Silent H

If I tried to hide something from you,

would you know?

Would you become suspicious,

or let it go?

If I no longer listened to your voice-

don't you think it would be by choice?

If I argued with everything you said,

wouldn't this make our conversations dead?

If I began sneaking around,

would you begin peaking around?

If I were stockpiling and recycling secrets-

would it whet your whistle to relax your own rules-

Let's

pretend we are still fools...

If I keep playing the oblivious game,

would you keep dealing villainous blame

Excuses?

Nothing is fair in love and truces;

someone's got to give

and someone's going to live

Honestly.

Painting by Delphin Enjolras [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Half-wit Habitat

They came to me too,
just like you, the birds and the water,
serenity instead of sheep.

Yet the insistent migration,
predictably precisely on
Time,
became
beyond mesmerising.

Understanding holding your breath,
sonar is like sleep talk, let me translate,
Chosen few.

Including the enduring frigate flyer
over vast continents of saltwater-
suspended
with nary a place to land and nest.

A rare sight does not make it fantasy,
pteridactyls still soar
for weeks and weakly
catch flying fish in the skyway,
Survivor skills.

Flocks and pods abound,
we in the middle-straddled here
gasping for air, too bloated to fly
and in one eye,
masterminds
one half at a time.
Meanwhile, we Sleep
grazing.




Painting by François Boucher, Arion on the dolphin, (1748) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Plan B

All had gone according to Plan-It was confirmed.
Who made the Plan?
The one with the most Experience.
If they were experienced, why make a plan?
Things don't always go-
according to Plan,
even if it has been done (before).
Is this a new ending?
It is only the beginning.
We must Start over.
In the end...
(pursuant).


Drawing By John Bunyan [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Full Title: A Plan of the Road From the City of Destruction to the Celestial City, Adapted to The Pilgrim's Progress, 1821.

Rhymes with Bucket

As an echo gargles the ells
Is that All
                 I've got
given it  _  All-
-pulled back, squint in-
        -tensed up-
Un-wound,
I begin to see specifically
out of line
drops
in
the bucket...
...
..
.
By the way: (I lost sight of mine
I, me-I, me, mine
and All those
hollow no's)

Enough is Enough
to go around
for each of us plus
it's All superfluous.

Half-full, half-baked,
half-witi-schism-
wrung wry
and completely empty I be,
sufficiently still sere here
unilaterally.


Image By FOTO:Fortepan — ID 92566:  Adományozó/Donor : Unknown. [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Land-locked (West verse-us East)

There was never a poem
not about we
There was no ocean
to be sensed
in the fog settling
pre-dawn
There could never be
beauty
without poetry
There is no way to say
we lived this way
without touching words today
looking brackish as they be.

There was never a poem not about we

There was no ocean to be sensed 

(in the fog settling pre-dawn)

There could never be beauty 

(without poetry)

There is no way to say 

(we lived this way)

without touching words (today)-

(looking) brackish as they be. 

Painting by Winslow Homer, Looking out to Sea (c. 1881) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Petty theft

It is inappropriate to boast about the broad, beautiful,
waxen new wrap around the money tree-
the broadening face sized lime leaves of the ivy...

because this is ordinary
and the evil trumpet dies down dispersing
crimson cornet flutes on the concrete too, liberally.

It is disturbing to think of the wasted ink, tendrils of creepers
tangled in lines suffocating acumen. And then, under the awning;
languid is the light with her stole of dull emeralds

It was just all right.



Image By (Photo) (c)2007 Derek Ramsey (Ram-Man) (Self-photographed) [GFDL 1.2 (http://www.gnu.org/licenses/old-licenses/fdl-1.2.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.

No need for alarm

At 5 am I have already lost it.
And though it is quiet
still never came...

I feel strong coming on
and blunt edges fading away,
the light is too heavy to lift...

I leave it be-
as though I could pause the suns rise
and unsee what lies today

Ahead of time and out of tune-
Too late
to say anything new...



Photo credit By kallerna (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.