Always, My Sweet

Butter, oh how thou dost warrant an ode,
For flavors which thou dost preserve.
Always thou hast keep inside mine abode,
But more than that, thou dost deserve.
To treat thee unkindly would be far too rash,
And betrayeth our excellent smarts.
In our land, thy fate is not in the trash,
But rather inside of our hearts.

Fat Ed

There was a man named Edgar Hill
Who never, ever ate his fill.
Each day his cook would make for him
Whatever menu fit his whim.
For every meal Ed tried to eat
A dozen different kinds of meat.
He munched on pancakes by the stack
Just for an after dinner snack.

Although he stuffed himself with ham,
Then steamy buttered rolls and jam,
Thick waxy meatloaf, melty cheese,
Cold snotty soup that's made from peas,
Big bulging bagels, sticky rice,
Zucchini bread with sugar spice,
With shiny donuts, cherry pie,
And Polish sausages stacked high,

Hot crispy bacon, crusty toast,
With pink and drippy tender roast,
Potatoes, lima beans and lots
Of greasy, salty tater tots
With fatty burgers, chips and bread,
There never was enough for Ed.
They say he could consume a horse!
And once or twice he tried, of course.

This food made Edgar happy, but
It gave him quite a hefty gut.
For Edgar tried to eat so hard
He really was a tub of lard.
He almost weighed a metric ton.
He wouldn’t exercise or run.
He couldn’t move his hulking girth
Without a tremor in the earth.

But once as he was eating steak
He got a massive stomach ache.
His doctor tried advising him:
“You know it’s wiser to be slim.
Your stomach ache is caused by this:
Compressogastro stomasis!
It means your gut is much too tense
And food’s packed in there mighty dense.”

“If food’s stuck in my gut,” thought he
“I’ll fix that problem easily.
I’ll just eat more and force it out
And it should work without a doubt.”
He filled himself again with food,
And I say this not to be rude,
But once his stomach was that loaded,
Edgar swallowed, then exploded.

This Mind We Trust

This mind we trust,
Oh, that feeble thing.
A painting we create
Fashioned in the image of our own desire.
We sculpt each perception,
With all the time and craft we possess.
This sculpture becomes a gift from God.
If left unopened, it remains as it began:
As a child in reason, and in understanding.
When opened, it can be used and stretched,
And it will grow
To fill its potential,
To compliment the world with enlightenment,
Talent, knowledge, and finally
Faith.

Square

Wrap
Fold
Wipe
Draw

I slept on patch work.
It wouldn't let go of my head
So without it I left.

I took a walk on balmy feet.
I raced a pamphlet through the door.
It got there first.

There are no more windows where I live
But the sun comes in all the same.
Who pays my rent?

Enough of this.
I want
out.

The Progression

That which fills the void,
That which needs be understood
Yet cannot be defined,
Give it glory.
Let praise its justice work
Until it is decorated with a thousand compliments,
Glittering in the limelight like mail.
Obscurity does them no justice,
These flowers of the cave.
Try to accompany them, if you can.
You add to their height
As much as any other of their shadows.
But the pressure of pain can impede their proposal:
The progress of all save but a few.
Greater than these may have fallen.
The mystery that vexes the ages is this:
Will greater rise up?

i

Of all the letters in the world
my favorite is the letter i.
I like the things that i can do;
i can do much more than u.

On First Walking Through the US Botanic Garden

Condensing brilliance here anoints
The symbols of the dawn of time
Where earth embraces sky with liquid flame.

A calico display of time
Exists unknowing and unknown.
The crisping crust of words drips off like so much rain.

A lair of wealth, a stream of light—
A sleepless dream of lighted shade—
Sweet water trickles softly in its veins.

The solace of the heart and mind
Steeped deep in undiscovered mists
A thriving force where none was made to be.

The youth of man so manifest
In wandering where we cannot go.
The sharpest thoughts are tickled to submissive glee.

A mystery of grand design
Evolves in thriving nourishment,
The end of all to simple say: I see.

