Diary of a Poet
Dear Reader,
Well, here we are, again. ...or there you are, again...here!
And all i can say, is that i tried my best, again, to stay out of the way of the Muse, as it spun,
and twisted, and contorted, and misused, and fumbled with words, and phrases, and meters, and
rhymes and whatnot (or i fumbled with how i witnessed it...). According to my own belief, this
practice puts me that much closer to perfect; the unattainable feat, infinitely beyond reach,
allowing for great leaps of progress, without binding or cramping in any way whatsoever. It is
with sadness that i realize this is the last volume that will be pulled from the thoughtcafe.co.uk
posts, as they are closing in March of the coming year. For any of you whom have visited the site,
my condolences, and for any of you whom have missed the treasures and delights found there, my
condolences.
Alas, there are many a site for such postings, and, in the end, it is the posters and the readers,
not the site, that makes it all worth while, so may we meet there, wherever it is, now, of course...
I do hope you find some lines that touch your heart, or sing to your soul, as you read this!
#1038 , #1039 , #1040 , #1041
#1042 , #1043 , #1044 , #1045
#1046 , #1047 , #1048 , #1049
#1050 , #1051 , #1052 , #1053
#1054 , #1055 , #1056 , #1057
#1058 , #1059 , #1060 , #1061
#1062
#1038
Tea Time?
This pitiful
paurometabolous
pathetic state
appearing
the prophetic
paucity of fate
peoples
the planet with
people perturbed
panics
the picnic of
polished with disturbed
possible polite
repercussions
propose
poetically
proper perchance
and repose
probably pride
proportionately
prim
predisposes
possibilities of
perceiving light's brim
Top
T o C
#1039
Impersonally Yours
I see you in your pain
but would not seek to heal
I see your anguish plane
would not with pity seal
I see your eyes calling
caricature at best
I see pain rain falling
by your distance caressed
I see the temptation
to bring my comfort in
I stick to my station
with its echoes of sin
I see and am grateful
to witness such a bloom
Ever here and waitful
as you rise from your tomb
Top
T o C
#1040
Diagnosis
What can one say
when a friend is diagnosed
and there is no hope of cure
Just spend a day
try to be the greatest host
for love is the only sure
Top
T o C
#1041
The Passing Of A Preacher's Kid
Fundamentally brainwashed
incidentally fried
Most specifically hog washed
false prophecy cried
Temperamentally pain moshed
theoretically dyed
Accidentally pride poshed
circumstantially wide
So historically blundered
so hysterically blind
So apparently plundered
one feels mortally lined
Symptomatically suicidal
blades and blood are unseen
The reflection of light is so tidal
it ebbs at the edges of clean
Top
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#1042
When The Dust Settles
Masterfully nimble
to the unattained eye
Intellectual gymnastics
while ether worlds cry
Delights in flash-frame
while emotions smother
Simulating strangers
of sister and brother
Pieces of a puzzle
thou, thee and i
Reptiles claiming spirit
dreaming wogs who can fly
We begin to realize
how we help teach each other
How we begin to realize
how we help teach each other
Though faux pas amany
this be-eth not one
Thus of course the obvious
when all-eth are done
Archaic renditions of
Post-Neo-Thought
Pages and pages of
what blood never bought
Invisibly perfect
indelibly blue
Irrevocably honest
at heart, me and you
Top
T o C
#1043
April Honors
It is the eve of
your fifty-fourth birthday
and someone
more versed than i
ought to write you
a moving sonnet
fragrant with the wonders
of your past
Honoring the depth
of motherly devotion
which safely harbored
your three children
and nurtured them gently
into their own lives
Recounting each step
of your whimsical travels
to the South and the West
and to borders below
Noticing the brilliance
of sparkle-eyed smiling
above school girl curves
you maneuver so well
And just maybe no one else
should notice such things
as the things that you show me
when no one is there
Maybe i should write
what comes to my conscious
each time memory whispers
your name to my soul
That chill like a shiver
that flows through my being
each time i realize
my beautiful wife
Maybe i should just write
that i totally love you
and you have quite simply
made my whole life!
