THE POET EXPOSED

© Sean G. O’Leary 2023

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by the fictional addressing of sensitive personal or social issues. This book is not intended as a substitute for the advice of medical professionals. The reader should regularly consult an appropriate, recognized professional in matters relating to his/her physical and/or emotional health, particularly with respect to any symptoms that may require diagnosis or attention.

Introduction

I’ve often wondered what was in a poet’s or lyricist’s mind while reading their words. Were they writing fictitiously or reflecting on something real to them? Sometimes the message is obvious but the inspiration, unclear; and vice versa. Sometimes, I’ve felt I didn’t want to know, so I could take away whatever was sparked by the writer, no matter their intentions behind it. Other times, I’ve wished I had more insight into the writer’s motives and inspirations for writing, to fathom more about the ideas or feelings imparted.
I’ve been writing poetry and lyrics off and on throughout my life. Some for personal reasons to express something intangible, some for comedy and others for entertainment; fictitious or otherwise. And everything in between. Reading a piece always brings back the circumstances of the time or the context of my purpose for writing it.
But for you, they will interact with your own experiences and feelings in ways I could never predict. Potentially meaning something completely different from my original intention. It is for that reason I have written an appendix to this book. First, the poetry and lyrics; then an appendix of context and/or insights. If you find that reading the appendix entries detracts from your experience with the poetry as it is, then you have the option to ignore that part. But if your interested, I’ve written a short little blurb about many of them and indicated that with an asterisk next to the poem’s or lyric’s name, those which have an appendix entry.

The Poet *

The Poet is a writer, first,
an actor on the spot;
they tweak and twirl and twiddle,
’till they run you cold and hot.

Bending use of adjective,
worrying of plot;
crafting out a simile
with hyperbolic fraught.

Pacing over synonyms;
antonyms if jammed;
repurposing of idioms,
with word or two in hand.

Verbal inconsistencies,
conjugations bland,
or preposition overload;
for each a stanza’s canned.

Conjunctions for the metre,
contractions in a fix.
Allusion propped with metaphor,
and point survives the mix.

Interpretation fluid,
providing choice and picks.
Only giving dialog
with promises and licks.

Grinding out a character,
“Who hasn’t spoken yet!?”
Keeping track of every noun
presented in the set.

Laying bare, opposing sides,
goading you to bet.
Keeping secret dangers near,
pricking at your fret.

Juxtaposing syntax,
to rend your logic raw.
Making sure the coming be,
the thing you never saw.

Exercising licence, criminal of law.
Murderous of circumstance,
Bludgeoned time and place, askance,
Killing form in happenstance,
Slashing words at every chance,
Stabbing at your understance,
Bleeding you with every lance,
Shredding you with each advance,
Ending you with dagger’s glance.
To bury you below a dance
of tooth and phrase and claw.

Punctuated human hearts,
apostrophes of tears.
Semi-colon tensions
with staccato comma’d fears.

Periods release you,
take hands away from ears.
Comforting potential
and a change of wind appears.

A life of love, condensed to give
a cadence to the gale.
Toddler thoughts of love untold,
A teenage kiss in heather, rolled,
Caressing neck and bend and fold,
A needing for advancement, bold,
Commitment to be held and hold,
In warming sun or nights of cold,
In love enough to share a soul,
Respect enough for growing old,
With moments that define the whole,
in symmetry of tale.

Counterpoint in brazen view
for scope and depth and scale.
Drawing out comparison
to leave composure pale.

Then retrace their winding path,
to proof some tease or clue.
Leaving language breadcrumbs,
so you can follow through.

Foreshadowing completion,
“Please don’t say it’s true.”
Adding extra verses,
in encores one and two.

Tighten rhyming sequences,
as need or wont to do.
Recount the pace and syllables,
give in to beat and cue.

Adverbly tie up loose ends,
but leave some thoughts to stew.
So wrap it in their maxim:
Fully write for you.

Chapter 1
Philosophical

Something Wonderful *

I woke up with this feeling
that I do not want to shake.
I’ve nurtured it throughout the day,
I have to stay awake.
It is tenuous and fragile,
like a wave without a wake.
Like a poignant tune,
sung none too soon,
exclusive for my sake.

Something wonderful is coming,
I will try to tell you more.
Something imminent and wanted,
of that I’m doubly sure.
Something wished for in a moment
with a heart full, singly, pure.
A forgotten note,
sent out with hope,
is coming back ashore.

Like a chest of gold, now lost at sea,
I’ve not recovered yet.
Like inheritance from unknown folk,
I haven’t claimed to get.
Like a winning prize, for which I can’t
remember having bet.
Endowment unknown,
nature unknown,
bearer I’ve never met.

It could be friendship, love or itch;
it is coming, no pretences.
Something that I’ve wanted,
yet, my sight, a fog dispenses;
but blanketed mist that calms the sea,
perks the other senses.
Open to receive,
now as I breathe,
certainty condenses.

