Great Chain

A great long chain stretched out in front,
Had bound us ere we could recall,
In droves we toiled neath the sun,
A pittance doled to everyone.

Into my beaten back a shunt,
Had bucked my knees and made me fall,
I heard a call for justice then,
That we may never toil again.

Along the iron length we trod,
Through scenes of wanton misery,
Ahead the pit boss called the shots,
Twas him who could improve our lots.

From bleeding knuckles grabbed the prod,
Before us bent and quashed was he,
We bargained thus for greater gains,
And failed to see he too had chains.

Molding

So galled looking in the mirror,
This paper thin man,
Worthless trash in the breeze,
His reflection drawing nearer,
Dead eyes speak deadpan,
Stomach drop to my knees.

Inescapable this hell is,
Within this cage of flesh,
Cannot change the way it's made,
Wallowing in the tar pits,
The same ideas made fresh,
It is strange the way it's played.

Repeat repeat repeat again,
Regurgitate the better men.

Collection, Micro Poems

Clenched fist round leash,
Collared wretch in mud,
Meagre creature whines,
The lash is hot and cruel.


Amber flows over glass,
Warm like your skin,
Yet a poor imitation,
Alone in misery.


Gold never seemed so cheap,
Diamonds lacking in lustre,
The opposite of value,
Potential wasted.


Heavy head heavy rests,
A haven of unwanted guests,
A sickness that they call depressed,
Leaves scattered thoughts of death a mess,
And pity pain within the breast.


This is the first line,
This is the second line,
Somewhere there's a rhyme,
It's the same thing every time.

The Grove

In the desert two flowers grew,
Apart yet drawn they were to each other,
With little but heat and sand around,
They found asylum from the scornful earth,
In the shade of one another.

Amid the cacti and cooking stones,
Two flowers thrived and spread their roots,
These two whose odds were yet so slim,
Pressed on unfettered,
Yet anchored still.

The baleful gaze of the sun bore down,
A kiln the sands as others died,
And wilted all about the two,
But safe in one another's boughs,
Their roots grew deep and hardy still.

Today the desert is no more,
A jungle rich and emerald stands,
Where once stood only ivory graves,
Now life springs forth,
And rivers flow.

It's said in whispers passed along,
By caravans and travelers hence,
The verdant heart of the jungle hides,
A grove secluded evermore,
Where two small flowers bloom anew.

Monitor

Small pinprick,

Flash hot lance penetrates leather skin,

Divulges vital fluids,

A fleeting sting upon well-trodden turf,

A bead of liquid forms.

The straw like thirsty traveler,

Drinks deep of carmine liquid,

It lurches up the trunk,

And finds its home in plastic hold.

What value is this letting,

The numbers run and calculate,

The worth of something so dear,

Rarely given value,

Now rigidly defined on a fixed scale.

Too high,

Too low,

It matters little,

This soil must be probed again,

An inexhaustible resource.

For now an exchange takes place,

Blood for blood,

Blood forever.

Wasteland

Glass sentinels stand atop the unflinching plain,
Translucent obelisks stark and cold,
Light of the artificial sun catches in the brown and green,
The stagnant air hangs about,
Cloying and thick.

A foul stench pervades this wasteland,
Crawling about through the weather-worn glass,
Whispering silent underfoot,
Where the rustling of trash,
Can be heard upon the Earth.

Another glass edifice falls into place,
With a delicate sound it joins its brethren,
Dotting the landscape like stones in a graveyard,
Standing stark and cold,
As the light is turned out.

The HMS Kubler-Ross

The wind may beat our backs with cold,

The rain may stain our brow but,

We're just four leagues away from port,

We'll not surrender now.

O' curse you scornful ocean,

And a pox upon this storm,

May the sharks be choked by bodies,

Should we fail to see the morn.

O' Triton carry fleet my words,

I've wife and daughter fair,

We beg your vengeful father that,

This vessel he may spare.

But what good is a mortal's curse,

Against the likes of God,

I s'pose that in His wisdom,

I should drown, a wretched sod.

I've lived my life an honest man,

That plies the seven seas,

And I s'pose I ought be thankful,

For my time and all I've seen.

Pity

Broken mirror in darkened chamber,

Hundred eyes show ugly reflection,

How sad he is,

In his ivory tower.

Crowds part in the streets,

Bows and obeisance given,

Never asked,

How he curses his isolation.

Beggars in the dirt,

Look up with brightened eyes,

Crooked dirty smiles,

Anchored in the earth.

Sad man floats on ghost feet,

Bedecked in gold and furs,

How sad this king must be,

Truly a pity.

Charity

The mire all about,
Choking all that lives,
Leaving all that dies,
To join the muck and grime.

Worthless little lout,
A wallet like a sieve,
Chokes all the friends who try,
To bring back better times.

A plague and cancer manifest,
So wrapped up in their ways,
Cannot forswear their habits,
Must seek out greater hosts.

And so to all the rest,
Just benefactors played,
In service to this money pit,
They share a bitter toast.

Blank Page

Quiet, blank page.
So noisy.
Your jibes and suggestions,
Of my impotence cut deep.

Quiet, blank page.
Your jeering.
You and I alone sit,
With these thoughts I call "deep."

Quiet, damn page.
I am begging.
I cannot endure you much longer,
My patience is starting to wane.

Quiet blank page.
It is lost.
In this moment the slate remains virgin,
I'm alone with my shame.