On Edge

Content or complacent

The words that whole nations sent

Teetering on edge

Debate of all the hem and hedge

Plunging down cliffside oceans

For fear of others’ heaving shuns.

 

I would not call you pent

But I think that we could name you spent

Rent or wrote on broken arms

Contentment is triumphant harm

Rendered at the end of wrestling gods—

Beyond the scope of mortal nods.

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Quotes of the Week

This week’s theme: Responsibility. Can you dig it?

“A man sooner or later discovers that he is the master-gardener of his soul, the director of his life.”
~James Allen

‘”It’s a question of discipline,” the little prince told me later on.  “When you’ve finished washing and dressing each morning, you must tend your planet.”‘
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince, 1943, translated from French by Richard Howard

“Most of us can read the writing on the wall; we just assume it’s addressed to someone else.
~Ivern Ball

And, for a touch of humor on the matter:

“Responsibility:  A detachable burden easily shifted to the shoulders of God, Fate, Fortune, Luck or one’s neighbor.  In the days of astrology it was customary to unload it upon a star.
~Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

Standardized

Just a moment

If you would—

Never dread the dedications

Just a moment for a lifetime

Bubble “D” for destiny—

All suits and servility,

Master of the masterless

Hordes your own deception

Initial here to sign

This life into the hands

Of an angry world.

Not to worry—

You weren’t using it.

* For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 33.

A Man, A King

What is a man but

Flesh and bone gave breath;

Such mortal beast

To buck beneath

The reins of my imagination.

Cry out for me, ye bloodied hands

I am the stones arise on emerald hills

My flesh the graven gold

Of toiling back and grinding axe.

My blood be thee and thine

All rivers flow to mine

Call me God, for all I see is all I am

A fire in the earth

Tempered in the sea of sable madness

Yet to swim, yet to circumnavigate

My ambition, this thing of steel

No land might ever satisfy

The hunger of my soul.

All songs, they sing for me

Each note a dirge unto my memory.

Each breath, praise, for it is mine divine

Providence, they say, a god-in-man

Whoso could ever hope to say

I could not turn the tides.

I am the horse that rides,

I am the bolt that flies,

I am the child that cries,

He whom only fate defies.

Behold my majesty and yet despair

Of he who masters everyone

And nothing, and no one, still.

For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!

Deception

Photo by Chris Galford

The fire dips beneath the azure sea;

All eyes turn to their own hands.

No one spies the serpents slithering

From the long stretched shadows

Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.

Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—

The straw cast down,

The crows descend.

Fruit rots and garden fades—

Ravens circle high above

The corpses of the fools.

Old men stir within their ancient tombs—

The dream is dead,

Another Rome, decayed.

For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 28.

Draft Notice

Inconspicuous paper,

deceive and demand–

a boy brings in the mail

to find a life in green,

dark script bares

far darker words–

what are my options

as the ink dries on his fingers,

like blood run down,

or casings raining black against the dawn.

Fields in the words

hold bodies broken,

but in the silent flight,

the flickering light–

a slower demise of

loneliness and stripes

surrounded yet

by wagging fingers; scathing scowls.

The smell of ashes

does not abate in breathing–

burn the scraps away

but your dearest Uncle has to say

you still have got to show.

To Dream

I soar

Unmoving

Over Emerald Fields

A bird upon the wind

As mere Humans cannot be.

I am the Shark

Within the waves

Of Mystery,

Unbidden.

I see the Depths

No Man was meant to see.

I am a Man

Within the city,

But the city falls

And I float through Chaos

Without Fear—

But I am not the Order.

I Create but cannot

Control

The Madness of my Mind.

Neither Walls nor Chains

Can hold me back.