No question of deservedness,
no thought of future due.
No question of my ownership,
and wish to share with you.
No question of the circumstance,
I’ll take its being true.
No question of a deity,
or means its coming through.

I cannot stay awake much more,
my nurtured thoughts are waning.
I’ve circled through this feeling, fine,
without a simple naming.
Resolve and hope can vaporize
when thought refuses taming.
I’m ready for sleep,
restful and deep,
in certain mental framing:

Something wonderful has landed,
I will lullaby to moor.
Something precious, dear and wanted,
of that I’m triply sure.
Something wished for in a moment
with a heart full, singly, pure.
A forgotten note,
sent out with hope,
has dreamt its way to shore.

What Words *

What words would last a million years?
What notion lay they bare?
What sentiment, when one just hears?
Intent will persevere.

What thought can be so powerful?
Command both grunt and lilt?
Reduced to word and syllable,
invited to the hilt.

No language fails to give it sound;
no heart to make it true.
No parry, charge or circle round
can stop its coming through.

No lack of feat can hide its source;
no shame can hide its seed.
No anger ever lived, of course,
without it as its need.

It makes the weakling mighty;
and makes the mighty weak.
Can tame an endless fighting;
embolden who are meek.

No ego can outshine it;
no soul can own outright.
For all the days that pine it,
may surface in the night.

No action fines entitlement;
nor mishap forfeits due.
No suffering belittlement
can change that it’s for you.

No propping act can goad it out;
no beg can make it stay.
For powered, even lowly, lout;
each dog, yet, has its day.

No thanks can pay in total,
though deeds may pay a tithe.
It lives our lives, eternal,
enduring when we’ve died.

One gives it while one’s letting go;
the heir accepts, or not.
One, it takes, to make the show;
two to make the thought.

No love can guarantee it;
no hate exclude its growth.
We’ll know it when we see it,
but only in us both.

No want was ever stronger;
no gift so selfless great;
no concept will last longer…
save welcome for its grace.

Utopia’s a Pool *

When I look ahead,
Oh, I can see the future.
When I think my thoughts,
I can’t ignore my drive.
When I look at you,
I can see my nature.
But it’s not enough for us to just survive;
And unlike bees, we do not form a hive.

When I think of royalty,
it all becomes clear.
You and I are beautiful,
not driven just by fear.
We don’t need a deity; or a token fool.
We just need each other, friend; Utopia’s a pool.

When I look outside,
Oh, I can see distractions.
When I pull the shroud,
I can see the jester.
When the shell game starts,
on its hidden actions,
We will not succumb to peering pressure,
We will not agree that we are lesser.

When I think of ownership,
it all becomes clear.
You and I, both, live on Earth,
our default is to share.
“…on the shoulders of giants…”; that’s our vital tool.
We just need each other, friend; Utopia’s a pool.

When I think of instinct,
Oh, I can see the layers.
If we transcend the animals,
well, can we see the portents?
If no one can ascend the hill,
except the brutish players;
Flights of thought in science, art and ascents,
Are buried deep beneath the boot of torments.

When I think “Utopia!”,
it all becomes clear.
Of course, it’s not a place, as such,
and yet, resides right here.
Talking, now in riddles, please,
pull up your favourite stool.
We just need each other, friend;
Utopia’s a pool.
Imagination

Imagination, free and wild,
not just the purview of a child.

Bend science, language, future, love;
no branch of life may stand above.

See what’s not and wish it be.
Once dreams to cross uncharted sea.

Willing to be wrong,
uncaring if one’s right.
Bravery and courage
cross violence and might.

Status quo will sell it short;
establishment will blind.
The highest valued virtue,
leaves no thought left behind.

We all enjoy the fruits of thought,
measured in great tonnes of nought.

That flitting thought may yet convey
to save a thousand lives one day.

And though it can’t be true, it’s said,
no thought’s too big for any head.

It’s possible to make a truth
where none were there before;
if only may your musings reach…
that distant golden shore.

Imagination, laughed at now,
will shine in days to come.
May born in depths of self-made hell,
delivers kingdom-come.

And what of souls who have the birch
to thrash ideas through their search.

Relentless faith, despondent fear,
in naked truth, just standing there.

Or skirting edge of precipice
to see just how it works like this.

Willing to be the odd one out,
alone, left to explore.
Willing to expand the view,
despite no hint of more.

Creating hope in hopeless times,
pushing through the lies.
Stretching thought, exposing dreams,
bedazzling our lives.

Where Ideas Come From *

I receive the messages, in my dreams.
Or is that me, talking to myself?
Like a storm, the logic, squalls and teems.
And everything seems to make sense.

As I surface from slumber, panicked and wet,
The lap of ideas is real.
The shore’s out of focus, my mind’s in a fit,
My pride is in uneven keel.

I’m swimming to safety, I think just that.
As the undertow coaxes I stay.
I just need to see from the viewpoint of land,
Where everything washes away.

