Summer Summer

The Mourning Doves are washed white
In the summer summer sunlight.
The dog kicks up dust,
Chewing on a rib bone,

All new blinking eyes,
Now wriggle like the arc of the flame,
Up and up and up,
Thrilled to be alive,
Seeing, seeing, seeing it all.

Young romance lock lips in public,
Accentuated by the heat that loosens
Survival instincts, sweat on skin,
Passion, ardor, ecstatic energy.

The fire in all grows, grows, and grows.

This is not the time to be tame, or quiet, or passive.
Action’s climax happens here, fruition, harvest,
The good part of the story,
The dance by the drumbeat understood by all.
Summer Summer, Summer Summer.


No living thing hibernates,
No ember hides in the ashes,
No isolation to withdraw into.

Today is when we meet the maker, sword in hand,
As the drumbeat picks up,
Fingers play faster on the white keys,
Roaring like rolling thunder,
Pushing, pushing, pushing-
Beating like an orgasm,

Today is the unforgettable moments,
The day to be proud,
The day to make mistakes,
This is chance at its most fortuitous stage,

Before the Fall, Fall, Fall.

A New Chapter

Out with the old, turn the page for something new.
I wear a badge to embark on a trend to let everyone know
I’m prepared and open to new ideas.
Care to cater my entertainment?

Set me straight as the horizon, day and night predictability.
I raise hell and cacophony, prevalent and impatient.
It’s a win for the ages, share some glasses, celebrate.
Gold and glitter, moments like these are partially why we begin
A New Chapter.

But it’s the work we’re embracing for.
That gruel I can handle, now that I have bought a lot of fuel
Growing my fire, for cooking my needs to perfection.
Bought a new journal to put a nail in the past,
And record my thoughts as I progress along the lines as I do in life.

Because A New Chapter means the journey is unknown,
But the percentage of it being in your favor
Is worth the risk to go with it along for the ride.
No book is made from one chapter, therefore,
We go to A New Chapter.

Impossible, Precious Foresight

Citrine Summers veil the brewing doom,
Hatchets of happiness plug an opened wound.
There’s a king in his castle and he chants my cursed name,
I am his soldier about to fight a battle upon his blessed plain.

By spade and stick, I have hollowed the ground into a hideout,
To save my family from the invasion because I’ve had my doubt,
Call it impossible, precious foresight, a king’s gamble wins or dies in vain,
While the stooges who do the dirty work lose their comrades or their brains.

Sapphire and sweet, his queen stills her heart, though anxious and merry.
Antiquated as royalty can be, she must be just as ready,
Fore if the castle bows as wilts a flower,
Her family will lose their crest and the enemy will assume its power.

When the battle unfolds in war cries, and I have retreated underground.
The enemy’s thunderous stomping, can only mean the end is just around.
If there’s a way out, it’s back to where I began,
Under rule of a new king, as a soldier for whatever he believes in.

It’s a political wheel, spinning fervently to the left then to the right,
When all we need is to be steady. No more fights.
When the fields are lush Emerald from blood soaked from the dead,
Will we finally find the peace or eventually water the ground again?