Rainy Days at the Apartment

Rainy days are special times...
The clouds wash the sky clear
and perfect moments trail them,
consuming me...
\The sky is the perfect shade of gray,
a clean and cool color.
The world is subdued around me...
holding its breath as the drizzle coats it
\One of the lovely things about rainy days,
my cats will not wander far outside.
So I can leave the door open to the world
and listen to the gentle whisper
of rain on poured stone.
\Even the noise of traffic seems lessened
and the birds all huddle in their places
even ducks...Yes I said ducks.
\A mallard and a female stand together
at the edge of the apartment pool
wanting nothing more than to be left alone
until they decide this place is too lonely.

poem by Poet Dragon
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Why Not?

Why can't the blue note cry
and waste all its dreams away
like the mass of flesh around me
who hope and hope and forever
keep on hoping

Why can't the gray sky smile
and lift itself just a little higher
to touch the warm yellow happiness
where no human can go beyond
except to dream

Why can't the lone wolf dance
with fairy wings stretched out
and legs kicking up a merry tune
that rides around the sky
like a butterfly

Why can't the one dropp rain
to pour out a fury of its own

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poem by Poet Dragon
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Facing a Blank: Part 1

I sit here facing a blank
and it is perhaps one of the hardest things I do
to see before me an expanse of blank things
to decide how I should fill them in
there is everything to encompass
for all the world to see, itself looking back
a mirror wouldn't do,
because the truth merely hides behind mirrors
it does not look out through them.
every random thought that I notice out of the corner of my eye
has its own appeal and appeals to me
to use it to fill the blank spaces.
To every random thought I look and in them I see the world
every one of them looking out at me and crying
for recognition and redemption
and the blank spaces agree that this is not what I should put down.
So I sit here still, facing a blank.

poem by Poet Dragon
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Impatient Life

We qualify ourselves for silent sorrow
in the fiery, sometimes tender grasp of time
whine that we will never have enough
that our love will never thrive beyond the crime

We're terrified that death will soon consume us
that experience will flounder and fall short
and hope that every squeal of tires is practice
that the real thing cannot happen while we sport

In exigency we tarry for a decade
sometimes two or more are common for the crowd
perhaps thinking of the finer things, we hurry
while ignoring the approaching of the shroud

For us humans we are lucky that we grow up
leave the worries of our childhood far behind
we can learn the pace of patience in a heartbeat
and let all the stressful tendencies unwind

poem by Poet Dragon
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Poetic Revolution

Poetry has no simple explanation,
no words to describe how words can describe
or the evokation it causes of emotion and thought

It is a subtle magic that really does work
to be believed in for its ebbing power
grander than the simple folk, and understood by them

It has changed over the many years
from wit and wonder and vocabularic delights
to simple jest and outpouring, when communication breaks down

Who do you find a poet, or poetic, or Poe?
Is it the one who delights you, drowns you, or drags you down...
Or simply any fool with words and a pen?

Nothing is left of its grand glory, even these departed words
that might mean a subdued salvation, growing up
Poetry waits for the next revolution...

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poem by Poet Dragon
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Personal Paradise

'What's Up? ' You ask as I walk into the shop.
I tighten my coat a bit, smiling oddly.
A dozen thoughts, old humor, buzz through my head.
My blood pressure, the hair on the back of my neck,
The cost of living, The sky, the ceiling, my &*^%,
and invariably...
My heartbeat at the sight of your hair,
My frustration level; you've never looked at me twice!
The pulse behind my eyes that screams out I love you.
'Time, ' I reply. My own failings, I think.
I look you in the eye, a last lingering appraisal.
Then raise my arms high, letting my thumb slip,
and smile as the ground falls away, the world burns,
and Allah carries me to paradise.
There, I will find you again, I have burned for you.
As I have burned others for the sake of my god.
For my own personal paradise; my own reward.

poem by Poet Dragon
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They Tremble

The winter wind is wonderfully warm today,
clouds, contrails mostly, criss-cross the sky,
white spaghetti in blue sauce, and spicy

The trees rock gently in the desert's breath
birds play games merrily in the sky,
wild squirrels dance psychotic summersaults

It is morning, the must of mondays is moribund
soothing shadows sing with simmering spirits,
dust and debris lies dead on the driveway,

In the car we huddle, and I tune to bluegrass
we drive, far up the canyons, smiling and laughing
here we are, finally; on this back country road

Here blue brush bows along the bumpy road,
hawks hang high above in hungry harmony
and gum trees gather in guarded groves

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poem by Poet Dragon
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Is it love?

I seek the highest peaks of attribution
Like a rose seen in the twilight or the red moon rising
light spilling across the sky like the blood of an illusion

Here in the quiet of my worried heart
I ponder heavily on the glowing embers of my mistrust
until they blaze anew and from my doubts I cannot part

Sitting in a forest on a mountain top I gaze up
The stars glow and glitter in hopeful jest that this will not end
I know their fear of loneliness too, and the length of their days

Here we are together now-entwined
and I am febrile, basking in the light of your lovely passion
watching in wonder as I realize how I was once so blind

Now in the aftermath of our furious ablation
feeling new at the passing of my other skin into the new
I think that for once I have found a question worthy of realization

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poem by Poet Dragon
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Broken Whispers

Whispers, like echoes of a faint past, crowd around me
They bathe me with their memories, their impositions
Laying pathways of guilt and gossip across my soul
Speaking softly of sins and sorrows that are not mine
they drive my nightmares to the brink of exhaustion
and beyond into the calm, quiet void of sociopathy

When the time comes, the voices fade away into slumber
visions of oblivion are overlayed with laughter and hope
I live to serve the good of the many, to subsume the one
To enter into love more deeply than that of romance
To eschew affecting affairs of absolute attrition,
begging death and bragging of the broken coffins

It is time to go soon, to my graded addiction
waiting for the wrong things to happen at the wrong time
to talk to my salvation and absolve her inheritance
hoping, maybe, that in that fire lies my own absolution

poem by Poet Dragon
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Across America

He traveled to the canyon,
and thought it worth its name
a canvas for the sunset's gleam
to luminesce with flame

He walked from there to Laughlin,
he gambled with his change
and lost it all to old rich men
who thought him somewhat strange

He climbed into the Rockies
to soak up nature's balm
was lost three days, but made it out
before he'd lost his calm

He trudged along the highways,
to cross the rolling plains
was picked up by a trucking man
who taught him sins from stains

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poem by Poet Dragon
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