Obituarist Illusions/Lies

Too many people die
Young, painful, lonely, hopeless.

They are the truths, survived by liars,
Living remnants afraid of their end time.

(Flourishes are added to death notices
With the judgment of a blind painter)

Went to be with Jesus,
Lost his brave struggle,
Taken by the angels,
Was called by the Lord,

These phrases might as well be from an opium dream,
Rather than accepted, expected, repeated until believed true,

Death takes the Field General with no more honor than the stray cat,
The murderer the same as the mistreated horse.
Glory lies in the life that was known, the spirit experienced,
Not a hoped for story ending of the Brothers Grimm.

Burn me in a ship like the Vikings of elder days, and spare me the
Details of my arrival in Valhalla that are unknown on this plane.



orphaned verses


Grief leads us to want to see the best, hope the best-even have a picture
In the paper beside the noble, eulogized person now serving as an ether bag.

A lost baby, missed more badly than words were created to express,
Remembered with a horrid picture of the very child squalling its eyes out...
The center does not hold.

Lasting Impressions Through Times Good and Bad

Trouble builds like a snowball
With a swastika heart in winter,
Or an English charge against
Washington's army at Philadelphia.

What happens today makes the cycle,
Not last week, last year, last life.
Civilized hearts seek battlements
From failure of style over substance.

True champions seldom seek the
Glory earned by their good measures.
Save our nation, our selves, each
Generation, known yet unknown.

Deny these best the spoils of victors,
Remains our status quo gambit.
The honor lies in the service,
Not the server, soldier, or child.

How else could Ben Franklin not be
President of the United States, after
Gaining unlikely monarchy sponsors
For rebels to overthrow a monarchy?

What other explanation for Mel Brooks'
Absence in state governorship as
Reward for a willingness to show us
The trap of bigotry and racism?

Some heroes have to be assassinated,
While others are marginalized, diminished.
Still the spirit these men enable outshines
The evil that men do, or good they fail to do.

Lavendear

See changes, realize loss, 3am memories.
Changes starkly present after obit gander.
Realize urges to look and underdstand.
Loss nags in undefined template desire.
3am wake-up, know-don’t know.
Memories filter, visions render waking questions.

Smell brown skin against comfort sheets.
Brown eyes glistening from inner dreams
Skin bending aroma, earth spirits shower
Against soul canvas, balanced between chakras.
Comfort rings descend filling voids, wafting
Sheets of familiar scents transport time.

Hear sirens drawing thoughts, Warhol time.
Sirens harbor your message of love.
Drawing blood for ink, writing your
Thoughts over the bow of my evermore,
Warhol gives you fifteen minutes of
Time to sing a sea body electric.

Touch rainbows, feel colors, grab hues.
Rainbows of thoughts arching mind skies.
Feel strain-bars separate racing parallel
Colors, adjacent yet independent, ready to
Grab attention, give impressions, deftly shade
Hues of passion, pain, service, comfort.

Taste metal flavor dream cake candles.
Metal pieces, strong magic, coppery undiluted
Flavor of life, bell-shaped paperweight.
Dream flowing lava, pulse radial over
Cake walk promise, made for lighting
Candles beneath the death winds rage.

Feel waves carry thoughts home again.
Waves crest ideas, cover minds beach,
Carry the unbottled message sprites gliding
Thoughts across Adam’s easel. Return
Home. Welcome the tragic, create hope
Again, rebuild using twelve point verdana.

Glimmer

Change of seasons, change of pace,
Knows a desire that resides far
From hurried moorings in place
To protect, yet prevent what we are.

A story is made present
Each new day, it starts then ends.
Distracted, we scarcely scent,
More than the punctuation trend.

Oracle of occasion –
Rent the trappings away from the drear
Comforts of disdain, and shun
Lens that see only glimmer.

El Dorado Winds - revised

Dancing figures swirl above the sands as the moon winks her silvery eye among the doting clouds. The night is full of Mayan magic. A figure of sparkling circles is propped against a Joshua tree, savoring the enticement of his prickly spines.

She remembers leaving footprints on the bank after trembling in the rock spring, basking in shafts of sunlight all summer long, watching that man with the hungry eyes. He was looking for gold, didn’t consider her offering more than Mexican hospitality.

Family outcast, Esmeralda is the queen of these badlands where only stick cattle grow.
Blowing gusts from America carry songs and messages to her from that Promised Land.
She sleeps on a tor, atop the treasures the pale man sacrificed his family to search for.

The south wind whispers “It’s Mariah”; the two swirl, lovers in time now. No man understands the comfort which the wasteland offers those that linger in her recesses, or why a tornado visited Kansas on the day that Judy Garland died.

Harbinger of Truth

When light burns,
When owls know your name,
When sounds bleed and shriek,
Its time to know.

When moon stares,
When road grumbles,
When bridges take your picture,
Its time to know.

When concrete glows,
When cat's eyes blink,
When the refrigerator man dies,
Its time to know.

When the red fern pulses,
When the optimum period dots,
When the midi trumpet blows,
Its time to know.

When the waterfall steams,
When the fruit trees run away,
When the phone continuum ends,
Its time to know.

When the anthills purge,
When scrap metal prisons empty,
When its many beers past midnight,
It's time to know.