Beauty Butterfly Drove: Wall Street Verse

This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

Falling into Infinity: Who am I Rhyme?

What can’t be learned in School is how to mend

the ragged-edges and their carnage, Peace

that has no Precedent is worth War’s Cease.

Why else would we be born if not amend

one Stripe of Matter buoyant, a faucet

Which dispenses what it compenses:  Ruth,

for manifestness, a benevolence,

kinder Measure for a Poem that must 

desist from its Same Self Stimulation

effervesced across Expansive Canvas,

a Hot Air Balloon arisen at last

forwardly frosted Ad Infinitum

who am I that I have no Sentience

and Yet I rhyme and yet I omniscient?

This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

Poems Aren't Made of These Types of Things Daffodil

This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

Beauty is whatever Cost can’t be Forsaken

The fine art of desire requires
stitches in beautiful letters that’re
trimmed once and twice then five times again
before there is something called a Sonnet.

What is the point of talking about it?
Poetry so what. It’s actually weird.
I don’t want some of that crap. Me either.
Does it care that none hopes it appears?

--Consider what I ask myself a lot:
Poems are just a faster way to trouble,
and give enemies what they need to smear
me further. Why do I teach what demeans me?

C’est l’ars pour l’ars? Once again: Beauty
at whatever Cost can’t be Forsaken



This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

To Rush the Death of Ideas: its Day CLothes or Night Apparel?

Running between thought and paper,
An Idea and its Day clothes
Or Night apparel, no Matter. My lines
Seem unblessed with beauty
And more a Tool which not being a Tool
but an Instrument, Verse.

Arriving at You!
What are you?
And of what Made?
If not Words (no, not Words!)
but of Action ever Restless
Unstill with its Before and Ever After…

A Person who beholds a Ventricle,
a Tube, a Conductor, a Wire….

Present-Times: what else do you Think
You have been Wishing Upon a Star?
AN End? And End-Times?
Presposterous

Yet more Credible than Ever
The Knowers, Experts, and Wise of Alibi

To Host and to Hearten Death of Ideas
without Heart that might Procure Vision.
Inadequates at Love, why Live On, Humanish?

A Race, a Creed, a Way, a Lie to Believe Life Exists?
Life Needs Explanation? Life Needs to Caution,
create Caveats, and Excuses?

Ah, that’s our Job, we Cynical Authors,
Hemingfolk, Shipwrecked and still Seeking Adventure!

For Sheer lust of it, Doc Williams






This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

Thumbelina, Elven Faeries: A Philopoeic CLICK IT TO Open Eye FLower

This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

Metrical Solutions to Stop EcoCollapse to My Hometown

I.


It's Metrical Revolution taking 
Place. Is it the Aquarian Age? I 
have Certain Features--my Horoscope Sign 
has to carry Water--then it's Mine. HooH!:


I know my Hometown Suffers me Gently.
They've known me all My Life. I was a Nerd.
Like I really truly hated the Pride 
there was for Teasing, Hating, and Rumors.


I'm a Big Cry Baby, that's Established.
So People, Gente, My Peeps, all da Folks,
I've Stopped all my Whining because I'm back
to tell you, We are Screwed and we're Dying.


If you don't think I should Speak anyMore,
I'm still Disinclined to See you Perish*




II.




I am not a Danger; I am Antennae.
Certain Things Pre-disposed me to be This
Way. I have HighVerbal IQ.  What's New?
I can not only Score but Design 
Tests used to judge us by number. Decide.
if you think it's not True. Or ask my Friends
from back home.  Yes, they can say who I am. 
Becuz it's often they say LOL 
on my Page.  And that's where my History 
lays.  I guess they'd say I am an Airhead
but they do that to Protect Edith.
So that's where I got my first Idea, 
to Learn from my Hometown and hope It
Believes I have proven Myself at last.




III.


One day my son wrote a Sad Song in School
it's called an Essay, Whatteva.
What he wrote I couldn't Forget Ever,
The environment will Collapse from Us!
"See," he said, "people Believe they're Better
than other Races, so if a Person
from another place, Say the Phillipines,
or Zimbabwe, has the Problem's Answers,
We're stUpid and we won't Listen."


I recalled I had heard Dr. King's Speech;
he had to explain to his Little Girl
she can't go to the Fun Park. No Negroes.


I'm asking you for my Two sons and Their
Generation, will we just Give it UP?