poetry

Edge

Edge

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.
Cold, hard and sharp
it stretches out a panoramic view,
a brilliant abyss.
Dragons dance and demons whisper
sweet and warm,
secrets of
damning
delight.
Strings, then threads are cut
with a witless edge.
Weaving time without a hem.
The silence calls, beckons,
invites the comfort of
oblivion.
So simple to take the step —
a leap of bounds,
letting
go.

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Poetry Corner II

Drittland

(Third Country)

There is just one life for each of us: our own. ~ Euripides

A question is asked again and again:

Boy or girl?  They have a bet.

Crushing

Derision

Explicit contempt

Forget not the question

Girl or boy?  They have a bet.

Heartbreak matters not

In queries such as these.

Judgments are finite

Kept measured and clean.

License to question

Mercenary manifest

Naive, noxious and nasty.

Oh, boy, oh, girl what a bet.

Pomposity perpetuates the pain.

Quell the

Rising recreant need

Safeguard the system

To which they are married.

Unabridged umbrage is taken.

Vituperate the void!

When no answer is shaken.

Xenophobia demands an explanation.

You must answer.

Zealots command. They have a bet.

Poetry Corner I

Edge

There is a precipice at the edge of sanity.

Cold, hard and sharp

it stretches out a panoramic view

of a brilliant abyss.

Dragons dance and demons whisper

sweet and warm.

Strings, then threads are cut

with a witless edge.

Weaving time without a hem.

The silence calls, beckoning,

inviting the comfort of

oblivion.

So simple to take the step-

a leap of bounds,

letting

go.

Lunch with Yoda

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ambience of the dining establishment

Left much to be desired.

 

Walls of cream and pastel green punctuated with

Primaries did not whet the appetite.

 

A selection of cheery, primitive art attempted to

Counteract the cheerless interior.

 

The lighting flattered neither

Food nor guest.

 

Classical music poured out of tin speakers,

Adding salt to wounded composers.

 

The maitre’d was surly, sour and

Bitter in her greetings.

 

She slow marched each party to their table

With enforced silence.

 

And although we were seated in a reserved section,

The other diners were a bit intrusive.

 

The meal itself reminded me why

I usually make my own.

 

The rice-undercooked and bland.

The vegetables-overcooked and bland.

 

The beef I’d ordered had a strange relationship

With a certain Dr. Salisbury.

 

Dessert.

The unnecessary death of a good peach.

 

I closed my eyes to offer a prayer

For this dining misfortune.

 

Grace found my companion and

The smile on his face before he left for recess.