It’s useless to argue, but I do just that.
As I labour and wade through the wake.
Expert rebuffing, falls rather pat
And I argue for argument’s sake.

Yet messages follow, like dogs coming home.
Like children, they pull at my sheets.
And soon the ideas will seem like my own;
Slipped in alongside me in sleep.

A Wish for a Friend *

Can you sync with your desire?
Trickle or rage as paths require?
Small or large, you build a fire
That lights… but not a wash.

Can you ask for help, divine?
And follow whim where it may climb.
And know it comes in perfect time.
Awash… without the lights.

A chance event reveals the flow.
A sight, unseen, you cannot know.
Accept with thanks and quickly go.
Moving… through the glass.

Ocean streams will nudge you here.
And trade winds nudge them there.
With open mouth and port-hole stare,
The looking glass… has moved.

Can you see the flow of space?
The quiet heart betrays its pace.
The energy like knitted lace,
Entwines… and crosses paths.

The distance short, now bathe in warmth.
A connection will be birthed, of course.
May not know how, and not the source.
Our paths… are now aligned.

Companion *

I see you now, I see you then,
I see you yet to come.
You never end, you always are,
you never have begun.

Where you begin and I leave off
is spirit’s playful trick.
For you and I, the finest line
is shortened to the quick.

I sense when you are near to me
and so when you’re away.
Though justly few believe in such,
beholders have their say.

Aromas, faint; or tingling hair;
or flickers in the eye.
It’s only I can validate
from where they come and why.

In colours claim, I’m in your space,
where no eyes may exist.
Sight always ends, and bodies too;
yet, still, you do persist.

One might think that I would miss you,
your being gone and all;
and sometimes, yes, that might be true,
but hints of you still fall.

Yes, hints of you still fall to me
and light like butterflies,
and drink the nectar of my soul
from water in my eyes.

Yes, drink the nectar of my soul,
and brush my spores of love;
and carry them to trees of life
that only grow above.

That only grow above, you see,
but root in all below.
You keep in touch, mycelial;
with mine the choice to know.

Yes, mine the choice to know,
it’s true, and true to me are you.
Yes, true to me are you, I choose,
and choose for me, it’s you.

Same Stuff *

Cut from a cloth
and birds of a feather
Two of a kind
and petals of the heather.

Similar in caliber
shot from hero’s guns.
Same as laces tying shoes,
bolting on the run.

Dire tears rolling down
the landscape of a face.
Raindrops streaking windows
no matter where the place.

Notes of discord clanging
from rooftops far away.
Moans of yearning crying out
in beg for one to stay.

Screams of joy as waters splash
our children’s tiny frame.
Sighs escaped from tightened lips
when we are not to blame.

Chuckles from a cubby babe,
“umm” from sleeping loves.
The thumping notes of victory
and messages of doves.

“Yes” in win, “Yeah” in boast,
“Thank you” in receipt.
“Aha” in understanding,
“I’m Sorry” in defeat.

“There there” upon the shoulder.
“Kiss kiss” upon the neck.
Or any other life vignette
as deals emotions’ deck.

No matter how I put it,
we both are just the same.
Through time and space appearances
of body and of name.

Dove Brigade *

The crows, they came to warn me
of the pending winds of doom.
And the coming of the Dove Brigade,
arriving none too soon.
The warring-time agenda
was simple all for form:
Choose a mate, move in flocks,
brave the coming storm.

Fire breathing nemeses,
with wings of boney mail,
each baring hardened fangs of death
and serpentine-like tail.
To own the skies, and so the land,
and all its precious crop;
With violence and dominance,
and will that does not stop.

The Dove Brigade would thwart the threat
before it even starts.
And turn the vicious breath of fire
to warming as from hearths.
The plan was short, in principle,
yet grand in its intent;
engage the fledgling dragons
to wield for other bent.

The optimistic younger souls
will bring the coup de gras.
Informed of tending fallow fields
that merit burning straw.
And needs of paths through bramble tight
for flow both dry and wet.
And joys of love and friendship
that they’ve not imagined yet.

As fledglings tend the roosting whelps
while mothers fly to war;
a generation overturn
will visit future-ward.
The optimistic younguns,
still blessed with hearts of saint;
will call their kin, “Return to Roost”
in cadence, salient.

Water

Water waits for no one
and few wait more than it.
The ultimate in patience
untaming in a fit.

Sculptor of millennia,
a trickle carves a cave.
Seconds suffer no one,
in paths of tidal wave.

Flexible, beyond compare;
like rock when hit at speed;
deathly take your breath away;
yet sate a planet’s need.

Icy rocks, adrift in space;
pools of deep blue sea;
vapour-mist in nebulae;
flesh in you and me.

Trident of the elements:
power; double life.
Together in eternal dance,
Daughter, father, wife.

Peace is Like an Ocean

Peace is like an ocean
And we are all a drop.
Mighty and in motion
Through nothing will it stop.

Through waves of generation
On rocks of fight and hate,
The borders of each nation
Surrender and abate.

