My favorite poems for your viewing pleasure

Procrastination

Sandpaper lenses scrape my trying eyes
with each clasp of lashes.
As my brain opens to yawn, concealed ideas escape
my skull’s dividing bars, segregating me from completion’s
peace. Instead I settle atop
a mound of heaping fails, like an aged fly
on a pile of dung. I’m hardly phased by Dr. Clock’s powerful hand
threatening to color my demise.

Pessimism’s toxins eventually pervade,
causing a lurid note to my lethargic heart.
My body emits a drone, sullen stare.
I tentatively screen the luminescent white board
that blurs with sulking, silenced
air passing through the emptiness engrained
in my pestilent frame.

And such is the product of procrastination.


Larceny

Oh dancing, you steal my heart away.
With such romantic sway in lacing,
And touch so intent on loosing,
oh the ecstasy of dancing
steals my long-wrought heart away.


Night Sky’s Drama

Across the whitecaps of the ocean floor,
emerging from the lamp lit shade of night,
far beyond the sound of shore waves roar,
I watch the pouring out of blood’s moonlight

At first the horrid red can hardly glow,
but patiently the budding circle climbs.
Slow, the ember rises close below
Stars who silently await the time.

Instead, with height, illumination comes
The saving moonlight settles high above
The stars who once were fearful now become
Adornment for his ardent light of love

In awe I see creation’s majesty
Enthralled by One who gave his Son for me.


Glasses

Faded smoked frames encompass
two round-edged, barren glass panes
linked by the narrow bridge arching
over the emptiness that ensues between.
At either end of the bridge’s lean,
elevated roads surround the symmetrical lakes
like a black tire hugs fine silver rims.
The paths converge at the bulging, hinged armpit,
that protrudes from the outside of either edge.
At last the tracks make a final climb, inclining
slowly forward until achieving the peak,
and suddenly tapering off into the same solitude
that lies under the bridge, and beneath the lakes.


Mexican roses

My stomach of thorns churned, hustled and blew.
I flew high, lava rupture, propelled to the moon.
And out came a sun burning through smoggy fumes.
Oh the scent of Mexican roses in bloom.