Hate is such a lovely word
When conferred upon a lonely man
Who sits atop a lonely hill
And watches watchers waiting madly;
Waiting gladly for his fall
Teeth bared, blood lust, cancers all
They hate him ‘cause he looks unlike them
Reeks of power in his control
Something wicked listens paltry
(He is us though they are not he)
Given no more than an inch
They recoil from being benched
But all fault lies with them because
There’s never been a thought of love
Yet hate rains fire from above
And below and all sides round he
Weathers storms upon him hove
He smiles upon the ware wolf horde
‘cause hate is such a lovely word
When conferred upon a lonely man
Who right the wrongs too vast to number
Then sits to service without slumber
And wears their vengeance like a badge
A Few More Days
It’s starting to feel like Fall
Cool mornings, apples, pears
A few leaves coming down
But not so many that
We forget it’s still Summer
If only for a few more days
Upon a Ship
Upon a ship bound for no port
I spied a waiter waiting widely
So I spoke to him in short
I ordered waffles of a sort,
And sat there gazing at the sea
Its breakers breaking snidely.
No waffles came that day I sailed
Though many pancakes dipped the bow.
Where was the waiter whom I hailed?
I feel that he has greatly failed
To render service due somehow
And all I am is hungry now.
Laborious Poetry
From throngs of angry communists
who longed for Bar-B-Ques
we’ve been gifted something dear
though I’m not sure of its useA “holiday” devoid of fun
Lacking gifts or songs to sing
ironic that on Labor Day
we sit home and do nothing.
The Meaning of Lines
The consequence of
a painting I
observed in a book
is this poem.
With simple strokes it
came to life and
in my mind
set its hook
Light and dark play
havoc with my
sense of depth and
understanding
Can meaning lie in
unplanned lines?
If none is found then
art is maddening
Life on a Given Day
Everything orderly
Neatly stacked and straight
Yet with the slightest breeze
Everything crashes down
Haiku Helper
Nothing is coming
My art is at a standstill
Hoping haiku helps
Death of a Christian
Like a spring seed dies
To let a flower emerge
So the Christian dies
Awareness
No person escapes death.
Just as their birth
Was out of their hands
So is their end.
The difference
Is awareness.
No Matter the Beauty
No matter the flower’s beauty
It fades.
First an image
Of what it should be,
Then a memory
Of what it once was.