I cry cowardly over my leather shoes
The moan of hateful speech
Beacons a new wrath
The exotic clover has grown
Dried up and shriveled
Bequeathed
For the next generation
A sensational generation
My hope and dream
So I do my part in planting hope and optimism
Even in this world of ever deep division
Our hopes and dreams
Bequeathed from our fathers and mothers
Have been squandered away
On cheap things
Start the New Year
Pour the Coffee
Sweet grapefruit
With bitter ends
Sweet caramel sugar grains
The new year unfold in front of us
Like a vacuum sealed bag
Breaking at the seems
So it begins again
We plan something new
Something great
I hope to be a part of 2017
Off goes 2016
A year of changes
Losses
Rearranging
A year of new
Shuffling out the old
Somehow I reflect on my own words
I have written
Some I left out in the cold
New words will come with time
Time to behold
Gather the charades
Words sassy and icky
Unbound from the sound
Of a letter passing through our mouths
A royal kettle cooking
New ingredients
Indecent
If your enemy of an enemy
Is your friend
How can we content each other
Strange bedfellows to follow
How can the world swallow
Such indifference and insensitive hopes
Let’s gather the charades
And know
That the words themselves
Are our hope
“Wanderlust”
We are carried in the carriage
Ragged and old
We must find new wheels
New axels
Our carriage can’t carry
Us much longer
Not like this
We are going to break the carriage
Disparage
Can we please fix the carriage
Poems on current affairs
Or the state of the current affair
I am not sure how to decipher
Explain
The difference
I mean
Who cares
Underwater drones seized
I guess this is what it will be
The new normal
Is not normally
Going along
In a world changing
Faster than my hands can type
This type of change is uncertain
WE LACK HOPE
We lack direction
We lack the ability
To detect a fraud
Before its inception
What’s the use
It is just the new
Something we have to get used to
Spare in public
Spare in private
We are now ragged to the words
The fierce ideals
Of which I have no appeal
Prose
Or poetry
Do no good in the face of extremists
Rather words of inflammatory are
The choosing
Late night
Out of sight
Vanished in the thin winter air
The stare of one thousands breezes
Over a vacant chair
Isn’t it a cold night
A cold long night
Keep your stakes friend
I will keep mine
You run the country
I’m running around just trying
No advocates for artist
Rather keep the real estate
State to state
Proclaim
The lies keep dropping
Like smog filled drops of rain
What’s potential and what’s real
Only the average man can feel
Not in some high rise or looming tower
The hands that make these luxuries
Know nothing of the top shelf
Build it high
Then sell it to the highest bidder
Bitter
Bitter
Bitter
What’s happens to the hands that build these towers
After the wealthy have laid there fur rugs
We all look up in disdain
Disbelief
Keep your holdings friends
And I’ll keep mine
A Cup of Songwriting 