Omega Man Rap

at times when feeling ‘noir
it pains’ me deeply
and i wish to obscure
my ‘sexier pons’

my ‘cat id irony’
fails to suffice
for ‘rarely it’ ‘insists i belie’
my ‘equine data’
and the ‘bicep alias
it’ no longer works

when ‘stoic ideas’ become ‘ornate libel’
i turn ‘to repine sunsets’

airing as ‘funded glib’ ‘pelt art’
‘erred as’ a ‘cynic soul opus’
of ‘incredible sin’

however ‘spurious
trite’ i pray it not

for ‘i toil in gray’ skies
to ‘escort earth’ with ‘hemp at rose’

to deliver a ‘cad edited’ ‘cat encomium’
and ‘obtain focus’
so that i may ‘convert pities’
from ‘scour units’ and ‘Soviet barons’

because ‘grease enables’
‘tin men to impale’ the ‘rift outed’
by my ‘Scorpio intent’

*see comments for key

Furtive Moons

there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens

these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known

still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile

the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon

we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own

to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons

Through These Words

you will see
my pain

the endless hours spent

the triumph
of this misery

in a momentary squander

you may wander
through the pages torn

and wonder
how i speak your truth

the one
stayed by a stinging tongue

layered ‘neath a stolen sun
abeyant

at times
we will laugh together

rain may fall
on distant ground

and the secret
guarded smile
will have vanished
left untold

on the cusp
of thought symphonic
on the path
of parting stream

though we understand
the story

who we are
remains unseen

mystery becomes our warden
through these words
of sought reprieve

Pasting the Past Into the Present

a poem is but
a restive cluster
grasping
onto pages
with our frantic
fears conspicuously
calling out
for rescue

meticulously poring through
decrepit thoughts
of hoarded visions
kiss to tryst
to triste
in a blissful
dissolution
before sediment
comes nigh
where sighs undress
our destitute descries

calculated coalescence
pandering our pride’s
priviest imprints
curling chips of paint
exposing throes
of yesterdays

sacred cruxes
born before
our burgeoning bereavement
from whence all
embarking destined
for a distant hearken
poised to be
impartially presented
in pretentiously penned
appropriations
parsed
to pierce our peers
appetition
to sate this
untold inquisition

Beyond the Grave

often
we obscure our words
for fear
of truths
only they hold

unable to bear
the letters
staring back
so stark and cold

still
we must express
our feelings
lest we tend
our spirit’s death

ink
like blood
begins congealing
with every
unspoken breath

none would choose
to bear such burden
from an ivory tower
of pain

shattered tears
shall heed no warden
each and every
one the same

so it is
through words
thus written
pittances
of what pervades

dormant tales
awaiting
to be spoken
from beyond
the grave

With Pen In Hand

Pensively, with pen in hand
I seek to speak this heart’s demand
In verses vetting no avail
Dispersed through endless paper trails
The flames of amorous subdue
Proclaimed in clamor since imbrued
In rumination brewing long
From luminescent springtide song
Frustrations thrust upon this mind
Soon turn to dust all in due time
As lost laments gather to die
‘Til one day come a weather eye
In search of words to mend the wound
Unearths the tome that tends this tomb
These tales eternal then retold
In vales of vernal life once known
For all things past must yet return
As falling glass from stardust spurned

Tripping

we experience
our own expression
subjectively

in the form of dreams

our subconscious
is the peripheral landscape

flourishing between
the diametrical opposition
of a contiguous mirror

as we stand
in the midst
of chaotic illusion

alluding to the infinity
persisting in each dimension

and that
of our existence
within every aspect
of eternity
itself

as oneself

as everything
and nothing

in perpetual states
of entropic balancing

behind the masquerade
of conscious awareness

through the cosmic filter
of relevant perception

personified

Freedom of Words

i have never written
anything

these words
are not
mine

these thoughts
i may
possess

to some degree

perhaps
i act
as the filter

through which
the collective
experience
accrued
by this feeble form

speaks

to the world

my expression
does not belong
to me

for i am unable
to behold its presence

our words belong

to one another

just as love
suffers

no dominion

but persists
in the form
of all things

in every temporal instance
as the one
singularity

of our existence

thank you
for sharing
in this experience

In the Key of Beauty

there is beauty in all things
for it exists within our words.

one mustn’t hazard any
further contemplation.

the time to speak is now.

resonate sonorously
with prosody profound.

each soul must
sing its song.

imbue your voice
upon the world
’til your heart
rings the truth of love.

with harmonic resolve.

Elaboration

spoken word is often heard to herd our thoughts en masse
in subdivisions subject to succinctly shorn abash
with tethered tongue endeavor we to eloquently air
ineffable expressions deftly doled out so to spare
gauging our engagements with gratuitous refrain
allowing temporal allotment basis to abstain
from artfully articulating free to affectate
inflection efflorescing to reflect what best relates
when clearly this impairs our proper prepense to impart
by misappropriating that which would impel our heart
predictably afflicting our intended utterance
thus rendering our voice as ineffective abeyance
which leaves us floundering to falter ineffectual
destined to descend depths of diligence misconstrued
should we decree our thoughts conveyed to show evincible
we could forgo distraught dismay deemed reprehensible
for implications minced from assertation’s open end
are subject to inferences of infinite amend
thus, i submit commitment to the full breadth of nuance
in all asseveration to disseminate ensconce
for time must be considered far beyond the imminent
lest we spend all eternity on spurned expedience