Top
T o C
#1044
Sitting
Watching the curser mark blink
on a screen made without ink
Wondering what words will come through
if i can give the Poet Its due
A stenographer in Muse's court
awaiting a verdict neither heartless nor short
While invisible jurors combine in their chant
of a deadlock between will not and can't
When the wiles and whines of man
frivolously faking some plan
Like a Master is his place to take
as the coals of his Hell spark in bake
Turn the red of his raw into bland
and the skies of his dream into land
Yet the wing of a hope to be seen
flies through the polluted air clean
As the whisper of latter days' girth
simultaneously brings effortless birth
To messiahs of every man's doom
and to every dark ploy a new tomb
While some poet sits to electronic flash
amidst eons of mortalic ash
And wonders if today is the day
the Muse just might have Its way
Top
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#1045
Where i stand...
I am only here to spread soulshine
into the darkness of the ambiguity
of slaveship to the Muse
Tainting the unblemished
disarray of intellectual
grenades exploding onto page
near and far within
the lives of strangers
Which share the ultimately intimate
bond of the mutual
dipping of the quill of life
into the bloodwell of eternity
Top
T o C
#1046
Love
I now am love
partake of me
I multiply
Top
T o C
#1047
Important
it's funny how important
things can be today
then how distant
they can seem tomorrow
it's ironic the lack
of power in what we say
but how words' echo
rings with so much sorrow
Top
T o C
#1048
Welcome
Let us say first thing
Welcome to our home!
Sit down, take a load off
a resting from your roam
Can we get you something to drink
or maybe a little snack?
A stool for your tired feet
or a pillow for your back?
Tell us what you celebrate
or anything you mourn
It won’t go beyond these walls
to secrecy we're sworn
When you feel it's time to go
we'll gladly 'Fare thee well!'
But do return another day
our hearts again to swell!
Top
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#1049
Today
I used to think spare time
was a treasure
even came up
with ways to find more
When television was seen
as an amusement
back in them
old days of yore
But now in a
moment relaxing
ideas are pictured
and drawn
It would seem
a new me is evolving
awake enough to see
my own dawn
That lazy old sod
has died easy
or did it take
decades of years
And what came of its
fretting and moaning
of its teardrops
and turmoil and fears?
What a great
midlife exclamation
childhood glamour
turned somehow to gore
Oh, how the misery then
would have melted
had i known what
its intentions were for
What could cause such
astronomical misjudgment
what could make splendor
in the making seem pain?
What could be exponentially
more ridiculous
than the terror of
going thoroughly sane?
Top
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#1050
Love's Why
Sorry i have been so busy
that my sewing has littered the house
It isn't a lack of interest
or negligence being your spouse
You thought i should have a hobby
probably meant pressing rose petals
Maybe a more manly
action
whilst you bond with your pots and kettles
Apologetic poetry
is about as far as i can go
The baggage that i brought with me
literary ecstasy in throe
Unintentional curse's wake
might just wave through your moment's goodbye
My office may be where and when
but your love remains the only why
Top
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#1051
A Muse Meant
I see the many faces
the Muse assumes in ink
I visit the desolate places
on the outskirts of Its brink
Sit through Its honored graces
at times hoping for pink
And enjoy its leathery laces
and the comfort of its mink
I walk Its wordly paces
mid Its guises of think
And vision the papery spaces
as i serve as Its link
With rhyme like flowered vases
It pours without a blink
The vistas and tormenting bases
in Its heavens do i sink
Lame but for nuance braces
leap i into line's rink
Bathed within Its immortal traces
but Its holy wine i drink
Top
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#1052
Saturday, in the park...
