The people, playing their love on a lute

Trying to find the light in every day

And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.

The life of the Earth lies in its taproot

The celebration of the solstice day

The people, playing their love on a lute.

It is a human’s promise to salute

They swear to protect all of life’s mainstay

And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.

The promise is broken when they pollute

They have a new debt of death to repay

The people, playing their love on a lute.

A sacred animal they hunt and shoot

And the loss is much to their dismay

And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.

The species they’ve killed wont reconstitute

With fierce hate they have turned the blue skies grey

The people, playing their love on a lute

And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.

#poetry #villanelle

It lays there, a softness, wavering

Its petals not yet ready to bloom

But it dances all the same

It’s fierce, almost, the softness, I mean

The radiating power of calm longevity

Overshadows the hungry morning mist

As it hangs in the air

Obliterating

It’s sprawled there, a kindness, perishing

Nimble in fingers yet fragile still

Flakes wash away, stubbornly

It’s magical, almost, the way it persists

Tight smiles on long drawn faces

Yet not purely human

It watches the clocks tick

Waiting

It sits beside us, a terror, eating

Like a shadow, in envelops

The world suffocates, yet survives

It’s beautiful, almost, how it lives in the eyes

A stressed life of perception and grace

Obese in fairytales and smothering fat

It murmurs to the heart and the mind

Panicking

It marches by, a courage, fleeting

It sings a song of the past and future

But, in its moment of glory, leaves the present behind

It’s scary, almost, when it floats away

Its follicles scream delightedly, but it still fears

All of its scars are dents from a natural wound

The beast quivers in the dark

Pretending

It lingers on, a sadness, listening

Its brow, caked in dust

It sits on a fallen tree, and paints

It’s simple, almost, the loud emptiness

Gazettes of pale opportunity emerge

Hanging beside a man of knowledge

It remains, erupting in a gale of yellow leaves

Laughing

It whispers here, the loss, painfully

A frost that melts without dignity

Yearning to be free and watch the world burn

It’s peaceful, almost, nesting in its cage

But we can both hear it now, wrestling with the lock

And it stays quiet, a humble being

Our icy skyscrapers hollow themselves out

Dying alone

#poetry #freeverse

Her eyes filtered over the glasses

Like sunspots through wheat fields &

The music blares an unholy yellow

& she sings into the screaming heat of bodies

& lip gloss & sequin dresses &

Wiry hair & artificial smoke & her breath pops

Like bubble gum & the bass strums a heart beat

Into the onlookers & the dancers & the drunkards

& she can smell the drugs in their sweat & she

Can feel their eyes on her fur coat

Watching her body & the music

Isn’t enough to keep her forgetting

& The smoke suffocates her in

Memories & the braid in her hair swings

Like a horse tail flicking away flies

But this time the insects buzz with insanity &

This time the scrotty guy in the corner

Tucks more bills into his sleeve & her eyes are

Drawn to his stubby fingers and the heavy

Bottle with the heavier heart & her intermission

Is fruitless & her voice wants attention

But her body is where their eyes

Linger & the flies swarm her tight blonde braid &

She can’t focus & the lights blur

& the disco ball rains on soulless bodies & they

Dance surrounded by old tattoos & melted

Ice cream & human waste that didn’t belong

Anywhere else & her sequins glare into the night

& she’s terrified but her words lapse over them

In awe & longing & her eyes cascade over them

Churning in the deep & she sings

Absent of her lungs & heart &  mouth &

She spills her soul onto the floor

With the rotten piss & old drinks &

Glistening sweat & her sunglasses are pulled

Low in the midnight light & her lips

Purse with sorrow & she lifts her hand

To her mouth & the white capsule falls in

& she swallows her memories with an

Oblivion of hexagon shaped glasses &

Her knees hit the floor & it is finally quiet

#poetry #andpoems #andpoem #&poems #&poem