The Poet Must Die

The poet must die
Not yours to reason why
Though if you must
Just put your trust
In my wisdom
My judgement
My bright blue sky

Too many rhymes
Is the questionable crime
Words full of letters
Offensive to his betters
These twisted font fetters
Keeping him warm as a wool sweater

"Guilty as charged!"
Off with his head
Poisoned by flying lead
Or hanged until dead
One way or another
This poet must die

Falling In Love Again

Your chromium wings reach out to me

Even as you stride along at Mach zero point three

Thou cruel airplane impersonator

Oh over speeding radial resonator

Hold still while I mark thy wings

With teeth of a million broken things

All approaching in a cloud

Of self deprecation and doubt

Testing confidence and resolve

With caustic corrosive salve

Till wings at joints do gently break

Falling to the earth with a grace that cannot be faked

My love

My metal winged beastie

Fly long and hard

All the way home to me

Safety

There ain't no party like a safety wire party!

With the gleaming wire a-twisting

And the safety wire pliers spinning

Quickly upon their Yankee screwdriver stalks

The sharp ends of wire sometimes winning

Leaving red angry smiles grinning

Upon their choice of the proud flesh

Just when you think you might be finished

You realize that you're just beginning

And it's only the first inning

What with all the things left to safety

Hungry as they are to injure your hands and fingers

Oh there ain't no party like a safety wire party

Product Sales

"Hello, 9-1-1?

Yeah, they're back"

The gangs were back in my area

Wearing their matching colors

With various decorations

Surely to mark all the terrible things they had done

They gathered on every corner it seemed

Even setting up outside of Wal Mart

Without raising an eyebrow

With everyone so seemingly inured to their activity

They want me to buy

But I resist

For I know that even one taste is doom

Little samples

In little cups

Handed out by little hands

Definitely getting into my personal space

And I tear myself away franticly

"Get away from me!" 

I snarl

And all the little Girl Scouts recoil from me

As if I were the mad one

Though they soon forget about me

And go back to selling their cooies

In their matching green outifits

With all of those little patches

North and South; Red and Blue

There once was a house on a hill
The people in the North could see it
And the people in the South could see it too
The people in the North said that it was red
But the people in the South said that it was blue

The North warred with the South
At every opening and opportunity
To prove that each's assumption was true
The North to prove that the house was red
The South to prove that the house was blue

Until one fateful morning
When each unbeknownst to the other
Had planned a behind the lines sneak attack
The Southern army looked South and saw that the house was red
And the Northern army looked North and saw that the house was blue

The one not understanding the other's view
Until standing in the other's shoes

Gription

The Gription's got ahold of you
Way down deep in the nethers
It's clamped on with patented teeth
Torquing down your many metal fetters

Soon Gription will be a part of you
Gripping your thoughts with a gentle grasp
With you always and forever
Until your last desperate gasp

Gription cannot be bought
In any common tool store or truck
It's earned with blood sweat and marrow
And not a small portion of good luck

Gription comes to those who desire it
With a thirst that has no quench
A twisted path of broken shiny things
Quietly called The Way of The Wrench

Copyrighted DMCA Takedown Notice of Everything

I'm copyrighting twenty-six things
The letters A through Z
Don't make me list them all
You aren't so stupid you can't see

Picture them in your head
I'll give you to the count of three
Even if you can't manage that
I'll give you this advice for free

I've got lawyers on the line
Numbered at about twenty
A whole law firm full
Unless it's their time to tee

It's not just my words that I'm protecting
It's all the damned letters too
Don't copy and paste lines or phrases
If you do you're through

DMCA takedown notices are on their merry way
To your mailboxes and inboxes
In their cease and desist devil may care jump into the fray
Making you pop out Benjamins like a flippy head Pez

All this shit here
It's mine
And everything else I might ever divine
So toss in the towel, author
Open a vein with your, quill poet

