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Editing - draft

Ghost of Michelangelo

She looked down upon her shaking palm
There were three more tubes of oil
And fell the old wood tool box
That was set open on her table

And she prayed that one more time
With some help she could get it done
Then an angel took her fingers
Helped her chose the deep blue one

It was Michael of the Angels
He would see it all get done
It was Michael of the Angels
That would turn it into fun

You'll Put Your Eye Out... February Contest

Target practice; not supposed to be me
Paper circles in back of the house
Birthday boy, reloading after a win
Bang! Someone punched me in the eye

Walking to Catherine's house
I'm afraid the party's off
She faints and brother Johhny says;"Shit!"
Fast ride to the hospital

Walking, reaching and touching
Was a relearning experience
Not always good
Like a newborn doing small steps

The Promise...

Fathers from the stars
The chaos of your arrival
Will you depose our graven images?
Surely you will be hated

The masses are angry
Held in contempt by the powers
Unaware to the end
Angels are real and here

Ancient legends believed at last
Science catches up
Acuality, reality painted and carved
Seeing is believing

Slave labor made to order
Thou shalt have no others before me
Knowledge is power
Cursed and deported


Hard at work is the Reaper Grim
Shape-shifting for evil within
Essence of death always present
Skeletal make of humankind

Flaunting tools of torture and death
No armor stops the blades slicing
From horror filled countenances
Life-line blood from jugular spills

Atop the wagon-wheel gallows
Raven sits on an empty nest
Tattered cloth and drifting hang-twine
Soulless wanderers scurry ‘bout

Teacher teacher

Small hands reach for sky
Kindergarten "oo's" and "ah's"
Absorb books and toys


That feeling deep inside that's hidden by a simple side smile
the one you try to make last awhile the one
that you feel deep in your gut and the deeper you cut feels harder to reach for
to make those feelings slide deep away in a place you cant feel anymore because in your loneliness when you push so far inside you feel comforted by yourself and the reason you feel comforted is because in the end the only person you can count on is you
the only person who wont give up on you, is you.

Stag Night

The nights are long, and the days are short now
While winter winds echo across the land
Tonight the king will return as is planned
With a frosty touch on a silent bough
There by the fire I chant the sacred words
Amid inky sigils and corvine birds
And the gods of Sun return to my heart
If winter should bring yet more ice and snow
In their blessed warmth and love I will stand
A warrior touched by the ancient hand
To see their magic in the arcane glow
That carries the soul as the long nights drag


An expected visitor vying to hold
what's become of vixen lady, once gold
stronghold to emotions eerily grasped
a fool lady, cradling anxietys baby

Punctured armor protecting what's prudent
strength: slowly surfacing after suffocation
visitors back: bearing the blatant truth
vixen ladys companion vanished her youth

It sucked her dry with internal despair,
a well so deep with no water to hold
she longs youths return, in tighter clothes
no companion in sight, worries yet unknown


Waiting in the still interior:
A bulwalk against sleet grey
You are busy, or idle inferior
While indifferent nature preys

On all that flies, crawls or floats
And the concert of life continues
Against all the pale clear notes
Of an echo of rain that issues

From a rust iron sky, which creaks
And waits to break into something
That pitters or patters finding leaks
On innumerable sheds that ring

No Feet...

I saw a man that had no feet
So I wanted to lend him a hand
but he said; "No thanks
I already have two"

I told him that I thought
it was funny that he could make
a joke about having no feet
He said; "I never joke about that"

"I did think it was strange
that you offered to lend me a hand
when I already have two
and I really need some feet"


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