Something tells me to write
not like a voice
or describable thing
so i return to the desktop
and open the stuff
folder
where Works waits patiently
for the dance of the fingers
callous from construction
and the flippant meandering
of a self-controlled mind
And the landlord comes to get me
to show me his project
and the wife comes to see
of what she's been left out of
and supper is ready
and the plaques are all bubble-wrapped
So she makes me a Coke and whiskey
to go with her fuzzy navel
not above her belt buckle
as closely as one might think
while the Sams gets ice colder
and the lines get a bit bolder
even daring to rhyme
in a world grown blase
with the lettering this keyboard
is too blase to hold
Of course back to technology
in a little plastic box
attached to a keyboard
a printer and a scanner
a camera
and an hundred million surfers
who haven't seen salt
since the turn of the millennium
or maybe a decade
or two beyond that
And a modern day Starbucks
where people drink engrams
by the gallon unwilling
to forfeit the pleasure
of thinking thoughts anew
While L. Ron rolls over
on his billion year contract
and Buddha just smirks
at the piety of Rome
And if one was a C
he just might use the f
word
not unlike Edgar's
flamboyant foreign phrases
or Earnest's tipsy
in the colour of a phantasmal write
i sit here
a radio
to the waves of conscious
that slap at the beaches
of an unstable hind
And hold out a hand
to lead the foresighted
on a trip to the starboard
even though i am aware
of being
absolutely blind
Top
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#1053
Did I Grow Up Right?
Haven't touched
a plaque in months
though i can see them
out of the corner of my eye
Printer runs
continuously
as the words of many
a poet slowly dye
Technologies
amaze me
though the high speed
has not been experienced yet
Moments stolen
with the wife
just so she knows that busy
does not mean forget
Too many trips
for supplies
leave me stumbling
twixt reality and dream
Who'd a thunk
that the future
would represent past
desire in such a gleam
Has every effort
been spent
so that the unknown
can avoid the unforeseen?
Has hope now
been provided
so that my then's fantasies
of should be
s are clean
Top
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#1054
The Stillness of Activity
Got a good start
with the staple and fold
now a smaller pile
and boxes of books
So, the process
is tediously old
but the collection
is ready for looks
Twenty-nine volumes
to the land of kilts
in a Brown wrapper
through air on steel wing
Batches of poems
raised by high cyber stilts
the same voices mentioned
in A Muse Zing
In hours the dump truck
will get to dust
as Tool Time
gets played
down under the ground
The printer dancing
its black on white must
while peace in the heart
of scurry is found!
Top
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#1055
The Now And Here
Sitting here
in peaceful preponderance
of the fire
once flourishing within
The want of a wish
for that writing
is shadowed
with simply a grin
Those pages of perfect
then practiced
as if the world
without them would end
Tainted by times
of the triple X
tipping
boldly brandishing
the belittling of bend
Heaping all helpful
hints of the “heathen”
atop the towering term
of temporal temptation
While once want
of wail of wanderlust
became quill's cry
of concentric commiseration
Pickling the possibilities
of practicality
was possibly pride's
most impoverishing play
Never mind now
the nuisance Neanderthal
did dialog not distill
into devotion this day?
Top
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#1056
Fore Cast
It's raining
it's pouring
My boss's day
'll be boring
No loam to dump
no cash to pay
Casino pursuits
another day
Cuz i dumped a truck
flat on its side
Scars on my wrist
to prove the ride
It wasn't fear
that watched it fall
But sad foresight
of impending call
I had let him down
as down i went
Slow motion moment
with no relent
So read here i sit
with my favorite folk
A word and a phrase
in tear or in joke
Evolution is
eternally slow
Blessed to detect
its postliminal glow
From suicidal ode
to sonnets sublime
Two cents worth here
the next page a dime
From moon with spoon
in scholastic converse
To non-rhyming lines
then forward in reverse
It isn't the rhyme
that causes the hit
Neither wit nor luck
or intellectual shit
It's the Muse in disguise
of an ordinary man
Who's chosen a pen
over balking a plan
Top
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#1057
Must I Move In Blue
Field of flowers
but i only pick weeds
Great intentions
but clouds rain on my deeds
Tell me something
that might just budge the door
Show me seasons
that sing what love is for
Tell me what i can do
to keep walking with you
and never find myself alone
Tell me what i can say
to bring you back today
let me see the skies you've flown