All the letters, words and phrases belong to me
You just don't know it

Burning Angel

Angel burning
Burning bright
Burning brightly in the night

Wings aflame
Heart aflutter
Turning legs
To melted butter

Skin but canvas
For ink varieties
Some deep and permanent
Others a biological temporary tease

Breasts heave
Loins ache as they will
Some in emptiness
Others in the urge to fill

All scenarios play out
In purpose found playgrounds
Sets for a hedonistic dance
Inundated in primal sounds

Players for the cause
Giving hearts a pause
With their beauty
Their passion
Their brilliance

Burning Angel burning bright
Sweeping away any vestige of sight
Leaving only one last image of you

Forever burned into now forever night

O Burning Angel

O Beacon of light

Tea With My Demon

"Just a tick my friend
I'll pour you a cup"

My hands make quick work of getting the clean white bone china cup and saucer out
Filling it gently with steaming tea from the pot
And holding it out gingerly to my demon
Who regarded me with guarded suspicion from across the small table

His all too stereotypical dark red hands
With even darker red long nails
Grasped the cup and saucer firmly
The nails clinking on the china with distinct individual clicks

He stared at me through the steam rising from his cup
I stared back at him
Falling into his beautiful red eyes

A sound distracted me from my almost-trance
Glancing at his cup
The tea was boiling furiously
Evaporating before my eyes

And then it was gone
Leaving only a brown residue in the bottom of the cup

I looked back up towards my demon's face
But that was gone as well

I was left with only the sound of the empty cup and saucer smashing to edge of the table
Then onto the floor in many pieces
And the unanswered question in my head
Of whether or not my demon had ever really been here before me
Or if he simply resided within me as he always has

I sipped my tea and thought about it a bit
And decided that I hoped he was just inside of me
For he never would be lonely
What with all my other demons cavorting about freely

Awaiting their turn to be dealt with on some other dreary tea filled day

I'm Just a Load

Strap me down or I'll fly away

Put tension on the nylon bands

Crank tight the anodized latches

Thrum the tautness with your hands

If this were an action movie

The Hero would stow away

Only popping out when the bad guys were near

Then cutting the tie downs with a Rambo knife

To see the black hat's eyes widen with fear

As the load shifts aft with a vengence

Propelled by the prop guy's tricks

Creating it's own momentum

Flying back to kick the baddies in the dicks

But this isn't a movie

And I'm just a load of interior parts

Bound for a factory in Flint

Though I can dream big

Of my fifteen minutes of fame there is no hint

Oh I'm just a load

A medium sized load

Riding this air ride trailer

A thousand miles on state funded road

Headache

Sword through my temples

Twisting gently with the pulse

The rhythmic push of blood

Pumping steadily from the heart

"Pain begone!!"

I cry to anyone that can hear

Though mostly it makes them edge away

Wary of the strange actions of one so near

I can place a chilled hand to the afflicted area

Causing momentary relief

Which just as quickly recedes

Replaced by the familiar throb of pain

Which gives no gain

Prompting me to wish the saying was different

Perhaps more like

"No gain, no pain"

But then that would be fair

Which is something that this life certainly is not
Although at least it gives us all something common to share
For pain of one kind or another is something that each of us has got

Rorschach

Two men standing back to back
Each wearing a red Devo hat
Shaped like a wedding cake atop their heads
Small bits of mustache straggled upon their lips

A split cat's face with horns topped with shoes
It's fancy cat eyes cursed with many hues
Staring into the observer's soul
A single strand connecting the two
A ready to blow at any second two amp fuse

A house divided
A boat busted in halves
Each a mirror of the other
The image of the other's cues

Two humans in orange hats
Sitting facing one another
Playing endless games of pattycake
Where the prize for the winner is just another card to view

Mothman approaching from the front
Stopping a robbery no doubt
With no Tick nearby to assist
It's doubtful he has any real clout

Two red uniformed policeman with one leg each
Running up the road to the Eiffel Tower
Flanked by giant blue bacteria and several banana peels
With a green bean man dead center at their heels

