A Barbaric Yawp

The Voyager's Song

Time helms the soul:

Tame or uncontrolled,

Steering through rapids

That give way to calm waters.

For some.

For others, it is calmer beyond jungles,

Beyond rocks,

Beyond jarring congestion

Of glacial road blocks.

It is peaceful.

After the miles.

After the years.

After giving in,

Giving out,

And giving up fears,

The water rocks slow.

How long it will last,

Only the captain knows,

But for some, it stays:

A calmly helmed ship

On life's peaceful waves.

Waiting on Science

There's so much I could do

While the powder is dissolving.

I could be fighting crime

Or even mystery solving.

I could engage in a debate of

Creation vs evolving.

But instead I'm sitting here

While the powder is dissolving.

There's so much I could do

While it goes into solution.

I could lead a verse of "Bugaloo".

I could lead a revolution.

I could build a kingdom of my own

From gumption, cloth, and cushion.

But instead I'm sitting here

While it goes into solution.

There's so much I could do

While the powder takes the water.

I could have coffee and watch Dexter.

Or lead teabaggers to slaughter.

I could examine the finer points

Of being a better daughter.

But instead I'm sitting here

While the powder takes the water.

There's so much I could do

While I lose sight of the powder.

I could be myself completely

And then be even louder.

I could pretend I'm from Boston

And have fun with the word "chowder".

But instead I'm sitting here

While I lose sight of the powder.

There's so much I could do

While science takes its time.

I could remember I'm a writer

And compose a kickass rhyme.

I could ditch the lab completely

While I'm still in my prime.

But instead I'm sitting here

While science takes my time.

After the Storm

Savage days like these

Call memories from the depths:

Ones of hefty havoc that

Sweep till nothing's left.

The wind, the wind

Is setting in

To leave the world bereft.

Rain that bashes skulls

Seeks to pull away the brain

And train us to expect it all:

The thunderous refrain.

The song, the song

Is always long,

Yet the verses often wane.

Storms that strip the trees

Are just breezes at the start:

Ones with dark intentions

And a message to impart.

Lay down, lay down

On safer ground.

This storm is off the charts.

Lightning can reveal

Every hidden zeal to find

The binding perserverance

To ditch the disinclined.

Distill, distill,

To better fill

The puddles of the mind.

When the storm is over,

The feeling hovers still.

The chilly memories remain,

But sunny is the will.

Let go, let go

And always know

The rain can't run uphill.

The Boy in the Back Row

Bright eyes

Reveal curiosity in disguise

And a small-town heart

No longer stifled by its size.

One Letter

Nothing but silence is what I reckoned from this world.

Volume was your gift when your arms to me unfurled.

Numb was all I felt, never knowing what to say.

Verse rolled off your tongue, vying to sweep me hence away.

Night I saw eternal: no light, no love, no song.

Valorous day you showed: it was with me all along.

"Victory", I said and I gave myself to you.

"No one will ever part us, and no one else will do."

It only took one letter,

One subtle change in breath,

Just to save, just to change

Loneliness to Loveliness.

O, to be the Morning Mist

O, to be the morning mist:

To roll into life

And be everyone's sole sight.

Then, to drift slowly away

And be forgotten.

A gift he thought

She would be.

A gift he sought to know.

It is no gift,

I now can say,

To lay a good friend low.

******


Where you are, I am.

Where the drops fall.

Where the future calls.

Where the lair is, I am.

******

When She thought he crumpled with intent,

I wondered so what She meant.

******

A piece of our homeland,

Never seen by mortal eyes.

A piece of us and homeland.

Within it, here, it lies.

Take in the light that made the light.

Welcome me in and down and to.

Call and fall with light in hand

To bring the maker through.

An Eternity Until Autumn

One berry bloom is left upon the tree:

A wisp of a normal life's great fragility.

Through the slats in her sitting room,

She waits and waits to see,

If when the final berry falls,

At last, then,

Will she?

Inspirado's Haze

Here it comes:

The smoky roll,

The sense of peace and piece of soul

That beckons and binds the ink to me,

Until I'm drowning gratefully.

There is no word,

There is no phrase,

To capture Inspirado's Haze.

Smoke and ink do freely fuse:

And nourish deep my zephyr muse.

Possibility

Pristine papers

In pastel shells

Cling to spiral spines

As they wait

Like children in line

At a costume shop.