There is no other option
So give in to its tide;
Your placid, calm adoption
Will trickle ocean-wide.

Red Deer River

Peaceful Red Deer River
Disintegrates the land
As it babbles by

Not knowing its own power
Makes children laugh
As it babbles by

Witnessing in eons
Unstoppable force
As it babbles by

Drunk up by the land
It feeds throngs of people
As it babbles by

Never asking in return
Yet takes what it wants
As it babbles by

As it babbles by
Look on with love
It takes nothing

First Sight of Love *

I saw a tree, so many leaves
An abundance of leaves

I saw a caterpillar, so many leaves
An abundance of leaves

The tree stood still
And let the caterpillar eat its fill

The caterpillar nuzzled the tree
And thanked it for its support and protection

The big tree was so kind
The little caterpillar was so grateful

The caterpillar fell to the ground
At my feet to my amazement

The beauty of the caterpillar made me smile
And I suddenly felt the sun on my body

I looked up at the tree
I saw the sun grace its form

The caterpillar did not run away
But showed me the folds of its beautiful skin

It nuzzled onto my hand
Thanking me for its support and protection

I ran home and burst in with joy
My mother’s smile shone down on my body

She stood still and let me tell my fill
I nuzzled her for her support and protection

She was so kind
I was so grateful

I had come to her feet
To her joyous amazement

I looked up at her
I could see my sun grace her form.

I am a tree, so many leaves
An abundance of leaves

Trees

The trees have personality;
Stand proud as just themselves.
With family and their relatives,
Resemblance, it tells.

Tree children and their next of kin,
They join the earth and sky.
They divvy up the nutrients,
And share without a cry.

They’ve space for one another,
And mingling below.
No obvious begin or end;
And so, they stretch and grow.

One touches on another one
And others in the weave.
Like busy city market squares,
Slow pruchase, tip and please.

But no one steps on other’s toes,
The concepts don’t exist.
That give and take, all underground,
Sprouts beauty that persists.

So up above, in sun and rain,
Exchange of life grows out.
Animals of race and creeds
Respond to silent shout.

A rabbit hides behind a trunk.
A cat avoids a squall.
A dog digs up forgotten bones
From last year’s autumn fall.

A bee comes by for flower juice.
A spider spins fine lace.
A squirrel gathers pockets full.
A deer trims ’round tree waists.

A caterpillar eats its fill.
A bird makes home and nest.
All in this process, cleans the air
And gives our very breath.

Theologic *

You’re East of me, my right side tingles
I face the North, the dipper sprinkles
We meet in space where nothing fits
We sit and laugh where no one sits

Who would believe we never have met
No proof and no papers, no pictures, no net
All truth is not written nor experience logged
If I know it has happened, who’s to say I am wrong

If I know it has happened, who’s to say I am wrong
Future or past is a language device
If I say it has happened, who’s to say I am wrong
This one or that one, or some other life.

I’ve known you supple, I’ve know you tanned
We were a couple, we had a band
On an eve, connection made
Short bright lights, skyward wade

I’m West of you now, your right side tingles
You face the South where Orion mingles
Reach your arm and hook in mine
Defying space, defying time

You don’t know me but you feel me there
In your heart and in your hair
Set down your drink and focus this line
Come now to meet me, in any time

Search me out and find you are right
Sherlock Holmes into the night
Believe I have existed and existed all along.
If you say it has happened, who’s to say you are wrong

If you say it has happened, who’s to say you are wrong
“Before” and “After” are parts of logic
If we say it has happened, who’s to say we are wrong
We are theologic.

Seventh Sense *

If you’re skating or your biking,
There’s a lesson here to give.
If you’re dancing or your hiking
It reflects the way you live.

Microcosms of the moment
Is where it all begins.
Will you go for it or blow it,
Will you bail or just dig in.

Practice at the way you play,
Give ’er all and don’t relent.
It’s training for your day-to-day,
To use your seventh sense.

Chapter 2
Satirical

Miss Remember *

Why have I come to the kitchen,
and what have I done with my wine.
I cannot recall why I’m bitching,
I may well be losing my mind.

I call up dear Sophie to help me
and find she’s been dead this 10 years.
Her husband so sadly informed me,
I left the poor man drowned in tears.

I rattle the dog leash for Rufus,
he hasn’t appeared in an age.
I know he is somewhere, still with us;
my heart knows the truth like a sage.

My daughter, I feel, now has children;
my son, I sense, lost all his hair.
The love of my life, handsome Milton,
is haunting his favourite chair.

Though not sure if, ever, I married,
deep down I know what went on.
The bleed-through is leaving me harried;
which side of whose life am I on?

Reality matches in morning,
by evening it’s gossamer-thin.
I’ve so much to tell that’s is boring.
I’ve no clue, where, now, to begin.

My mind can contain a loose tether,
on memories, people and pets.
That life, it goes on, now and ever;
is clear, but too much to digest.