As One

We’re seeking order in a frozen time.
Throughout the tender center, can we be
Directed now toward a common goal?
Do we impolore, expolore or now deplore?
Make now your choice, the sweetness of a life
Unfolds itself beneath time’s steady hand.
So why preserve the solid conter safe,
To surely find itself so unrefined?
To let the hour of grateful recompense
Be silenced loudly by an unseen hand?
The helpful, hopeful, happy time to come
Will not, though all impede, be so delayed.
Such is the attitude so well endowed
To surely set aright the thing offset
That of istelf itself does not correct.

Sunset

At twilight hour the sun lays down to rest
    And breathes a colorful relaxing sigh.
He thus emits a palate to the west
    As orange atmosphere consumes the sky.
The clouds give up there hues of white and grey
    And turn a charming pink.
A velvet lining adds to their array
    As daylight further sinks.
Producing so surreal a light
The sun, descending out of sight,
    At last recedes
    And then concedes
To the night.

Withering Words

They rudely rip the hairs from off the head,
Sanguineous perspiration dapples red.
The cure becomes a sting and nothing else.
Without this sting a tender hotness swells,
Refusing touch, a raw malignancy
Tenfold the product of its injury.

A Safe Place

I’ve crossed the threshold into a dark room
Where I no longer feel safe.
A looming danger standing imposingly before me
Is my destination.
What nightmares spawn themselves there?

I swiftly run towards it.
To do otherwise would certainly cause my destruction.
Foreboding shapeless threats
Make their first attack on my imagination.
Evil intentions stab at my feet,
But I have arrived
And now my feet are safe.
Darkness tries to crush my chest
But it is now safe.
Tiny potent creepers try to poison my head
But they cannot reach me.

I am safe beneath a securing blanket.
This reckless safety so consoles me
That finally consciousness melts
Into comforting sleep.

A Warm Wind

I expect to be chilled
But instead I am thrilled.

Change

At night I feared to see the day
Because I knew what sunset meant,
And yet I found another way.
I feared the moon would ever stay
Ev'n when the twilight hours were spent;
At night I feared to see the day.
The shadows would not go away,
Confounding me where e'er I went
And yet I found another way.
I clung to well-known shadows gray
In case they fled the sun's advent.
At night I feared to see the day.
The morning light bid me obey
But I resisted to relent,
And yet I found another way.
But when the sun dawned bright and gay
I found I'd gone where God had sent.
At night I feared to see the day,
And yet I found another way.

Simplicity

Isn't it great?

The Misunderstood

A song that meets the ears is oft bereft
Of meaning its creation should have brought.
By fate or fortune, what we hear is left
Fragmented—far removed from native thought.
Then music heard can often be untrue
To thoughts inspiring, left inside the mind.
An artist needs divide between the two,
Whether to show the sounds left unrefined.
Concealing thoughts that might expose the heart,
A song devised may hold in secrecy
The sacred inner truth, the hidden part
That shrouds itself in sleep and subtlety.
And yet, when played aloud, each song retains
A tune that only he who listens hears.
Perhaps from this a newer theme remains:
A matchless melody for list’ning ears.

Choice

The enormity of the future
Sacrifices nothing of its potential
So long as the soul is just.
The chains of choice yield freedom
To those who follow visions
From the surface of their souls,
The very place where Hope distills.

Sight Inside

Inward and onward
Deeper and hopeful
Forceful
Waiting inside to be found.
Insightful but trite,
Wary and
Wayward it creeps without sleeping
But always intriguing yet pleading
Away from the force that supplies it with
Life and enjoyment and pure satisfaction.
It’s span is away from the
Scale that’s expected,
And yet we accept it.
For what is it there?
Do we see it or sense it inside?
Does it hide?
Can we tell,
Or wait for the test to begin
From within?
Deeper and darker it lurks
And waits for the light
To chase it away.
Why does it wait,
And what is its purpose?
The mind can’t define nor divine such a purpose.
Enveloping warmth can intrude.
Now excluded, the fact it was there
Is forgotten. The mark it once made
Will fade.
Inside its lost presence
Intrudes like a menace,
Invades and
Waits
To be filled
Once more.