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Hidden Facets

There are many personas contained within each individual’s name which reveal themselves through, of all things, anagrams. Uncovering these hidden personas is an old pastime of mine. I now present to you the anagrams of Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton.  Feel free to interpret these as you wish…

  • doldrum pant
  • mud rod plant
  • odd rum plant
  • darn lump dot
  • torn dad lump
  • add torn lump
  • plum odd rant
  • lump and trod
  • odd lamp runt
  • mad porn lout
  • odd palm turn
  • torn lamp dud
  • damn plod rut
  • mad runt plod
  • darn mud plot
  • lard ton dump
  • land dump rot
  • old rant dump
  • dolt ran dump
  • rump and dolt
  • dump lord ant
  • lord damp nut
  • old damp runt
  • darn dump lot
  • darn dolt ump
  • dump lord tan
  • pot drum land
  • mud land port
  • odd lump rant
  • dun mold part
  • dun tarp mold
  • dun mold trap
  • dun malt drop
  • dun old tramp
  • dun dram plot
  • palm trod dun
  • lynch a trillion
  • nor a chilly lint
  • archly loin lint
  • i lynch oral lint
  • horny lilac lint
  • lint i call horny
  • lit crony in hall
  • an ill crony hilt
  • alt crony in hill
  • richly anon till
  • charity inn loll
  • trill in halcyon
  • chilly loin rant
  • no thrill in lacy
  • ill thorn in clay
  • holy rill cat inn
  • a rich nylon lilt
  • lint on rich ally
  • lay rich toll inn
  • all rich yon lint
  • rally on nil itch
  • i only rant chill
  • only a trill inch
  • ninth coil rally
  • con inlay thrill
  • i can roll thinly
  • ill lynch ration
  • loin lynch trail
  • i lynch in a troll
  • lynch all in riot
  • nil to lynch lair
  • lot in lynch lair
  • ill tinny choral
  • thy ill carol inn
  • thy ill thorny clan
  • hilly clan intro
  • i thrill clan yon
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Sacred Trivialities

we ride
this boundless wave

from crest
to crash
in chaos
crushing shrieks
and drowning cries

echoes
in the undertow

through waters
of an unknown quest

sinuating circumstances
tend this surface tension
tenuously

as each action
scatters sentences
in capillary sequences
of curious inconsequence

where quantum rifts
soon shift to cosmic

drifting upon caustic wake

it is in that squallish whisper
when the hands of fate uplift us

sifting through our sins

in graceless cringing
and grimaced chagrin

gravity turns inverse

severing us
from our sanctimonious symbols
and sacred trivialities

we once revered
with fierce resolve
our lives revolved
provincially
with every round

all soon found
to have been
profundity’s antithesis

arriving at the genesis
of cyclical rebound

reborn and disavowed
in distant visions
of the now

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Not Even Death

when everything
is gone
nothing matters

the only place
you still exist
is barely even tangible

but you don’t care
no one cares

not even death

and so it persists

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The Last Pain

fading in
and out of shadows
faces
of bizarre contortion
glaring
as a stranger’s
features
reach into
this bed of famine

trapped within
these walls
without you

terror-stricken

anxious

reeling

haunted
by fates unforeseen

fleeing
from my own escape
on paper
pouring tortured
thoughts

poring over
art
distraught
in attics
dimly lit
amid daunting stacks
bearing chronicles
so unfamiliar

taunting
with disparity
the stalking stares
cast cold as steel

the last pain
I am left to feel
is lost to numbness
pitted in this hole
that was my conscience

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Shores of Implore

plastic melts
like sugared air
and time conforms
to nothing

songs persist
through voices shared
with context
ever shifting

if only
you could walk beside me
on these planes
of swallowed hope

placid seas
would then return us
sadly
this will never be

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Stranded On the Precipice

death escaped
my hands

and left me

standing at the altar

the emptiness
received me
like a self-
inflicted wound

in a room
adorned with trinkets of trifle

faintly linking
my alter-ego
to this faux land

of vaulted heart
and vapid mind

where visions turn
away
afraid
to learn

of their inbound
inception

this blunderous aberration
has no station

nor foot
to find it steady

a cistern of depleted days
precedes each ghastly step
in protest

stranded
on the precipice
of a sempiternal impasse

surely they jest
upon questioning
assent to my depression

such pain belies
its own expression

and politesse yet stays
my tongue

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To WRITE (inspired by Just Joan)

To WRITE

IS to VALIDATE

the TRUTHS

of one’s individual

PERSONAL
life experience

through the

PERPETUITY

of written word

the TRANSMUTING
of one’s greatest

TRIUMPHS
minutiae
and TRAGEDIES

to be SHARED
with the WORLD

or
with NONE

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To LIVE

To LIVE

is to have

the TRUTH
of one’s individual
PERSONAL
experience

perpetually

INVALIDATED

by the WORLD

around you

with special

EMPHASIS

on those
who ARE poised

to KNOW

YOU best

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Pavlovian Lapdogs

petulant plebians pandering prose
spawned out of spite from depictions composed
of pithless and petty ploys poised to appease
a princess of poisonous pedantry peeved
with patrons plucked patiently tempered by pique
their person purloined spurred by spurious speech
supinely complying peremptorily
pliable pupils impaired by erred pleas
obsequious as pavlovian lapdogs
a precedent of appalling demagogue
imparting dispatch surreptitiously reaped
to pose such a perfect impression oblique
to passively present through public dispose
promotion of disreputable depose
to please their despot’s pathetic importunes
perilous plots born of perceived impugn
sparing none, for all are prone as her pawns
through solipsist eyes of contempt and despond

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to know

Beautifully intriguing expression from my friend Miranda

S.'s avatarquiet quandaries

I don’t really know what I created, (not that I really have a style, yet) but it happened. So here it is.

i lay, on the brink
shook tongues with my past self

clawing at the collapse and fold,

i helped her out of her coat

‘well, aren’t you cold?’
why yes, she let, and let me find my death
in the reigns of frost, pages fill my chest
there are jewels in the snow,
did you know? did you know?
i lost myself on the way to my cabin
careless in the clutches of a mind gone rabid

i cast aside her shoes

‘oh, how you shiver –
your spine twists in my hands like a child with fever’
in the blackened night, you scrawl your dues
ink floods your dreams,
where are you? where are you?
i fought myself on the way to my cabin,
howling and bawling for…

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