Always, I’ll be who I will to be,
whether or not it makes sense.
And always my loved ones are with me,
despite it disintegrates tense.

Inherited Fame *

I keep coiffured hair
and don runway clothes.
I’ve got waxed private spaces
and a million dollar nose.

I’m diamond studded, tastefully,
and ringed in special places.
I’m the envy of the older crowd
with all their lifted faces.

I can smile without a feeling,
but it hits you to the bone.
I’m the idol of your children
and I permeate your home.

Accessories, designed by me,
are worn the world around.
I impress your dull awareness
without a single sound.

I can blog without a point
and talk without a meaning.
I’ve got vlogs with Dali Lama
and videos on preening.

My sex tape was an instant hit,
with all penchant presented.
So all can want to want me,
with all bent represented.

I crush on social media
and trend at every turn.
I handle all my hecklers
with four degrees of burn.

The haters keep their distance,
the lurkers bide their time.
The lovers think they own me,
but everyone is mine.

I work with all the movers,
and shake with all the best.
The icons want to be with me
to keep their lives abreast.

I’ve learned from all the ropes,
now I’m pulling all the strings.
I’m the owner of the future
and I plot the shape of things.

A Chance Meeting *

She can read entire stories
from the lines around your eyes.
She can see your past digressions
through the cracks in your disguise.
She can tell your future failures
and the paths to your demise.

She knows her part
in the night-life cosmic scheme.
She knows so much
of what you think remains unseen.
She can’t be touched,
like a polished figurine.
You’ll leave a mark
with an oily, greasy sheen.

She can tell the room a story
and you feel it is your own.
She can give away a secret
that is hitting close to home.
She can smile a micro-second
that’s for you and you alone.

She see’s right through,
the veil of normalcy and calm.
It’s just you two,
amid the swirl of all that’s wrong.
She’s by your side
as the music rolls along.
With just a look,
it is instantly “your” song.

She can make you feel you know her
or she’s known you all your life.
In a minute she’s your best friend,
in an hour, she’s your wife.
But when, for her, it’s over,
you just get on with your life.

The circle’s run
and it’s wrapped around your wits.
You thought you knew
but somehow, sadly, nothing fits.
Was in your mind,
you must admit and laugh at it.
Your place taken,
where you thought that you would sit.

She can make you feel a stranger,
like nothing really clicked.
One more word and you’ll estrange her;
it’s not like you were hitched.
With just a look you now enrage her;
a chance meeting such as this?

Jake *

What is more important
than you being here with me?
I have all the insight
of a spirit that is free.
Push against me, hard,
so that I know that you are there.
Grab my nape with meaning,
like a mother’s forceful care.

You know everything revolves around togetherness.
You know every moment lives in its foreverness.
Memory is useless to produce a brand new start.
Forgivingness, forgetfulness, cleanse the lykened heart.

Take me with you when you go,
Let me smell so I can know,
Let me mark so I can be,
Give me leash so I can see.

I will lay just here,
so I’m at least this close to you.
You will sit right there,
so you can do what you must do.
When the distance feels too great,
I’ll nudge you with my nose.
If you’re too far gone to notice,
I’ll nibble at your toes.

I’ll give you some respite
while I grind a marrowed bone.
All I ask is throw it,
so I know I’m not alone.
It tastes much more delicious
when I know that it is mine.
Then you can grind you own,
until it’s happy walking time.

Give me routine in my day,
Let me know that you will stay,
Give me bedding I can keep,
Come and pet me while I sleep.

The pack is simple, you and yours,
are now a part of me.
Though we eat in different places,
it is plain for all to see.
We share our warmth, we share our roof,
we share our mealtime breath.
We have our jobs, we stick to them,
I clean the kitchen mess.

I schedule all my naptimes
to coincide with yours.
I am there, dependably,
when you are at your chores.
No stink or mess or movement foul,
is anything but ours.
I’ll defend our homestead,
both day an night-time hours.

I am strongest when you’re with me,
You are safest by my side.
Even at a distance,
I know you feel my pride.

Perfect Cups of Tea *

I drink my final cup of tea
on death-bed at death-door.
I can’t escape my steaming thoughts
of how I could have more.

I’d commissioned that a smile be drawn,
a thoughtful distant stare.
Refused to pay the rendering,
when failed to see it there.

Engaged the best composers
to express in flights of bird.
Yet, did not cry the beauty
in the way when I first heard.

Demanded simple joys be forged
in clay and bronze and steel.
Then smashed the clay-molds back to dust
when, joy, I did not feel.

While histrionic shrines of life
perch, perfect, on their stands,
missing gifts of normalcy
keep running through my hands.

Those things one cannot order,
instruct, or bend to will;
such are stars and trees and wind;
and smiles of free good-will.

Searching for the stimuli
that I have once espied,
has left a gap, abysmal deep,
exposing my insides.

My perfect cups of tea, you see,
are rendered on my walls.
Marking fish that got away
and petty conquered squalls.

This, my failing glory,
and that, my almost-win.
The stories that the stains can tell…
oh, where do I begin.

