Weep

Stuff

I wished to prosper 

but life had other plans

it handed me some stuff

and told me to begin 

TIW 06-16-2026

some poems wear a sonnet

the way some people wear a bonnet

Poetic Death

Trust sharpens the blade

Loyalty holds you still

Love cuts your throat 

The Jester

I escaped the blade of the guillotine like a court jester disrespecting the queen the king thinks he knows where I'm coming from I hit em' with another one knock him off the throne it's only words carved in stone there's a twist in the tail the dog cry's in pain what's the meaning of life if you gonna die in vain words are like balloons easy to inflate if filled with helium easy to escape the grasp but can't break free from the string attached look at that it's a bird it's a plane it's a flying thing people point and laugh at the jester's clothes but what they don't know is the jester knows it's no crime in shame as children all we want to know is why as adults all we want to do is cry soon enough the child will know why we laugh and joke and poke a pin size hole in fun to deflate the propagandized design to release the hot air inside the lies between the ocean wide divide we do not co sign signatures on dotted lines I suppose it's gonna rain if the sun don't shine will we ever...

The Making Of You

add a little sugar a honeysuckle lamb we try to recite the pieces of who I am but the words are close yet they are not quite the full measure of the spark we make tonight Curtis pulled the rhythm from a quiet space Gladys gave it wings and timeless grace two different visions of the very same view that is the miracle and is also The Making of You

The plow and Prophecy

The Warden and The Flame

he gathered her from drift and dust a lonely ghost of cosmic rust he squeezed the dark until she bled a brilliant blinding dripping red “I’ll hold you close" gravity sighed to keep the wildness locked inside she grew so bright she burned so hot a fierce rebellion in the plot she pushed against his heavy hands straining to reach the outer sands for billions of years they danced in place in a locked embrace of creative space light travels and light must flee she slips his grip to wander free when her final hour awoke her tiny heart of thunder broke she let out supernova cry cast her jewels across the sky he stands alone where she was born with empty arms and fingers torn he cannot hold what he creates he only molds and shapes and waits

The Cut Glass

The Making Of A Diamond

the universe is heavy and the dark is born to press it weights the drifting spirit with a terrifying stress high above the gravity commands the dust to ignite crushing down the formless gas until a star is bright but go beneath the mountain where the ancient shadows sleep there is a different type of gravity a pressure fierce and deep it takes the common carbon the forgotten blackened coal and squeezes out the weakness to create a flawless soul the poet sits between them feeling weight from top and floor bearing all the sorrow that the world has kept in store verses are like diamonds born of everything that hurts like love the heavy hands of gravity compressing life against the grain no room to adjust no relief from the chains it can't scream out so it chooses to change

The Point Of Dust

A poet alchemised a stone into a spear philosophy is poetic like the force that binds the stars. We read the world before we write the words, to hold the weight is to collapse; even gravity must let go of what it receives shattering the star to seed the earth. As above so below the pressure builds the hands release and the dust becomes the spear.