The weight of the world

My pockets are empty, no rocks for my swim today
I am armed still with each of these quartered limbs

The rope swing resembles a gnoose, or a snake
the mongoose was always me, miss identified

Eucalyptus tendrils squeeze out mentholated breezes
calling the monarchs, two come to court, tagging up in streamers

Perched in the sappy pines a murderous row becomes a mob,
volume and black plagues grow from the chain mail gang

Humming while hovering over a well, the nectar inebriates
bird and bee still in recovery, stalling in their stupor mid-air

The drum roll of wind, corralling the dead, noting the tenor of leaves
swirling in symphonic disharmony, sloughing and buffing scales

Laser beams between tall pillars scorching the dirt, releasing the
essence, crushing the spice revives, in particulates burnt alive

The serenity of the lakeside: The tranquility of Tantalus
eternally reaching, mute preaching, still teaching all of us.



Image credit:By Extemporalist (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Chasing our tails

The problem with the pursuit of happiness
                                     is that it is;
                                     a toil ridden sweaty hot pursuit,
                                     a source-less slippery stench,
One that chases after happiness forgot it's too fast to catch.

Instead we chase our tails, catching a whiff
of a finish line reminiscent of balderdash.

As school children, we are taught in P.E.
                                    that running is healthy,
being faster is better, stronger and longer are nonpareil-
                                    little champions know about the first loser.
While perfecting running on empty in inalienable circles-
                                   where spirals suck you in.
The starting line begins,
                                    when we race time.
We play tag, choosing the easiest one to get,
                                    then let the others worry about “It”.
When we graduate into adulthood,
                                    recess and foot races are no longer requisite,
we only exercise our volition
                                    when we are being chased, 
as the object of hot pursuit.

So many wonder if they chose the wrong path that leads
                                     to a dead-end having no thru exit.
All of our roads are dead-ends.
So many are sick and tired 
                                     of being sad and fat.
Anchored with obesity to our happy oblivion,
                                     sedentary, leaden with obligation,
dwellers in the city of Circumstance,
                                     in slums with condemned hearts-
they should move-
                                     but are often frozen in icy ennui.
One must be cold before searching for fire.
Burning bridges from Discontent on the way out,
                                      a one-way ticket is the only available option-
blurring what's left of a vacant vista, right-
                                      no longer
where you left it.
The right of hot pursuit,
                                       is just an alternate route.
You must know what you seek,
before Happiness gives you a peak.


Image of painting by Giulio Romano [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Mars chasing Adonis from Venus's Pavillion.