A Diamond A Dozen

Tapping the vein
mulching the marrow
thru sift and by strain
each and every grain
digging for the dime in the dozen
greed glistens with grime
coveting the currency
of counterfeit cubic zirconium
shimmering sparkles dazzle sublime
carbon copy karats
set ingenuine gems
minerals morphed with merits
abstracted stony emblems
outlast our mortal cast
buried, bought and bartered
poised in eternal eminence
crowning ignoble and temporal titles
from birth to berth
East to rise
the West is set
synchronized in circles
rings and tokens
cut, divided, positioned in prisms
reflecting and projecting
facets galore
mining the matter
for a valuable score
but tied in the end
to the ethereal and material
unable to transcend
the philanderous flocks
collectors and inspectors
of crystallized rocks
grains gathered in glass
all the same carbon en masse
fragile fibers affixed with flare
We are all just diamonds from the rough
that you cannot wear
but made of the toughest stuff
on the planet
and diamonds, as we appraise
are better than granite
chalking it up to a chimerical craze
rocks and rings
fire and ice
rule this land of Kings
where stones are symbols
of Divine Beings
touting treasures of troves
by positioning in juxtapose
foresee the clarity, color, cut by the carat
a womans worth weighted by this stat
We must give treasured credit to DeBeers
for the oceans replenishment in salty carbon tears.

Image of  Cullinan diamond (uncut)"the largest gem quality diamond ever found, in its rough form. It is 3,106.75 carats (621.35 g, 1.37 lb), about 10 cm (3.9 inches) tall in its longest dimension. It was found January 26, 1905 in the Premier mine, near Pretoria, South Africa" [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

A poem by D.H. Lawrence, "Lies About Love"

Lies About Love 

by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

We are all liars, because

the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,

whereas letters are fixed,

and we live by the letter of truth.

The love I feel for my friends, this year,

is different from the love I felt last year.

If it were not so, it would be a lie.

Yet we reiterate love! love! love!

as if it were a coin with a fixed value

instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

Image of painting by Carl Herpfer 1836-1897, "The Love Letter", [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Change of Heart

How can I abhor thee? Let me query (further not)-
I shant utter of malicious, villainous, atrocious quirks
My heart doth relentlessly sound, regardless of nausea or nigh
For the end of my wits so oft' the case yet
I cease to resent thee in still so many ways- Lo'
Must needed solitude and with mustered fortitude
I need thee truly, which is certain no phase
I want thee-Tho' only to be truly
In good intentions, with no more mentions
of deceits and demons from saints-No more complaints!
I shall instead abhor me, sincerely evermore.

This poem was inspired by "How Do I Love Thee?" (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861.

Finicky February

No primal forecast
of biblical lions and lambs
but peaking out of the burrow
beheaded in hibernation
Phil is drug
tail first
-wait-
On the 2nd
He doesn't care, he belongs to
Fickle February

No! Do Not Come In
bearing scentless roses
oblique and obligated
as the date is so stated
candlelight of lights refrain
women and wine stain
invisible ink made black and blue
and more blue than black (again)
Fickle February

Throwing rocks around
sweetening the deal
secret tokens and trading cards
diamonds and chocolate
She's a shape-shifter of melted ice
requiring rosy reliquaries of romance
Fickle February

Jacaranda's and Apple Blossoms
White winter Jasmine
Witch-hazel Sweet-box
all brazenly in bloom
icy appeal of a happy tree boughs
skeleton limbed bones poking thru
mimicking the mockingbird's song
Fickle February

Happy and hopeful
singing into spring
wallowing in winter
disappointments dashed
rekindled by revenge
which counts the ways
of these 20 something days
Fickle February

Rain and sun with snowy flowers
mystical manners
of this monthly matter made
Sinners and Saints
Lovers and Loners
a figment of our fabrication
Fickle February

Just a moment

Have you ever read a quote
that struck a certain note?

Or seen an incredible and baffling painting
That boggles your mind to near fainting?

Have you heard that song they redundantly play on the radio,
hasten to hearken-it's about something that happened to you...

Even when a dusty filed away book
Is about your life, once you look...

Preserved in frozen magical moments like these
picturesquely public are life's encrypted pleasantries.

For you cannot share
what was always there
nor would anyone care
about your internal affair

Melodious muted moments

When words won't work
silence sounds sweet.

Image of painting by Albert Joseph Moore(1848-1893) "Seashells", [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The value of depreciation

Deny that we are better whole
For love is loss! Sacrifice is loss!
All the giving takes its' toll,
gambling on return, a coin of toss.
Tho' loves worth the investment-
it does yield a return.
Albeit, a candied sentiment
made of sweet words we learn.
O how do we know its true,
Not counterfeit in kind?
All love that 'tis shiny and new
in growing time goes blind.
For spotting true love there are no glasses,
But lo when you're not e'en looking, that love surely passes!

Image Published by D. McKay, Philadelphia (http://archive.org/details/talesfromshakesp00lamb3) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "Tales from Shakespeare" by Charles and Mary Lamb, 1922.


*Inspired by Shakespeare, 1564-1616 (who isn't?) "Sonnet 116"

Terra Firma

The mountains spill their dirt downhill

And the hills give up on the valleys

The palette mixed of mud and will

With wanton erosion to appease

Nothing one can keep for good

All things betrothed by buried Earth

In all trees being equal to wood

Why the emeritus mirth?

See the mounds abound the domain

And the offspring shoots rise above

No human souls whole may remain

If which no one should love

And take notice of roots strangled in fear

And the green lights trying to escape

What could grow without a drop of tear

If the soil won't stay in shape?

*Inspired by "Love's Philosophy" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

Image By U.S. Forest Service ([Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Elkhorn Mountains, Oregon.