To Myth and Fairy Tale, and All the Truth That They Entail

We may not have fairies dancing in their ring,

nor the gods, Olympian diva queens,

we may not have the elves hunting in our dreams,

but damn have we got super heroic dreams.

The greeks and the roman’s can keep the myths,

and England can have all it’s fairy tales

and Germany it’s Grimm tales keep and sift

all you nations, keep your stories big as whales.

We in the U.S. read them with delight,

and in exchange for yours we’ll share with you

our own mighty superheroic fights.

Superman and Batman, and Green Lantern too.

         Justice League and Avengers, epic and cool,

         the myths of America, our dreams come true.

To Cloudy Sunrises

I love a sunrise on a cloudy morn,

so why does everyone scream for clear skies?

Would anyone miss the shapes of clouds torn

or how the sun passes through like a sigh,

looking down from his place in the heavens?

Why should I long for this pane of deep blue,

a solid mass, so flat, so unleavened?

Give me instead this many shaded hue

these shredded bits of torn up fantasy.

O, let them be the subject of my rhyme,

gentle reminders loving beauty,

memoirs that God has said, “once upon a time…”

         These gentle elements of dream holding

         our horrors at bay. Let these forever sing.

While Sitting in the Library...

O’neill was sitting next to Ibsen and

while they were droning on, Twain came up to

speak of language, diction, syntax, on ‘n on,

till Tolkien joined them with C.S. Lew,

‘n they spoke on until Shakespeare showed his face

(that created it’s own special debate)

and they all spoke of their modern disgrace

their names dragged down till they were out of taste,

how readers today no longer read with joy

but with a sense of responsibility

and none appreciate their word play coy,

nor get the language of their poetry.

         While they drone, they don’t know that I listen

         so in their old school prose my mind they christen.

On Surviving in a Kaleidoscopic World. (P.S. isn't that a great word, 'Kaleidoscopic')

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

As thoughts tie together in colored seams

wrapping themselves around objects so base

and turning them into the stuff of dreams.

The brain travels a many wrinkled path,

turning colors to noirish black ‘n white

setting shadowed angles to a bizarre math-

matical figures. This is the minds plight.

Where what it sees, feels, touches, and tastes

are as sure as a snowflake in August.

So how can we survive by rules so base

that we cannot be sure of their causes?

       Faith, in a word, is how we must survive,

       faith in our senses, faith to stay alive.

Fairy-Tale Life...Sure You Want it? Excitement Guaranteed.

Do you see the rules, written out in blood,

spelling out the laws of fairy-tale land?

Did you really think we were a sappy brood?

No, we are the stories that take life in hand

and accentuate all its faults and fears.

Children are poisoned, slaughtered in their bed,

while some are confined to wallow in their tears,

but either way most of them end up –

Select few then are rescued from demise,

by kind hearts without thought of greed or pride,

fighting with hearts good, wit’s quick, evil surprised;

the fate of the world in their hands to decide.

         Many a tale ends “happ’ly ever after”,

         no, never till the end. There in’s the laughter.