Poems

Buddha miracle

in the making

Souls rejoicing

Minds awaking

Grateful charity

for the asking

Heartstrings tugging

Bosoms basking

Time compressing

to point breaking

Love rehabbing

Loss forsaking

If might above the sword is sought, 

Then I will lift the pen.

But slay, dear uncle, poems do not,

Nor shall mine seek to win.

As for your second message late,

A quibble I'll raise high:

Though you and I will share one fate

And join the dust to die,

These words of ours might still live on.

Not will, I say—but might.

Maybe that's why we soldier on

to bring our words to light.

'Tis why we mustn't procrastinate,

creating a seminal now post haste

Our twin brains seem to ruminate

Same thoughts as seeds that germinate!

Life is like a coin toss

Of fifty-fifty

happenstance

A lark within a fluke

From first flip to the

very last

Life is like a long shot

A game of luck and

circumstance

A dark horse, blinders on

From first turn to the

final prance

My hot sarcasm bubbles like a macaroni bake,

oozing bitterness forth like an angry lava lake

I flip a coin of choice so to choose a softer side

and happy I am with all betterments I've tried

The poet never shuts you off

yet surely always penetrates

they'll choose a term precise

deftly open up your rhythms

'Pon suggestive implications

versifiers go past every word

'til each essence of quidditas

meets the whatness of being

All good fathers 

whom art 'pon Earth

cherished be thy name

Thy children hath come

thy will's being be done

here and now honored 'pon Earth

Give us this day our daily nutrition

and forgive us our poor decision making

as we pardon those who have made poor decisions concerning us

But lead us not into anger

and deliver us from misunderstanding

for thine 'tis the family figure

of kindhearted compassion and strength

for ever and ever

Grace

Oh, to find forgiveness

deep inside our hearts

for nothing too savage

just cruelty atop barks

'Tis an end of ugliness

with our family at war

I turn to my humilities

as all good graces soar

I'm going to remember this one,

even if I do die 'pon the morrow

Reconnect with my twin poetic,

hath healed a two-sided sorrow

Sunbeams coruscate like lilting shiny spotlights

whirling top to bottom beneath the cyan sea

Sunrays scoot along the gullied seabed

like lost and streaking ghosts skirring to be free

The ocean swimmer sees both light and darkness

from shimmering surface down to taupe seafloor

Above that murky sphere of luminescent shadows

my soul ascends with solace above the sandy shore

Dad seemed to go out the wrong way

Riled up and on edge in the end

The last time we spoke

He seemed mad at me

As though I had wronged him again

He dared me to learn from his death

To find truth in the lessons he'd learned 

The last time we talked 

He seemed out of joint

As though lamenting love never earned

There must be a right way to pass

To die while still being at ease

Our kindly last whispers

Respired by all mourners

Like salt on a soft ocean breeze