Thursday, April 27, 2017

The Edge

There is any edge on which I perch
No railing, wall, or net
Sometimes it likes to shake or lurch
But it hasn't thrown me yet

I fear its errant jostling
Will one day fling me clear
But even if I'm wobbling
That still means I am here

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Oh Sweetest Soul

Oh sweetest soul you are released
To wander far and wide
To do the things you always wished
That your body once denied
We picture you ethereal
And dancing in the sky
Smiling, laughing, singing
We’ve no doubt that now you fly
Your lovely face lives in our mind
Your sweetness still resounds
Your open, carefree, loving heart
Your bravery profound
Though life will never seem the same
Like a song that’s lost it’s rhythm
So many hearts will carry forth
The light you lit within them

Friday, April 7, 2017

The Jester

The jester appears with his harlequin sleeves
The crowd has now gathered up to the eaves
They await his act gasping, then holding their air
His jingling hat ringed with fiery hair

He tumbles so drunkenly, yet never falls
He points and he sneers, looking sad then appalled
The spectators grasping so tightly their sides
The laughter it floods like a leveling tide

He hands the girls roses and coyly he smiles
The men see their maidens blush all the while
They shake their fists sternly then laugh just the same
The jester he revels in a common man’s fame

He once had such promise, born for the stage
Yet his backstage transgressions elicited rage
He used his coy smile to coax many a patron
And finally soiled the name of a maiden

Her father a powerful town benefactor
He glazed him in red as he hung from a rafter
Once he was cut down his beauty was marred
His body was bloody his face was left scarred

So now he would dance and play to the masses
Joke with the lads and flirt with the lasses
He could conjure a smile that gave all folks their jollies
For not one here knew his most wanton of follies

Thursday, April 6, 2017

The Dreaded Block

Three different notebooks and not one phrase
a writer dreads these types of days
Before too long your heart is racing
From the mundane future you could be facing
You curse at songs and shun your books
The trees are barren, that you once shook
But then a seed or maybe half
You start to write, you start to laugh
and with relief you're off and running
to show the world your heart and cunning

Saturday, April 1, 2017

National Poetry Month 2017!

There once was a lad of good breeding
Whose claims of success were misleading
He boisterously boasted
While openly roasted
And became most acclaimed for his tweeting