Nobody cares but you and me
and time gets me doubting you
Can i hold on and set you free
find a love that is true
or must i move in blue
One step forward
then roll back down the hill
Life's river flows
seems i'm just watching still
Oh, the secret
is something i must find
My heart's aching
from all this running blind
Tell me what i can do
to keep walking with you
and never find myself alone
Tell me what i can say
to bring you back today
let me see the skies you've flown
Nobody cares but you and me
and time gets me doubting you
Can i hold on and set you free
find a love that is true
or must i move in blue
Tell me what i can do
to keep walking with you
and never find myself alone
Tell me what i can say
to bring you back today
let me see the skies you've flown
Nobody cares but you and me
and time gets me doubting you
Can i hold on and set you free
find a love that is true
or must i move in blue
Top
T o C
#1058
A Muse Zing
This one is for all the lonely people
oops, seems i've already used that once
It's nice of tom to let me use his pen
maybe someday he'll stop taking it back
Baring ego like a sacred steeple
guess every palace ought to have its dunce
only hinting at remorse now and then
so i'll just play and let him take the flack
So many hands in one non-location
so many voices with which to cry out
so many ears awaiting eye's silence
so many tears with joy to celebrate
Many veins of blatant moderation
large herds of whisperers needing to be shout
i'll take up the weapons of non-violence
to war with mortal vision's consecrate
Top
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#1059
Them, Us and i
She, the 'her' of we
now says there is too much going
He, the whir of me
appears not yet to be bowing
They, the part of we
for which these words we are sowing
Them, the heart of be
the rhyme and reason we're growing
Top
T o C
#1060
After Reading Ancient Posts By ibelieve
There was talk of old thumper
in a comment i read
I believe it was of ibelieve
or so the bottle said
'Twas the night before weekend
the Sabbath of Jew
With a pint times aplenty
some reading to do
There was thought of the internet
as i layered some plaques
Baptist hints of Hell fires
just the normal flashbacks
But i found Mod Podge by the gallon
a gem if i dare say
Those pints of the sticky-ick-em
just vanish quick away
Sticky-ick-em
from an eighth grade teacher
a doll if there ever was one
And were i not married and met her
at seventy now she'd be done
Anyway, back to the flashbacks
or was it forward hindsight
The web and its wondrous weavings
intertwined now with my plight
Poe had the local newspapers
Shakespeare a stage, quill and ink
Here in the twenty-first century
the solar system on the brink
A poet can write flippant verses
without checking the dictionary, of course
Cuz computers do all the spelling
when C
's mother is not the source
Reverend Dad and his mistress
didn't evoke so much pride
School was a ball in the beginning
but i quickly jumped off of that ride
Now Excel has got me confounded
these gadgets in such a small box
I learned on ones the size of a bedroom
when kids listened to goldilocks
Then the spring season's muddy
almost axle-deep in the goo
Had a snow day on Tuesday
are there tulips there for you?
Sorry for the long-winded
i only write what comes through
But thank you much for the intimate
this moment of me and you
Top
T o C
#1061
Bamboozled Again
The company of
so many of the Muse's expressions
leaves me full of
a bamboozler's confessions
illegitimately
scrawling my digressions
the ilk and flow
of scroll and ink obsessions
sans the scholastic
of educational sessions
antiquing verse
in meterless regressions
inarticulate
in genre suppressions
wasting
just a little
bit more of
your time
Top
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#1062
Less of a Writer?
...
If i am less of a writer
for not being read
So much less than the writer
i'm already dead
But if words have their way
they are the writer
For me is but finding their way
avoiding slighter
Could have been chisel to stone
words do find their way
Inertia's poets to stone
echoing err way
But i used spirits to ink
and bottle to stone
Séancing spirits to ink
slice minds to the bone
Just one handful of pages
many eyes to ink
Just the stages of pages
not daring to blink
But life's consideration
to purchase pages
Then no consideration
the poet rages
So book is stacked against book
consideration
Then war with look against book
for adoration?
But life's being read
while life's writing the book
And strife's being read
be it by hook or by crook
If i am less of a writer
for not being read
So much less then the writer
i'm already dead
...
Top
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Would love to hear your thoughts on this verse!
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