It's not my fault I don't see a simple butterfly
I really wish I could
There is just too much in each inkblot to summarize
Here, take a look at them
I sense you may have a wiser set of eyes

All Saints Day of The Dead

I wandered the crowded graveyard
Hardly able to see out of the sloppily aligned holes in my mask
While covered in a cheap shroud that crinkled noisily as I moved
Carrying an almost fluorescent orange pumpkin in one hand

From inside it was just an uncomfortable outfit
With plain white plastic mask pressing into my face
The rubber band rolling and pinching my hair on the back of my head

From outside I was Voltron
With the iconic face painted upon my mask
The robotic giant's body printed upon the plastic tarp smock I wore
All gotten on sale at Walgreen's the day before

"Trick or Treat, sir"
I chirped to a likely looking man floating by
Dressed in white robes with a shining halo hovering over his head

He looked at me with soft eyes
And only shook his head

So, no treat in my jack o' lantern bucket
I gave him a trick

Drawing my Voltron sword
I gave the cry of the Lion Force of the Universe
And swiped through the floating saint's wispy form
Scattering him slightly
Causing him to rush away from me
Gathering himself together and waggling a finger at me disapprovingly
Before turning once again to make his dignified way along the path

"Stupid Saints"
I muttered to myself
"Never having any candy....."

No time to dwell upon that now though
As I approached my next stop

The grave site of the Ramirez family
Holding six grave markers within it's iron fence arms
Now carpeted in flowers, smooth shiny stones and flickering candles
Little cups of liquor atop each marker

Four living members of the family sat amongst the flotilla of items
One reading a book
Two discussing deep matters
Another eating half of his dead cousin's offering sandwich
(Which was ok, as they shared everything when he was alive as well)

I waved to them after putting away my sword
"Trick or Treat!"
I called out cheerfully
And walked slowly around the outside of the iron fence
Holding out my treat bucket to each of them

The one that was reading the book looked at me thoughtfully
Then carefully removed a page from her book
Folding it once and dropping it into my bucket

"A treat for your mind"
She said with a smile

The two in deep discussion paused when I came to them
Each offering me a pretty stone from among the many that they had near them

"To ensure that you always stay grounded"
They pronounced before dropping them into my bucket with twin "Clunks!"

The boy who was eating offered me a bag of corn chips
The bag's silver coating catching the candle light just so

"May you never be hungry"
He mumbled through a full and chewing mouth

I thanked them very much before going on my way
A little further down the path
Towards the next family grave site
Hoping to avoid the various saints who were hovering around
As they were bummers who never gave anything
Save the occasional advice on living a pious life

This was truly one of the joys of young life
Trick or Treating on All Saints Day of the Dead

Twist Tie Still Life

A temporary framing of real still life
Of juicy red apple you could cut with a knife
Is it art or is it a pretense of?

Just another smartass fruit in the center square

Day of The Persistently Dead

The Lionel 681 engine chugged around in a big oval
Circling me repetitively
Chuffing it's fake Lionel smoke pill generated smoke
Trailed by it's Pennsylvania Railroad coal tender with electric whistle
Pulling a consist of Lionel freight to an unknown destination on the oval

The cheap cigarette hung from my lips
Smoking unceasingly
Chuffing it's cheap tobacco floor sweepings smoke
Trailing out my mouth and nose without much style
Pulling into my lungs the black death nicotine high

I also had a steak
Cooked just how he liked it
With melted butter on top
A big glass of milk

A radio playing classical music
Handel's Messiah with the volume knob at eleven
Looking to wake the dead
With all of his favorite things

On November first the heavens are supposed to open
So that they can spend time with their loved ones
And here I am
Armed with a few of his favorite things

But where is he?
Still persistently six feet below me

But it's not all a total loss
It's a beautiful day
I've got a toy train running around
Plenty of cigarettes
A glass of frosty milk
And a really great steak

And all the many memories
So it's almost like he is here

On this latest Day of The Dead