I've decided to share some of my poetry with you. So here are a couple of pieces
Something funny,
My Children Think I’m Cool
Some parents are so out of touch
But I know what is sweetie
While others may yell at their kids
I talk to mine on tweetie
I am the max daddy
Like Two Pots and Piggy
I wear my hat to the side
Whenever I get jiggly
I have called the four eleven
I have made no culture slips
I keep my science neatly packed
I’m all this and a side of chips.
You may laugh and think me strange
But I am no dopey fool
I get it all going in
Because my children think I’m cool
Something a little romantic,
Sight & Sound
Sight and Sound
Eyes and Ears
The rhythmic beating of the urban heartbeat
The electric brush strokes of firecracker lights
The thumping bumping rumbling primal screams of passion
The pastel simplicity of dew kissed sunrise wildflowers
The smooth caressing rich velvet tones of young love
The smoky charcoal shadows of figure and form
Sight and Sound
The perfect couple
A little more silly,
I surf the dense digital pipeline
The unending crash of vast waves of nothingness
The cresting peaks of ever rising channels
Past glistening beaches of empty promises
Hanging ten on the button covered surf board
Why is there never anything good on television
And finally something a bit epic, (and a little long)
I stood before a gaping maw of darkness.
I do not recall how I came to be there.
We were told the path was clear.
I had a road map to a certain destination.
No where had my map indicated this,
A dark, soulless, celestial expanse,
Sucking in all light, all hope, all happiness.
A black sanity shattering hole of swirling terror.
But there I stood,
Stood at a gaping maw of darkness.
I had good friends with me, we were seven.
The Brothers, the Accountant, the Soldier, the Priest, and the Hero.
I looked to them, seven masks of grim determination.
Cold emotionless eyes, focused, unwavering.
Such a sight we must have been,
I thought petty thoughts, small thoughts.
Why am I the only one not wearing a trench coat.
They flowed behind my friends,
Carried aloft like noble banners,
Flags of a more romantic age.
Held on high by hopes and dreams and courage.
Untarnished by the foul wind that blew.
Blew, from a gaping maw of darkness.
I wondered who I would see tomorrow.
I wondered who would see me.
Would I see my mother, my father.
Would I ever again feel my wife’s gentle hand,
Hear my children’s laughter ringing like church bells.
Would they remember me, who I was,
Or would I become the fragments of memories,
A warm hug, a gentle smile, a shout of encouragement.
Would I be to them, if I cease here,
Here at a gaping maw of darkness.
We were armed. I recall the weapons.
Two pipes, three chains, a single sword, a pool cue.
A staff, a mighty staff, given to us by a holy man,
Made of ash, tall and proud, strong and old.
Lacquered white, crested with hope,
Iron wrought hope forged from the fires of creation.
Several guns, more than I could count,
It would be quicker than reloading.
Alone and afraid we stood there,
There before a gaping maw of darkness.
We heard a scream, more than human, less than monster.
A lone voice raging against the night, against creation.
It’s not alone for long, for soon there were thousands.
I cannot say what each man did.
A silent prayer, a desperate wish, a forgotten hope.
I doubted, doubted we were enough.
The brothers placed their hands upon each others shoulders.
Not quite a hug, but enough for them.
Enough for all of us, we followed suit.
Silent sentinels against an unknown evil.
Guarding against an ancient evil from within,
Within a gaping maw of darkness.
I heard the Priest reading from an ancient tome.
Older than Latin, older than Hebrew, older than man.
The beasts burst forth in a flood of rage,
Like a bloody water from behind a breaking dam,
They assail us from its depths,
Depths of a gaping maw of darkness,
It was the Accountant who drew the line,
With staff and sword in hand, he cried,
You shall not pass!
He had always wanted to say that.
They would not be his last words, those would come later.
If the creatures were impressed, we could not tell.
They still came, undaunted, unafraid, unwavering.
The battle was long, harsh and cruel.
One of the Brothers was the first to fall.
Bright flares of light from the muzzles of his pistols,
Blazing against the darkness.
Like Zeus’s thunderbolts across a midnight sky.
The Accountant fell next,
The cost for his life was high,
And he made them pay it in blood.
The other Brother fell, a firefighter by trade,
He fell as he lived, protecting someone else.
When the Soldier fell, he cried out.
He grasped from his neck a symbol of his faith.
Yanking it free like the pin from a grenade.
“You have placed us here to do your will. You will help us.”
It was not a request or prayer, it was a threat.
With the last of his strength he threw that trinket,
It landed amongst our foes,
There was an impressive lack of noise,
But where it touched the earth there was light.
Light and force like a universe being born.
A wave of power washed over us.
Beasts flew through the air like rag dolls in a hurricane.
We were all blinded, stunned and confused.
Brought low by the answer to one mans faith.
The line of unnamable horrors began to falter,
The terrible gash in the nature began to close.
The beasts made a final push.
It was the Hero who fought them back,
He stood, an impassible wall of valor.
Trench coat flowing in the wind,
Like the cape on a Kansas farm boy.
He made humanities last stand there at the brink.
The brink of a gaping maw of darkness.
He stared into that abyss.
I wish I could remark on what he witnessed,
What sights and horrors he must have viewed.
As he stood there wreathed in the shadows,
Shadows from a gaping maw of darkness closed.
The portal wavered, and slowly fell,
Slamming shut with the finality of tombstones,
A final clawed had grasped his chest,
And the Hero was no more.
The priest died quietly in the night,
He had done enough, it was time to rest,
He was no longer needed here.
There had been last words,
Nothing heroic, nothing grand.
The names of loved ones mixed with cries of pain.
There were two trophies that day,
Deep black scars and an mangled hunk of metal,
The physical scars have faded.
The hunk of metal hangs from my neck,
Dangling from a soldiers discarded chain.
I am all that is left,
I am the survivor,
It is my duty to remember, repeat, remind.
I make sure the world knows.
Of the great cost paid,
Of the brave men who gave everything,
On the day WE stood on the brink.
The brink of a gaping maw of darkness.
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