Mindloss

Your mind has gone dim,

Not one single whim,

The workers left early it seems

As still as a bus,

Long after the rush,

You can’t tell what anything means

Your trains of thought are,

Blank to the last car

None have left Mind Central Station

Not one single notion,

Starts up a commotion

Inside your imagination

A memory lingers,

At a snap of the fingers,

Thoughts, they would jump into action

But now there is this,

A Brain Basilisk

Has eyed you into petrifaction

You recall times,

When reasons and rhymes

Came to you quicker than thought

But now thought and reason,

Have gone out of season

It seems to all have been rot

What’s really the point?

To flex your brain joints?

What good will your thoughts ever do?

Rather you really,

Should lay back, ideally,

And devolve to primordial goo

Infect your ambition

With deadly condition

Some might call total indiff’rence

Don’t think or surmise,

Or hypothesize,

Flee at a real thought’s appearance

But why, wait a minute,

If there’s nothing in it,

Do you fight off thoughts with a will?

It’s almost as though,

When you don’t even know,

You have thoughts clogging up your brain still

See, when your head’s blocked,

And you feel your brain’s locked,

Inside of a thinking-proof box

You have a decision,

One's toss out ambition,

Or break out and shatter the locks

Your thoughts are all waiting,

To board at the Station,

With tickets to never seen shores

The train has been prepped,
The only thing left,

Is for you to open the doors

Bookish Friends

A friend, to me, can be a book

Filled with so much writing

Moral stories, no romance

Magic, plots and fighting

High adventure, teary drama,

Horror and mystery

To read them all would be a task

Too great for you and me

But if you gain just one book only

You’ll know its precious value

For like a book a friend can turn

Into what means most to you

Alone these books will gather dusts

Upon their lonely shelves

Their stories never to be heard

When they are by themselves

But friends and books alike were meant

To be with others like them

And rub their spines and shoulders close

With stories not unlike them

And books, like friends, are similar,

In that they will and may

Differ greatly from each other

In all and every way

One may be a tale of healing,

Helping feeble people last

Another has a tragic story,

Wishing to forget the past

Some may wish for time long past,

While others tell the future

He may love a good adventure

And she a child to nurture

Though they’re diff’rent, one and all,

They have the self same need

For you to open up their front

And turn the page and read

Everyone can be a friend,

So all may be a book

Waiting, searching, hoping, praying

For someone to look

Books are fragile, soft inside,

And will not often open

So when they do you must prepare,

To read truth and emotion

When the cover falls away,

You’ll read inside a life

Page by page and year by year,

Through all their loves and strife

To read a book like that’s unlike,

Anything else you’ll feel

To have and read one is a gift,

That none can ever steal

Some of us have many books,

And some have very few

The lucky have the oldest ones,

While the young make theirs brand new

But every book, regardless of,

Its age or quantity

Should know, for all its quirks and plot holes,
You make your reader happy

The Crow: An Ad Hoc Parody

If you're reading this, it's too late...you were warned! But you still read on.

What lurks below is a poem I wrote in an attempt to lovingly parody a much better poem by Edgar Alan Poe, namely 'The Raven'. It isn't actually a parody, if you  use the exact definition, more of a changing up of the poem and its point for (hopefully) humorous results. 

So, if you're brave, and haven't eaten a large lunch, scroll on, on into the poem below, valiant reader! If you finish it, comment below with your thoughts, and if you parish bravely in the battle inside, we will erect a memorial page on the blog, and your next of kin can send in a stirring epitaph for all to see.

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Once upon a morning weary,

As I pondered, weak and bleary

Many an empty alcoholic bottle

There came a noisome sound of banging

Upon my window where were hanging

Curtains that I’d bought on sale in Gottle

The noise started my head a-thund’ring,

As if through it a giant blundering

Was wreaking havoc on my sodden brain

Before to bed I could escape

The noise from behind my window drape

Increased until I could not bear the pain

With cries and swearing ripe as kiwis,

Plucked from the Obscenest trees

I staggered over to the window slot

At speed I cracked the window pain,

So that I could ascertain

The person who had helped me rest, or not

Sitting there upon the sill,

The target for my rife bad will

Stared back at me from both sides of its beak

Black as well-tarred undergarments,

Feathers scruffy as a varmint’s

With baleful eyes at me the crow did peak

Askance I stared without a word,

Down at the small black feath’ry bird

And wondered how it could have knocked so loud

But before I could inquire,

It hopped past me, sat by the fire

And kicking aside some bottles, to me it bowed

Taking my seat by the embers,

Of the hearth which in Novembers

I had lit and huddled by in need

“Are you my imagination?

Or a drunken machination?”

Asked I, but the crow croaked to me, “No indeed.”

“Are you then a devilish demon?

Formed out of my sinful dreaming?

Maybe from one of the books I read?

Are you one, or perhaps both?

Of those evil things I quoth?”

But the crow made answer to me, “No indeed.”

Then it bent and pecked with gusto,

At an empty can of Musto

Then stared at me, eyes black as a bead

“Did you come because you think,

That I depend too much on drink?”

Wheezed I too which the crow answered “Indeed.”

“But alcohol helps you to mend,

And makes you many a stalwart friend!”

Jumped I to my own defense at speed

The crow looked ‘round the empty room,

The friend-free floor with bottles strewn

I could but nod as the crow croaked “Indeed.”

The bird was right although I hated,

That a black dishrag seemed to be fated

To break me of my long established need

“Could it be, oh black winged wonder,

That you can heal a bad hangover?”

But that strange crow made answer “No indeed.”

