Poem of the Week: Ramblings from Atop the Iron Tower

Ramblings from Atop the Iron Tower
January 4, 2019

Solitary confinement, squished into a nook,
Trapped with my own thoughts, feeling like a common crook,
Rooting through these dusty shelves and reading these same ol’ books
Over and over again ‘til my head hurts.

I learn and learn all I can, pouring over each tomb,
Absorbing all these facts I can until my brain goes BOOM,
Only to end up with a headache so strong that I swoon
And naught to remember, for all that it’s been worth.

Even the facts that stick don’t do much to feed my soul
Or nourish my hungry mind, over which I’m losing control
For my inability to apply them has been taking its toll,
And if I don’t so much as leave this room, I’ll scream.

I know there’s a world out there towards which I can apply
All I’ve been trying to learn, and I can’t understand why
I can’t do so, for how many tests must anyone, including I,
Pass to ensure I wake up from this dream

That’s gone sour faster than I’d initially expected?
Furthermore, what of these thoughts in my mind I’ve just detected
Like my fear of unfulfilled mastery and my dread in being rejected
By those who’ve no faith in or want for my skills?

The beginning of my journey, after all, may have gone well.
Then again, it was the simplest step, as ‘m sure you can tell,
And the more complex things have gone since, the more they’ve become hell
With each and every brain cell I’ve surely killed.

I need a break from all this toil before I lose what’s left
Of my sanity, of which I’ve already become mostly bereft.
Surely, there’s more to being human in which I can become deft.
Why not grant me leave from this cell so I can see?

Alas, I’m forbidden, hence I stay here and atrophy,
My muscles shrinking by the minute just as my brain fries,
My stomach gurgles, and my lungs burn with so much dust I’d cry,
If only my eyes could shed such relief for me.

Then again, would I even know how to interact with the masses,
Should I finally pull myself together after all these classes?
Would I know how to hold a conversation or even handle passes,
Or will I be doomed to live inside my own head?

Would all I’ve learned be of any use even without application
Prior executed ‘fore I’m at last unleashed upon the nation?
At this rate, I doubt I’ll ever live up to expectations,
Oh, how I wish I’d overcome this dread!

Maybe I’m merely working myself up into such a snit
And dooming myself in my quest to find my perfect fit.
At the rate this whole thing’s going, I might as well up and quit.
On the other hand, it might be too late for that, friend,

And I wonder if I’m the only one who’s come to feel this way
Upon being locked up in an iron tower day after day,
Feeling as though I’ve been doing nothing but slaving away
For something that might not be worth it in the end.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com


Bonus Poem of the Week: 2019 New Year’s Diamante

2019 New Year’s Diamante
Decmber 30, 2018

New year
Wondering, pondering, wanting
Something better than now…
Hoping, wishing, praying…
Be better,


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: One Year Left

One Year Left
December 30, 2018

One year left in the decade. How will it turn out?
What will happen throughout it? What will it be all about?
Will it be another year of the same crap we’ve endured before,
Or will we at last know the greatness that long should’ve been in store
For all humanity when this accursed decade first began?
After all, I’ve got to tell you…the 2010s have stunk, man.
It seems these days we’ve been more divided than ever before,
No thanks to political raging, entitlement, bigotry, and more.
People have chewed up people over the pettiest of things,
Screaming “oppression” when genuine oppression waited in the wings
To blow up in people’s faces in the form of forced progress—
Progress we should’ve felt naturally without hassle or stress
From feral beasts barking at each other over lines drawn in the sand
By none but their own hands all across this forsaken land.
Violence raged in the streets, too, during which many lives
Have tragically come to and end, by no means as a surprise,
Via homicide and suicide and often ‘nough by the same hand,
Leaving the bitter taste of tears in mouths across the land.
Throughout this age, too, ignorance has maintained its iron grasp
Upon humanity worldwide, its great fist too strong to unclasp,
Leaving us prey to our own vices as mentioned before
As well as to poor writing with grammatical mistakes galore—
Not quite as problematic as that which I’ve earlier said,
But poor punctuation, capitalization, and spelling still fill me with dread
And make me wonder if logic’s next to fly out the window,
Leaving us to devolve further into raging clods and bimbos,
And after that, our mathematical skill and scientific know-how
And our penchant to learn from history. If so, we’re damned…and how!
After all, the 2010s so far have been little more than a mess
That’s left humanity worldwide in a state of vexed distress,
And if things don’t pick up come this next year at the latest, friends,
Then we’re all just another step closer to bringing it all to and end.
Let’s all wake up, then, and get our acts together once and for all
Before the world as we know it ends and civilization falls
Into whatever dystopia we may have heard or read about.
Now’s not the time to cry or scream or stamp our feet and pout.
We’ve all let society dissolve into this festering heap
When we all know that working together is the only way to beat
The kinks out of the system, so let’s cut out the bickering
And stop treading on one another’s toes so that we can at last sing
Auld Lang Syne as tradition goes ‘round this time every year,
For more than ever, we all need to raise a cup of cheer
To one another to ring in the year that awaits us ‘round the bend,
And unless we wise up and straighten ourselves out, this drama shan’t end,
And we’ll be back to where we started at this decade’s beginning.
Enough of the hatred, then, everyone, for with it, there’s no chance of winning.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Holiday Fatigue

Holiday Fatigue
December 23, 2018

Christmas hasn’t come yet, yet I’m burned out.
All my stamina has been flushed away.
This isn’t what Christmas should be about.

