Tick-Tock Say the Eyes

Tawny pain erupts behind

clock-round pools ticking down the mind

to happiness on leather fields,

for grace and fashion yields

the morbid taste of bovine trance

fit for costumes in the sequined dance;

and men will know and beasts will cry

that all that lives must also lie

beside the shifting brook

bleeding fragrant fights into the nook

hidden from heart, hidden from sight

waiting for the peacock light

by which a hammer quakes

and restoration trembles where conscience wakes.


Familial Debate


Why is it I should wait?

Wait too long and it will be too late–

there is a world in front of me,

perhaps you’re just too old still to see

there’s nothing I can do as but a boy,

I’m nothing more than the world’s toy

it takes a man to travel

and in unfettered heights to revel;

why do you hate me so?

Why do you treat me as a babe so low?

I want to learn, I want to help

I want to be more than a fleeting yelp.


What would you call a yelp?

Why are you so eager to join the kelp?

Swim, swim away from time;

oh, what I wouldn’t give to know again the easy rhyme

you name stagnation

in your howl for the abdication

of the innocence of love and play,

oh child, no, if only you could hear me pray–

I pray for you and for your soul,

a soul from me the world so stole–

perhaps it’s curse you never could

know there’s no return to bartered childhood.

This Plane’s Going Down…

Little bird let fly

Don’t you dare lie

Beside me in the grave,

I dug this cave

For me and not no other,

Smothered myself and fled my brothers;

Enslaved, if you will,

I know it’s no Seville,

But it’s my soul at the reckon,

And that wreckin’s beckoned,

And try as I might,

I’m dying of fright

Of life and of you,

Engrained on me as a stinging tattoo.

Won’t do us no good to wonder,

Tip our heads to call the thunder;

I’m already killin’ myself slowly,

Me, wholly unholy

And I’ll not see you follow me whereby

Your own bitter end supply.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a strong and supportive community.  Enjoy!

To Whom it May Concern


Quite the rest for me

Put far from mine own hand

A tourist in a foreign land.


May invoke a wait;

Still, not quite the range

Or any real sense of change.


Quite the instance;

Do what you will

Any need fulfill.


Is quite random

But worry, worry

Leaves the future quite so blurry.

Decisions, decisions.