Tag Archives: relationship

The Critic: riddle

Who tears apart, but never builds;
in summer, says he prefers chills;
proclaims “I won’t” when others will;
expects to never pay the bill?

Who tends to “no”, withholding “yes”;
predicts more failure than success;
looks to curse rather than bless;
just compliments under duress?

Who finds the flaw in beauty’s whole;
un-masks delusions in each role;
runs not to praise, at best, cajole;
and celebrates his self-control?

Who gets no joy in dance or song,
unless detailing things gone wrong;
and sits aloof, above the throng
who sway and smile and sing along?

Who in the end has only words;
an empty theater of absurd;
gray stones that never turns to birds;
and empty echoes never heard?

Who condescends, too proud to bend;
see only foes, and not one friend;
from years of living to offend;
alone, unwanted in the end?

The Critic.

28 APR 2017

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She Saved Me: brag

If she don’t know it, it ain’t worth knowing;
all my good ideas, she had when she was still growing;
the movie of my life, she saw the preview showing;
she was up winning my race before I started rowing.

If she ain’t there, there ain’t no sense in going;
she was swimming upstream before the current was flowing;
there was no wind in my sails until she started blowing;
and no light in my darkness before she was glowing.

If she can’t tell it, it ain’t worth hearing;
I was afraid of the dark until she cured my fearing,
and wandered lost in the woods until she made a clearing,
in the middle of nowhere until she was nearing.

If she ain’t it, then there ain’t nothing to it;
until she gave me a chance, you know I just blew it;
I had no good ideas until she said she knew it;
and without her there’s no chance I’d ever get through it.

If she don’t speak, I don’t hear nothing;
until she blesses my cards, the best I’ll do is bluffing;
without her smooth and soft, the best I’ll do is roughing;
’cause I’m an empty shell unless she adds the stuffing.

If she don’t know it, it ain’t worth thinking;
unless she’s clears it up, it’s muddy water I’m drinking;
she’s got the only key to my chains that keep clinking;
if she don’t come onboard, my ship is already sinking.

23 JAN 2017

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The Dance: balada

And there upon a hardwood floor
the dancers gather, to once more
repeat the steps and spin around
betwixt mid-air and solid ground,
their minds affixed on meter’s mark,
the breath between time’s light and dark,
a march toward a last release
that once begun can hardly cease.

And how they shimmer as they twirl,
girl clutches boy, boy clutches girl,
each entertaining joy, and fear,
extending now, then drawing near
in measured movements circumscribed
by time, convention, and their tribe.
The consequences? War or peace,
that once begun can hardly cease.

And if the dance should slow or stop,
the dancers, much like spinning tops,
would falter, falling to one side,
let loose their partners, and collide,
and while the gentle music fades
forget to maintain the charade,
the vain illusion and caprice
that once begun dare not to cease.

12 JAN 2017

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The Conversationalists

There is small comfort in that fragile peace
that rests uneasy when we sit and talk
around the countless things both needing said
and those much better left unshared.

Between the spider and the web of lies
that catches us like aspic still unset,
we struggle both to stir and stay unseen;
our efforts pointless, in the end.

There is a comfort in our meeting,
for a moment, brief and fleeting;
as we linger here together
shadows lengthen on that sunshine.

Let our eyes flash subtle innuendo
in the darkness that descends,
and the simple conversation
lapse into a welcomed silence.

So when the brave encounter finds its end,
we smile and fake a sorrow to depart
until the caravan slips out of sight
and finally feel allowed to laugh out loud.

4 JUN 2015

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Nothing is more true: a terza rima

How much more could I love you than I do?
It surely may seem possible, and yet
in those dear days left to me (all too few)

to think that I could possibly forget
or cast aside the one light of my days,
discard the truest friend I’ve ever met,

or fail somehow to sing your constant praise;
it’s far more likely I will sprout some wings.
I’ve grown accustomed to your loving ways,

and come to cherish all the little things.
There is no better match for me than you;
and each day with you some new pleasure brings.

How can you have doubt? Nothing is more true.

15 APR 2014

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Deep End Abilities

You coughed, turned your head,
said are my eyes still red?
Some mornings I just can’t get out of bed;
feels like I’m sleeping with the dead.

You laughed, rolled your eyes,
then you cried about the suicide.
Some mornings I just can’t seem to decide;
feels like I want to be denied.

Underneath the rolling thunder,
I sit and begin to wonder:
how to segue to the final number,
how to break the spell I’m under

You coughed, lit a cigarette,
then wrote some letters to the alphabet.
Some mornings I just can’t seem to forget;
feels like I haven’t happened yet.

You laughed, began to frown,
then you sent a package underground.
Some mornings I just can’t hear any sound;
feels like I’m in the lost and found.

Underneath the quaking ocean,
I sit and think up foolish notions:
how to muster up sincere devotion,
how to make myself go through the motions

You coughed, turned your head,
then asked, “Are my eyes still red?”
Some mornings I just can’t get out of bed;
feels like I’m sleeping with the dead,
or just a worm who’s not been fed.


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