Two days ‘fore Christmas, here I lie and pout,
Wond’ring how my energy went away.
Christmas hasn’t come yet, yet I’m burned out.

Usu’lly by now, I’m up and about
Taking care of things for the holiday.
This isn’t what Christmas should be about.

Alas, I’ve worked so hard to churn things out
That I’ve no energy with which to play.
Christmas hasn’t come yet, yet I’m burned out.

Now when it comes to enjoyment, I doubt
I’ll have any when things get underway.
This isn’t what Christmas should be about.

This season once was all I was about.
Now I’ve lost the drive to enjoy the day.
Christmas hasn’t come yet, yet I’m burned out.
This isn’t what Christmas should be about.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Message to a Disgruntled Wrestling Fan

Message to a Disgruntled Wrestling Fan
November 14, 2018

You try, try, try ‘til you can’t try anymore.
You give it your best shot, but doing so becomes a chore,
And your teeth grind while your blood boils and sweat pours out your pores.
How much longer will this go on ‘til you can take no more?

Too many times you’ve been burned by products A, B, C,
And so forth that you’re reluctant to try our Product Z,
But even when you try Z, you still have your complaints.
No matter where you look for love, you only find where it ain’t.

Then you start to wonder if that which you’d tried to find
Was even worth looking for in the first place, friend of mine,
Questioning all the while if it was all just a waste of time
Or if you’d chanced to miss out on something truly sublime

That happened to leave the scene once upon a time ‘til one day
It all comes soaring back as quickly as it’d gone away.
Alas, that thing has yet to return, if it’d ever been there at all,
Else why would you be here lamenting that which you used to love fall?

It’s a sad state of affairs, friend. That even I can say,
Lest chance you’re merely overreacting to how things are today,
For I doubt things are quite as bas as you make them out to be.
Then again, you’ve been so badly burned that you’ll never believe me.

Trust me. I’ve been burned, too, time after time again
To the point where I’ve been left begging for how things were back when,
And I hadn’t any patience left, if any at all, in fact,
And the fecal matter I’d been watching wasn’t worth a heart attack.

In short, then, I don’t blame you for turning your back on this mess
For fear of putting yourself through unnecessary distress.
I think you’re being hasty, though, and should give things more of a chance
Before disowning your love altogether and leaving the dance.

Besides, knowing how you operate, you’ll be back any way
Just like so many other folks in your position these days
Because you can’t let go of it all on account of something deep
Inside of you that controls you, no matter if you’re awake or asleep

And makes you keep coming back to that which you both love and hate—
One day the one, the next the other…forever you debate.
No matter how much you want to leave it for good, you never can
In the surely vain hope it’ll improve, and all I can tell you, man,

Is that you do you, for all I can do is give you advice
Concerning your situation, which I can clearly see ain’t nice.
Stay or leave forever, then, but whichever path you choose,
Keep in mind what you’ll gain from each path and what you stand to lose.

Good luck either way on the path you take, whichever one it’ll be.
I’m sure you’ll stand by your decision and hope you’ll soon see
The outcome you desire for the product you once loved.
After all, it’s come to fit you like a hand inside a glove.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Poem of the Week: Protest Against Corporate Wrestling

Protest Against Corporate Wrestling
December 6, 2018

Why do I even bother? Why do I even care?
Why do I pay attention to that which goes nowhere?
Why did I ever love that which has never loved me back?
Whatever the case, I’d better stop before it all fades to black.
Life’s short enough as it is to be living in misery,
So why am I bothering with this tripe I keep tuning in to see?
The big wigs know they’ll never dip below two million hits,
Even when they churn out a product that treats their audience like twits
With lame comedy, complete with toilet humor, in between fights
And the same tired bits with the same players night after night after night
Playing characters who betray their casting for no reason at all
Other than the fact that the writers somehow aren’t on the ball–
Characters otherwise so bland and predictable that it hurts
For all but those with low expectations or ignorant little squirts.
It’s all for an audience of two, both of whom are in denial
Of the downfall of their product on account of their acting senile,
For many are the pundits and fans who’re fed up with this trash,
No matter how many supporters still willingly fork over their cash
Rather than support alternatives that shy away from pandering
And utilize straight-forward formulas to which I’ve been meandering,
And though these products have flaws of their own, I must admit,
At least there’s some effort put into them that doesn’t leave me throwing fits.
At least they make the effort to show something I haven’t seen
Or something I have, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.
At least they dare to be different and respect the art upon which
They’ve based themselves upon, thus prompting me to make a switch.
No more will I let some billionaire half-ass his way towards
Greatness with a product that’s clearly not worthy of reward.
No more will I let others tell me what’s treasure or trash.
I’m a grown man with a mind of my own that won’t settle for hash—
Especially that which kills my braincells second by second each sitting.
Such a fate for me I simply no longer see as fitting.
To the alternatives, then, I shall from now on dedicate my time.
Goodbye, then, corporate nonsense. I’ll no more have your cheese with my wine,
For I shall whine no more—only dine upon high quality.
After all, if I’m to be happy, such is how things must be.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com

Bonus Poem of the Week: Black Friday

Black Friday
November 25, 2018

Black Friday…
Hunting, scavenging, quarreling…
Thank goodness it’s over!
Resting, relaxing, recuperating…
Commercialism stinks!


Author Pages: Smashwords.com