careful with these

The revelation remained in hiding
until simplicity declared
they should observe caution and care
no more and whatever happened
to the upcoming tale’s primary

character would have to be
his or her trial or his or her
ascent into his or her true
bliss where fear was not able to breathe
or propagate; where accusations dealt

out of authority’s mouths were
repulsed well beyond garden walls – though
ivy vines and leaves shivered and quivered
along their stalwart homes of stone
acute foresight formed for the stable.

those rascals in the ethers

suspicions insist on bending the shaft
so the arrow points to a notorious
culprit known in layman lingo
as that sly revelation breed
given to nibbling a mile by night

and in the day hiding by slumber
where what is plain is plenty shady
and for umpteen planetary years
these rascals can carry on so
and do it all but under pretty much all

villager noses – irrespective
it ought to be added, of a status
colloquially called chieftain or queen
– quite the practical joker too,
this breed of revelation, when

making people see as heavenly
what they were warned all their years as sins
and suddenly they are alone
and the revelation vanishes
leaving the wispiest mist of a trace

nothing else but practice-practice-practice-write-write-write

Uptick in fortune
must on the horizon come
and raise the fountain from
its junior era sleep. How about
a near afternoon plan; and agree
to recognize no stinking group.
Seek substance from not a single

outer
idol.
Maybe a miracle
will lead the wiser to understand
that enrollment among types
does not further personal bliss;
granted there is entrancement

that happens with creatures
flaunting wares that threaten
to peek a perfumed whisper
from the heaven
hidden in a skirt
so drawing the easygoing dreamer
closer; and acknowledgment

of life
beyond
the circle
diminishes day
by day.
Oh to be such a victim
to her devil oils

there is no conscious meaning in this piece – I’m just trying to get back to the freewheeling style I once knew

Thorny thoughts arrived en masse
and set up a veritable
sea of tents
as though to show those within
the fortress their hopes and prayers
would avail them little
but fleeting moments

of escapist buoyancy
brought by small squads of bright rays
born from the ocean of illusions.
The true sunrise threw
splashes of melted silver
across the waters which lent
glints to the tips – by the tips

are understood as what the tents
emit from their pointy tops.
Of course many in the fortress
flung all they were into the arms
belonging to general panic
which always maintains infinite space
across its desert which knows no border

nor minds that the rains by far
prefer forested clumps and fertile
riches dressed in juicy suits
of clovers and their fields dark and moist
– same as bees, many of whom
boldly plucked idea bundles
from a lady locals know as Bess.

I Can’t Do That but I Can Do This

If I wasn’t such a poor poet I’d make a generous donation to LibreOffice. Unfortunately I’m a poor poet so I can’t make a donation to LibreOffice. But I will do this: pass along two-thumbs-up recommendation/endorsement for LibreOffice.

So the ol’ machine gave up the ghost a couple weeks ago and an angel I get to call mine showed great sympathy for my plight with an early birthday gift in the form of a new machine.

Unfortunately: back on the old machine I wrote a lot of stuff in the Works format – the word pad on this nice new machine does not recognize/support such files. And I mean I had a LOT of stuff potentially lost. Okay, there is the thirty day free Microsoft Word, but come on, that’s not the kind of pressure I want to live with or have to work under.

So I looked around for a solution (because the guy at the computer place transferred all the files from the kaput machine to this nice new machine), and lo there was LibreOffice. Took a whirl, trying to keep hopes from ascending too high… and wow! Everything. The thing opens everything – even stuff from an ancient machine that had even older files… opens everything.

Someday when I’m selling books, I will definitely catch up with giving them some support. Until then – should anyone out there need fine (and free!) word program… LibreOffice. It’s really saved my sorry ass.

Of course now I gotta get back to work…. which is another challenge I’ll not use to torture my precious followers.

But yeah – if ever in need – try LibreOffice.

saturation

Timmy the Scribbler

I guess anything ought to be fair game.
I say so after experiences
expressly designed to drive men bonkers.

They entail rabbit holes. They know
their cute noses and twitches and whiskers
are explicitly irresistible.

Thank someone managing the Universe
there are chances to come to one’s senses
and get to building a shrine of one’s own.

View original post

onward yearning

the other day from out of nowhere I
not only tasted but could smell
some perilous plum of Romania.

If only I could as easily make
the sidewalk flower dealer animate
and a bus belching gritty plumes

screech to a brief halt, doing its humble
part in adding to old city mayhem;
maybe seek a frail excuse to play

the game of blending in a throng,
or the verification favorite:
my homeland was never my place of birth.

further yearnings

a yearning reaches for the vast
continent of possible scenes
macro to micro, ethereal
and eros; internal eternity,

but a vibe in monochrome blankets all.
Pride, pray, is not here a player
but only aware of a state that is,
which one may say is for anchorage

contributing to earthly sustenance,
but to speak editorially
a seaside terrace brandy and coffee
makes all that is monochrome melt away.

sentimental for Romania

of all the sounds and sounds of sights,
and of all the chuckles and wintertime
mishaps, what of Bucharest remains in
the starkest of standings? What else
but the outer space bleep-bleep-bleep

uttered by a prior era giant
born of concrete with echoing innards;
maybe something simple as a signal
barked at the start line as announcement
of another adventure, the hour

mattering naught; as something simple
as a trip to fetch eggs or bread or wine
meant reinvention of the alphabet –
though reinvention is not the best word.
I always blossomed best in foreign lands.

speak of a homecoming

when in doubt, retire to the parlor
be it to gamble or to pitch some woo
being no true difference between them.

Whenever the voices of demons preach,
Remember the homey lane gravel strews
as naughty tentacles from distant depths
are highly allergic to the designs
the ivy genies can paint with eyes shut.

Highways without end do dangle allure,
but the slippery aims win in the end.