Yet still with its frank dreariness,

It had broken me out of my bleariness

And showed me what I’d made myself in greed

So, happily, I shook its wing,

And thanked the crow for everything

To hear just one single last “Indeed.”

And as it flew off with a drab wing’s flutter,

I did not close the window shutter

But watched until I saw the black bird go

I was very glad for its company,

But was happy it had not stayed with me

For all its helpful merits…not great conversation was the crow

No indeed.

Dragon in the Snow

This is a poem that is almost as old as I am, if I were nearly five years old.

It was posted on a now comatose, if not dead blog called Iron Wyvern. Don't ask why that's the name, the three people--including me--who began it had no idea themselves.

Anyway, for whatever reason, this poem won a spot in a literary magazine of the Metropolitan Library System in Oklahoma City alongside 'Mr. Loneliness', and I couldn't see a reason why I shouldn't show it on the blog.

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When the mountains don their caps,

As the forests gain their covers

White abounds o’er all the land,

Frost bound hills like icy brothers

While the people rush indoors,

Fleeing the wind that outside sings

All but one warm safe inside,

This single creature spreads its wings

Frosty scales, and icy claws,

Silver wingtips, golden eyes

Taking to the restless winds,

Beneath the Dragon all land lies

Swooping in the sky’s embrace,

Wings widespread to catch the breeze

Skimming o’er the snow cloaked fields,

Alone but for the endless freeze

Alone above the endless snows,

The Dragon swoops to the ground below

And with a roar that shakes the skies,

Fire bursts across the snow

The Moment

Every instant of your life,

In all the peace and all the strife

Inside each there is potential,

You can use to make essential

The time inside that myst'ry called the Moment

It fills and waits within each day,

Regardless if you’re bright or gray

It waits most patiently for you,

To take it and make life anew

A thousand chances in that single Moment

Every day you squander it,

Or sit as you ponder it

But very rarely do you seize it,

And makes things better as you use it

For anything can happen in the Moment

Every day and every hour,

Every smile and every glower

Are formed out of that fateful thing

That can be changed to anything

Every man and woman has the Moment

Regardless of your rank or stature,

If you’re young, or out to pasture

The month, the week, the day, the hour,

Is always filled with that great power

The Moment is prepared for you to seize it

You see it’s there with you right now,

Beside you ready to show you how

You can change the world by taking

The chance it gives and then awaking

To what can be done in a single Moment

It was not made for you to squander

Or gather dust while it you ponder

But for you to make use of it

And make the best come out of it
Dreams come true if you just seize the Moment!

Lady Sorrow

My truest friend had gone along,

The path I could not follow,

So suddenly, he had left me

Bereft, with no tomorrow.

My unshakable and constant friend

Was gone, swift as a feather,

No more we would nor could again

Laugh or cry together.

No comfort came from any mourner,

To me they all were hollow,

But then one morn, with black adorned,

Visited the Lady Sorrow.

I knew her name though never had I,

Seen or sat down with her,

But friends had told me when they grieved,

She came swiftly thereafter.

She swept into my humble home,

Grief’s very emissary,

It was as though, she came just so,

All my tears I wouldn’t carry.

For I knew, ‘twas very true,

That a mourner by himself

Will heal what’s broken twice as fast,

With a friend to give him help.

And though my friends were all gone then,

Lady Sorrow took their place,

And sitting close we wept as one,

Recalling my dear friend’s face.

The next day Sorrow had got gone,

And with her went the pain

That had plagued me all those dark days,

When alone, I fought in vain.

The time together with that Lady

Had healed my sundered soul,

And my dear friend now safely stays

Within myself made whole.

And there he’ll stay, all thanks to that

Dear Lady Sorrow who

Showed how one grieved could heal their pain
If it is healed with two

What's in the Dark?

What’s that between the closet crack?

Something lurking behind your back

Is there a beast beneath the bed?

Or hanging 'bove your downturned head

What’s in the dark? You’re wondering

A face? A tail? A beast? Something

But in the morning they’re all gone,

They light’s chased everything along

You open up the closet crack,

Nothing lurks behind your back

What’s in the dark? There is nothing,

No face, no tail, no beasts, no thing

The nighttime comes, as does the dark,

The dog next door desists its bark

And that must mean the things are back,

Staring through the closet crack

What’s in the dark? What did it bring?

A face? A tail? Yes there is something

Blackness, darkness everywhere,

Things are coming, intent to scare

The house is silent, yet you hear,

Sounds from the closet crack you fear.

What’s in the dark? What’s through the crack?

Spawning beasts born in the black

Your parents tell you that it’s nothing,

Your friends call you a 'baby’, laughing

But there’s something there, a fact,

Inside the dark, waiting to act

What’s in the dark? You know it’s there,

A face, a tail, the beast, its lair

The dark had scarce begun that night,

When you still have most of your sight

You tiptoe ‘cross the carpet floor,

And quickly close the closet door

What’s in the dark? You’ll never see,

No face, no tail, the beast is free

For now that the door was closed,

The monster could go where it chose

And now it fills every shadow and nook,

Disappearing wherever you look.

What’s in the dark? The monster paces,

Around the room, in the black places

Fear fills the dark where the monster flits,

Its eyes watch you with invisible slits

Then in one moment, night-black dyed,

You throw the door to the closet wide!

What’s in the dark? You’ve broke its snare,

Its face, its tail, the beast is there

It’s not hidden behind your back,

You look at it, the monster black

It fills the whole small closet space,

The shadow beast, its nightmare face

What’s in the dark? You stare right at it,

The whole of the beast inside the closet

And then it went without a sound,

Disappeared, never to be found

The beast behind the closet crack,

Was gone where it could not come back

What's in the dark? You know it now,
What's in the dark's what you allow