Em Dash

(Image from I.guim.co.uk)


Long-distance running
is futile if all is needed
is a dash
Let 'em sprint when
his spirit is willing
He flies on wings white
with the sun's smile
darkened by moods
that turn violent, sudden
as thunderstorms
from the east
Soaring to heights
never aspired for
finding love in mid-range
older than bald
unsightlier than labor lost
Yearn for return
Strip soul soldiering
faith let go in inches
In a war where
words get dirty down defeated
The reappearance
shall bring peace
A return of fields pristine
Golden, healthy, moving
onward in a lope

On The Street Where I Live

On the street where I live

Corner Rose and Tulip

Love and rejection intersect

The taking and the purging

Adoration and detestation

Religions of the mad

Sanctifying the sad

War and devastation

Building houses in the sky

They fall and still you wonder why

Sand, guardian of cerulean sea

Would have been better

But for the mountains of delusions

Offers of company and currency

From across the greatest ocean, vast divide

Growing older in comfort and misery

For lost love and prideful hurts

Casualties of weird know no bounds

Atlas shirked his titanic task

The gods condemn mortal foibles

Forgetting they are of clay themselves

I live on a street

Where doves hawk wares

Unaware of the fear that makes

The world go sensurround

Getting off is not an option

But, please, do so

Get off on your private kicks

The gents will soon have no dames

The streets will soon have no names

Short Wings

(Image by Luc Viatour from www.upload.wikimedia.org)

Live impermanent of cycles
Memories transparent shimmering
In the dim of sun, gloom of moon
Sisters of dragons flying low, waiting vainly
Of knights blue armor diving smokeless jets
Amassing not for war but for love, peace

A creature that dies everyday cannot go extinct
It lives dead between vampires and recall
Forgetting nothing, eating air
Breeding, springing forth gushers
Nymphs and imps watching
Long may you fly, bye

Unblinded

All that is white
come crushing in.
What is left must
all be black, close
behind follow.
Sleep and will,
the lack of it,
tempt what comes.
Then war is
given birth to.
Somewhere around
here must be
the rainbow.