It runs through the blood
And beats with your heart.
In the background while you work,
In the foreground when you shirk:
It’s the band in the back of your head –
It’s the subliminal mind’s leading role.
Like noise overflowing the walls
From a party down deep in your soul.
Category Archives: Poetry
The Blood’s Beat
A Growing Problem
Work is like a weight in the ocean
That pulls you down ’til you sink.
When you’re struggling to keep your head above water,
How do you find time to think?
A Qualified Toast
A toast to explosions and battle scenes
But only on movie and gaming screens –
Not for life or everyday tasks.
Why is that so much to ask?
A Flesh Wound
Flashing metal strikes the stone
It chips – scratches. A flesh wound only,
The slightest mar: visible to the eye.
Inside the stone, the blow rebounds,
A shockwave. It runs through the stone
Like panic. Pushing and tugging at particles,
Forcing them apart and leaving behind
The tiniest fractures, completely unseen.
Dozens of miniscule wounds hidden
From stranger and friend alike. Unshared,
But dealt with. The parts stand together
To compensate for the fissures. Because
The stone must continue to stand.
It must continue to hold, to bear the load
Though each successive blow shatters more
And more of its interior strength. Stubbornly,
It clings to its shards until the final blow
Forces them apart for the world to see.
Remembering To Be Thankful
They’re generous and kind.
They’re nagging and needy.
They’ll give ‘til they’re empty.
They cling and control.
But if I need them, I can call them.
If I’m in trouble, they’ll come.
They’re wonderful and awful,
And I love every one.
Sleep Lost
First, the fog
Not drifting but drenched,
Weighting down thoughts
In a clinging web of thick paste.
Then, the wind burns through
A sizzling fire of a quick fuse
That sears the glue into rubber
Or maybe flubber – thoughts
So energized that they bounce
In erratic scatters of showers:
A constant, bubbling babble.
Too soon, the heat is gone,
But the once energetic balls
Are left scorched and jammed,
Hard and unmoving, into the
Walls, floor, ceiling, and void.
Around them, the murk is so
Thick it should be an ocean of
Flickering fish, but no such luck.
Movement is slow, laborious,
Haphazard, and hazardous.
Until at last, it simply
Stops completely.
Adoration of Greed
All bow before the gods,
Their platters gleaming, steaming, teeming
With meats and sweets – delectable treats
Of cheeses and creams:
Bestowing tasty dreams for those
Who worship and believe.
twytte 