The splatter by the baseboard,
reminds me of the day,
I promised to myself to have
all souls within my pay.

That mess beside the door-frame,
oh, how could I forget;
a botched design to force a fool
to renege on a bet.

There, I lost a friend and wife;
and dominated foe.
Here a stolen ransom
for a truth I shouldn’t know.

Observe my missed revenge attempts;
all gaping second graves.
Witness competition,
those low-life, scoundrel knaves.

Behold, demands for justice;
resolve for things unsaid;
all sleepless nights of dark regret,
yet steeping in my head.

My past ran down my paper walls,
my futures’ lost and wasted.
If only I had stopped to drink,
what joys might I have tasted.

The Defence of Scrooge *

Now wildness has necessity
to come and have its say.
Graced, I asked for providence
to intervene its way.

I’ve lived in tailored clothing,
the finest satine silk.
And cafe meets with almond crepes
and honey flavoured milk.

Important work, with things to do
and people to be seen.
Deadlines to accomplish,
my In-Box to keep clean.

Stocks to judge and bottom-lines
and pay to usher out.
Smiles of grateful workers,
“Hurrah!”, as one they shout.

Lorry’d docks, preparing goods
for customers afar.
Signing my approval,
I rolled by in car.

My chauffeur said, “It’s getting late,
let’s get you home and warm.
There’s no sense musing pressures
with the coming, vicious, storm.”

Oh, hindsight hath a way with words;
and irony with sight.
A thousand times I would re-do
that unassuming night.

“No, let’s go back.”, I said to him,
“I’m worried for the staff.”
His face went white, his knuckles too.
I didn’t know the half.

“No, please, kind sir,”, entreated he,
“let’s hurry like the wind.”
“No, no,”, I said, “I cannot rest.
Return! I must go in.”

Resign-ed sigh, deflated moves,
he spun the wheels, return.
Resolve did douse his fiery thoughts,
but didn’t ease the burn.

His head moved not, but shook somehow;
his shoulders gave away,
“I’ll bring you back to do some things,
but surely, do not stay.”

“…but surely, do not stay.”, he said.
I hadn’t heeded he.
And I was ever changed for that
what I was nigh to see.

Because we took the front way in,
the staff were not aware.
And neither did I know, right then,
what really went on there.

Though wafts of chuckled laughter,
made way though office walls,
dismissing waves of chauffeur’s hand,
repeated dampened stalls.

Eventually, dismissed no more,
I had to see myself.
With eyes, he gave away his fear…
my key-ring on the shelf.

Now bravery is not a word, nor rash,
describes my brand.
So crept, did I, to key-hole small,
an peered to understand.

What worried he, to give his face,
such pallor, shaded green?
I was now to witness
what I wish I’d never seen.

…

Since that day I’ve vowed to pinch
and squirrel my all away.
Those ingrate louts, ungrateful hacks,
their wills I will now sway.

“Scrooge!”, they sang with raucous laugh
and poet’s licence free.
Thankless of their wages,
laid on their desks by me.

“Scrooge!”, the sang, and “Happy Days!”,
and “Welcome for some Cheer!”
I will show them, proper,
not an eye without a tear!

Catz Speakz *

I learned a little secret
from my cat the other day.
I must forewarn, she adds a ‘z’,
whatever she may say.

She said to me, “I do not carez
“if you’re bluez or meanz or happyz.
“That given chance, I always triez
“to jumpz into your lappyz.

“If I can’t right nowz, or can’t todayz,
“there always is tomorrowz.
“I always knowz and thinkz I can
“and never dips to sorrowz.

“It’s warmthz and comfortz… happiness,
“on which I putz my focus,
“that gives my cat-world mysteryz,
“defines my hocus-pocus.”

The Blues Done Right *

I woke up this morning but my woman wasn’t there.
All that was left was the smell of her hair,
on the pillow that was wet with her tears.

She said she would stay the night here with me
and sing my blue lines in b-flat and c
and throw away all her cares.

Sadie burnt a hole in me
And left nothing but a hotel room key.
Sadie burnt me with tire tracks.
Stole my Chevy and she ain’t coming back.

She said she would leave that New York tycoon.
We’d leave for St. Louis on the fast train at noon.
We would sing up our blues all the way.

She said that the money meant nothing to her.
That he couldn’t understand how we were.
But my wallet is empty today.

Sadie burnt a hole in me.
As the cigarette smoke wafts away.
Sadie burnt me with the hottest hope
As I heard my sweet Chev peal away.

I guess I’ll be playing Memphis Joe’s here all right.
And book this stale room one more night.
I’ll land a rich gal from the bar.

I’ll pour out my soul on the small dancing floor.
I’ll look for the eyes that are crying for more.
And burn some fresh heart of my own.

Sadie burnt a hole in me.
I promised myself it’s never to be.
Sadie burnt me with smouldering eyes.
But I burnt her with a mirror of lies.

