poetry

Poetry

Poetry is painting of words upon a canvas of ears. It is an art that anyone can do. Most of the things I write are for my wife. Occasionally I have a fit of anti-establishment that vomits it's way out of my system.

This is a very short list at this time, but it will improve with time as I post more of my past upon it.

A Race Thing ?

Visions of black and white,
together united on common ground,
against the oppression of the servant,
who has become our master.

The servant/master concludes it's crimes
through the action of inaction.
Together, united, they cannot have.
One against the other, remain divided.

Thinking in terms of humanity,
no black, no white, no color at all.
Fight the ignorance, not the ignorant
Kill the master, not the messenger.

Ode to the TV

Forgive my desperation
And lack of preparation
    that has led
To my degradation
And constant manipulation
    Of my aura
I feel alienation
from the congregation
    of our hearts
For my procrastination
Has led to this destination
    in time
I want elation
but lack fascination
    of hope
It's just my station
in time

So Blasé

Adequate descriptions elude me.
Wonderful escapes my lips
But sounds so blasé

To describe you is beyond my
Feeble mind.
If my heart could do it
The words would flow
Like a raging torrent of the Springs storm swollen river?
Like the softness of a garden brook on a Summer's night?

But alas, I have words the words that I cannot access in my soul.
Wonderful, Beautiful, Sensual
Escape my lips
But sound so blasé

I Ramble On

What kind of fool stands at the crossroads pondering two paths
Choosing the evil of two lessers
Instead of forging their own?

Laziness and tranquility conspire against self confidence
While self-doubt hides with Content.

The wisdom of forced choice goes against
The very idea of self-choice
Is this content mediocrity
Or contemptuous contentment

Is it wise to be content?
Is there wisdom in questioning contentness
When instead of yearning for things with desire,
We can enjoy that which we have.

Are these the ramblings of a lunatic?
Or simply a self-awakening of my subconscious
As it guides my hand in writing
Pondering as it is written
As opposed to predisposition of thought?
I think not.

I cannot be content as long a those around me
Conspire against my attempts at free-will
The power of establishment must heed these words
As I ponder.
The destruction of established government
May yet be the answer

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