and drift to sleep…
they are trying to squeeze as many memories as will fit with in a second.

I whisper prayers from the shadows of my porch…
“If it be to your purpose Lord,
might you grant the unspoken whishes
hidden in the laughter coming from these wounded hearts”