Chapter 3
Dark and Rant

Endless Possibilities *

You think you know me… You think we’ve met.
I look familiar… to you.
A long lost ally… a faithful pet;
I look familiar… to you.

A teenage girl… a pre-teen boy;
I’m what you want… to see.
You want a twirl… you want a toy.
I’m what you want… to see.

Father’s dead, Mother’s dead;
They farmed us out to friends instead… of love.
Sister’s dead, Brother’s dead;
They couldn’t take abuse instead… of love.
Neighbour’s dead, friend’s are dead;
They stood and watched it all instead… of love.
Those not dead, they’re in my head;
And I return the gift instead… of love.

I lure you in… but with respect;
You’re hypnotized… with lust.
It feels like sin… you don’t suspect;
You’re hypnotized… with lust.

I drug your wine… and as a game;
You’re chained up to… my bed.
Now you’re mine… now say my name;
You’re chained up to… my bed.

The tortured soul… that you don’t own,
Will soon be your’s… to have.
It’s dark and cold… your wish for home;
Will soon be your’s… to have.

You hurt and flail… you scream in fright;
You beg me not… to live.
But not until… you taste the bite;
Of medicine… you give.

No Remorse *

I have the thought, I take the act,
consequence be damned.
I satisfy my basest urge
despite who’s left to stand.

They are my thoughts, they are my acts;
who’s to rule my way?
Forget the now, forget the past;
remorse will stay at bay.

Except those imps in solitude
that creep and slither in;
the rest are victims all their own
and I am sure within.

Why ponder on philosophy,
morals, right and wrong?
Unhesitant, decisive acts
tell who is weak and strong.

Friends are overrated
and “loved ones” much the same.
If you encounter me, dear soul,
you’ve dealt into my game.

Where rationale is solely mine,
and logic follows through.
The cards my fall where ought they might
but I will trump on you.

It’s said reflection comes at death,
no matter ilk or type.
But, that’s a balm for weaker sorts,
to me it’s so much hype.

I must get them before they me,
relentless… my career.
A lonely craft of vigilance,
my voices… all I hear.

Paranoid *

Following a line of thought,
Jumping to conclusions,
Secret plans of sabotage
with malice and collusions.

Deep cabals of torment
Entwine the fractured mind,
Splitting logic structures
of sequence and of time.

A harmless cough becomes a slant.
“Um-Hum” betrays deceit.
Suspicions become certainty,
decisions rise to meet.

Conviction spawns the actions that
remorse won’t justify.
For ownership of end result
must shirk or flat deny.

But how are notions nurtured
That have no mass or weight?
Momentum’s apparatus
most surely creates fate.

Feel Good Evil *

Feel good evil take the stage
when hurting hearts are kept in cage.
A slight remark to bolster presence,
devolves to tear down lives.
Sensibly, one turns an ear
on blather come from far or near;
But, yet, an opined slur survives,
and, yes, it even thrives.

Sparkled whisper hides the source
when said with all respect, of course.
Truth be told or truth be sought,
hardly seems to matter.
Practically, the rationale…
to pin the target on the tale;
But few seem have the eyes to scope
the blinding path of natter.

Maybe it is pecking order,
or lines be drawn to mark a border.
But at their base, it’s plain to see,
they lack security.
“Insightful” slant makes them feel
more important than a heel;
Under which, their shaking hope…
invisibility.

Put the focus over there,
keep all eyes from looking here.
If busy sorting out the lies,
they won’t produce their own.
The formula of unearned tears,
for millennia, and more, of years.
The hidden twist will only bring
prestige bought on a loan.

The secret word to confidant,
who’s known for talking as they wont;
will spread as innuendo
until someone finally blurts.
Full circle comes the story,
and they needn’t had to worry;
For the target of the tale, it’s sure,
misjudgement sorely hurts.

But over time, those wounds do heal;
if with some pain as scabs do peel.
And freshened, thickened skin will grow
with minimum of scars.
Then life returns to sweeter talk
for those who slander doesn’t balk.
And sweeter acts must follow as
with engines do their cars.

But with that time their lies do pyre,
and truth or tale get lost in mire.
Employment to maintain the two
takes every waking hour.
The recognition, dearly sought,
dwindles down to nigh on nought.
And all the “winning” moments “won“,
will, to a day, turn sour.

Among us friends a fib may tender;
keep a peace, or family member;
Fabricate, and cross the line,
you surely will force rent.
And so with groups and so with nations,
at least the “patriotic” patrons;
Where lies are truth if you ’re to live
and that with full enforcement.

White Sheep *

Drybot, wetbot, elevator, crane;
simeye, simear, when the future came.
Simple to imagine, difficult to bide;
harbingers of hopefulness can take you for a ride.

Squarerule, slide rule, calculator, scale;
dead-weight, paperweight, holding down the tale.
Talk on open wires, feel in open air;
promises of hopefulness will make you want to care.

