“… there is no torrent like greed.” - Siddharta Guatama
The darkness of greed
corrupts absolutely
with the promise
of material gain
The foolish
weak and depraved
fall for the words
that cause them pain
The corrupt need to hear
words that soothe
their overinflated ego
no resistance will remain
The darkness of greed
can only consume
those who’ve allowed it
to render them insane
Societas in angustiis temporum
Disturbed
Distressed
Completely disgusted
Societal collapse
Changing of the old guard
Erosion of sycophancy
Yes men cometh and die
Feelings over facts
Perception over reality
Death argues with no one
The poet archives life
To the rhythmic beats of the soft parade
Hopeless faces in the fog
The gods have abandoned society
Leaving us disgusted
Distressed
And utterly disturbed
Fade Into You
Once upon a time, there was a young girl. She was quite odd and passionate about unusual things. She loved to write-- and that was where she kept all her strange ponderings, never sharing. She met a man. The most beautiful and spellbinding creature she had ever encountered. She had no idea that kinds such as these existed.
They began their friendship with written correspondence. They discussed the deepest of topics, always the things that were steeped in their minds, mired in their marrow. She learned his joys and his hurts. What he lived for and that for which he'd die. She glimpsed his soul and soon fell deeply in love with him.
He, on the other hand, did not love her. She was like a curious sea shell that he happened upon. One he picked up, turned over slowly in his hands, examined closely, marveled at the uniqueness... and then promptly threw it back into the roaring sea. It was interesting enough, but it lacked his prerequisitional aesthetic qualities that would have made it a keeper. As she sank into the deep and the strong currents took her away, the man continued to walk, perusing the shell-littered beach.
Much time passed. Hindsight took his handsome face in both her hands and offered him a clearer perspective. He sought out and eventually found the girl he disregarded. She still loved him deeply. He gave her the nickname "Mazzy". And to this day, she still writes to him from her odd and passionate perspective.
Companions
I miss you most
In the early morning hours
Because I know
Dawn is on her way, coming to taunt me
That another day is beginning without you
Dawn is reliable, but she hurts me the most
Midday is the friend that brings hope
Along with your notification sound
It never fails to make my heart leap
Midday keeps me going with his joy
Nightfall... she always shrugs,
my brusque, realist friend
Maybe tomorrow?
The longing will end?
Don't count on it-- Nightfall replies
Dawn will be here soon to wake you again
Bandwing Grasshoppers
I carefully inspected the cold glass jar in my small hands. Searching for any trace of tampering. I didn't see anything suspicious about the jar, nor the liquid it contained, so I went ahead and poured a small amount on my food.
A common meal at my house was pan-fried trout, steamed rice, and a simple salad. My parents would eat on their TV trays in the living room, and my brothers and I were left to serve ourselves. We kids usually were not even alerted to mealtimes; it was up to us to pay attention to things like that.
During the summer, my brothers and I would chase and catch grasshoppers in the tall weeds of our backyard. I liked the loud crackling noise these particular bugs made when they jumped. Oh, and when they did jump, what a beautiful surprise they revealed. Their hidden underwings displayed a bright flash of color as they leapt. I caught and lovingly inspected as many as I could, always looking for subtle differences in each as if they were exotic flowers.
However, we usually did not catch them to gently admire. No, quite the opposite-- we mostly caught them for bait. We would break their colorful wings to make them stay open, pierce a hook through their thorax, and then toss a hopeful cast from the nearby creek bank.
The first time I skewered one, I found that a thin, dark fluid leaked from the grasshopper. I made the mistake of exclaiming in my weird little kid way that it kind of looked like soy sauce I then proceeded to sniff it, for whatever reason.
"Don't lick it, STUPID!" My brothers laughed, braying like a pair of jackasses.
It didn't matter how many times I swore I wasn't trying to taste it, my brothers were never going to let this one go.
From then on, anytime they saw me use soy sauce for my steamed rice, they would raise their eyebrows teasingly and cock their heads, laughing, as if to say, "Are you SURE that is REALLY soy sauce?"
For the longest time, I would check the bottle prior to use. It didn't trust my brothers one bit. I had to make sure there were no grasshoppers floating in it.
Bejeweled
He offers her jewels
of unmatched worth
Borne of unyielding pressure
and molten heat
Not of primordial terra firma
but of the crushing weight of pure longing
Mined with tender affirmations
and oral adoration
They surface at long, long last
He bestows an exquisite garland
His nacreous adornments
placed lovingly
upon her neck
