Artistic License

We reproduce the world, and see

What isn’t oughta shouldn’t be –

Then reproduce, on screen and page

A type of social macrophage


To crush the infamy, and try

For greener grass and bluer sky:

Artistic license, at it’s core —

Though we be small, we hope

For more

Rhyme Royal

To waste one’s time on something like rhyme royal:
It hardly seems a wise thing, nowadays —
For why to purblind history be loyal
When modern times lie tangled in a maze,
And ancient forms be so far out of phase?

(It hardly seems the proper thing to do,
  And sets a barrier twixt me and you –)

For what is “form” but artifice, and cant?
There is no clamor in the reading space
For words in blocks that ought to be aslant,
Or sentences less meaning and more pace,
That do not know, or keep, their proper place.

(Observatories, though, may ancient be
  And still have much to say to you and me)

Through Struggling

I learned to use these things at school through struggling;
My printing poor, my cursive even worse —
A dearth of what I think they still call motor skills,
Although I tried to fight against that curse —

But yet, I loved to draw, I liked the colors:
So I worked at it like a sledding dog —
Most undeterred by not being that gifted,
The same way I now go about a blog


The flower shop: the smell, just as he pays:
He has to close his eyes to see the light —
For pressed and blurry are his current days,
As life transitions to a sort of night

Wherever he can see, he stops to gaze;
Whatever he can feel, he tries to write:
A search for color in a turn of phrase,
Of love that soars and flutters as a kite

But all of it is tangled. It’s a maze.
And whether hazed in gray, or black, or white,
He cannot strip away the ego glaze
That keeps him from the truth, albeit slight —

For blindness isn’t new to him, it’s just
Accepting it
                            and living as he must

Blog Lonely

“To bathe in the warmth of affection”

Blog Lonely

People, they long for connection
They yearn to be touched, to be heard;
To bathe in the warmth of affection
To soak in a passionate word

They worry their time has receded
That they won’t escape from their shell:
People, they want to be needed
And need to be wanted
As well