Yes sir, no sir, 1984;
poly-sci, politics, life never like before.
Possible conditions, scenarios of hate;
contemplating hopefulness can never come too late.

Uniforms *

Uniforms can make us one,
can make us “us or them”.
Can carry weight and bravery,
sewn, deep, within the hem.

Command respect or hate or fear,
insignia will guide.
In cutting crease and beaded seam,
the politics will hide.

On lifeless corpse or beamish boy,
the cut reveals its mark.
Looks good in life, as good in death,
it’s good for romance spark.

Inspires trust and friendship,
without a big affair.
Simplifies your choices,
suspends your conscience, fair.

Safe to follow, safe to help,
safe to clear a mine.
Instant understanding,
lest thinking cloud the mind.

Critical *

You raped my eyes and ripped my soul
Your shocking words spoke volumes.
You said the truth and stated whole
In psycho-babble doldrums.

The range of action one enjoys
Can frighten many strangers.
A simple habit, harmless coy,
Mistaken having dangers.

Eccentric twist or slanted view
We all will entertain them.
But actions for our friends or few?
Intended to sustain them.

So easy to mistake the whole
With magnifying glasses.
No sentence can contain a soul,
No logic hold the masses.

Where Are You Going *

People and their wasted plans
I guess sometimes myself,
Molding lives with expert hands
Then put them on a shelf.

Bridging gaps to goalless shores
No foresight, no restraint.
Planning love but lacking mores
Pictures without paint.

Don’t take me wrong, abandon’s good
When played with love in mind.
But build no bridge with rotten wood
Results will seem unkind.

Build your bridge to skies so wide
But keep your eyes on land.
Make sure you want the other side
Obtained by your own hand.

Indians of Lorethe *

These men, they sail in wood so grand,
In little boats they come to land.

They offer things no one has seen
And ask for water fast and clean.

We drink with thanks from earth’s reserve.
They have no thanks but “He” they serve.

They cannot show this “He” they state.
“She’s” everywhere from moon to lake.

They put a cross upon her hill
And praise this man who’s tortured ill.

They put a cross into our home
And place a block of kneeling stone.

And touch their hearts, these deathly men,
And nod their heads and say “Amen.”

They worship death and pain and woe
And cannot see earth’s give and grow.

My wife and child, they also see,
This trespass of their misery.

But I will look upon this “His” face
And learn some lesson for my race;

And tell my wife and child of three;
And tell my whole society.

That “Earth” is not replaced by “He.”
“She’s” still alive and we still free.

Chapter 4
Lament

In the Moments When I Wake Up *

In the moments When I wake up
I can feel you In my bed.
As the light dawns Through the window
I lay plans for Far ahead.

As the sunspots Dance around me
I can sense you In the air.
Though I’m blinded By the morning
I just know you’re Lying there.

We will shower Filled with laughter.
We will brush our Gleaming smiles.
We will watch each Other preening.
While we’re mulling Over styles.

We’ll have breakfast By the window
As the warming Day begins.
We will banter Uneventful
In our world that’s Free of sins.

We will part ways For the long day
With an eye for Evening sun.
We are certain All will go well
As our day has Just begun.

Life is perfect Like a picture
Not a hair is Out of place.
Life is simple Like in movies
Perfect rhythm Perfect pace.

But the shadows Of the landscape
They begin to Disappear.
I can make out Something distant
That I cannot Fully fear.

As my planning Starts to settle
Like the dust motes On the sill;
My eyes adjust To morning light,
I suspect that All’s not well.

Through cracks in sleep, My crusted eyes,
They begin to See the day.
Through wells of tears I see my fears,
And I cannot Look away.

My bedsheets stained With weep and sweat
And they smell of Me alone.
I’ve done no wrong. I’ve done my best.
Yet I feel I Should atone.

Eternal Life *

Death is but a single note
in a symphony of life.
A simple passing through a door
from a room left filled with light.

Like learning on a bicycle
Afraid of letting go
And next all you can think of
is a handless, waving show.

Your first dip under water,
Can’t bring yourself to bear
Yet once it’s done, you cannot find
The source, nor trace, of fear.

Like stepping out to darkness
And feeling all alone
Yet turn around, through lighted glass,
Your folks and happy home.

And though they cannot see outside
For the light you left in wake.
They always have a candle
For your love and for your sake.

And as you walk away from home
And candles fade from sight.
You’ll realize, more life’s ahead,
More souls to lift and light.

So do not worry death my friend
Don’t give it second thought.
Turn your sights to living things,
Those gems in what you’ve got!

No, do not worry death my friend
Of any sort or type.
They’re smallest in proportion
In your eternal life.

Legacy *

As sun shines through the clouds of life
Like angel paths of love and light
Their warmth will touch us dear and strong
Their passing seems, not quite so long

One can’t mistake the message, clear
Our life is full of love, right here
And overseen, from loves of past
Our present loves are sure to last

So celebrate, our lessons learned
And satisfy all that we yearn
And show those souls, who’ve moved on high
Their love’s not lost on you and I.