Wearing cape and cowl
Gotham City’s protector
It is “The Batman”
The palm trees blow easy behind me,
yellow sand shifts between my toes.
Standing in the shallow surf on an island,
a quiet little place nobody knows.
Caffeinated dreams
Bring on the master liquid
My mind needs a boost
I’ve been under a massive gout attack the last few days that is finally starting to subside so I thought what better way to get some frustration out than to write a poem about it. Anybody out there suffer with this? It stinks, right? Throw some stories my way if you feel like venting about it. We can share this pain together.
Gout, a 1799 caricature by James Gillray
Lurking in the body,
deep in the shadows of uric acid.
Hides a creature,
that isn’t so passive.
One day you are fine,
the next day you’re not.
This creature has attacked,
right on the spot.
You can fight it,
try to show it the door.
You will not win,
because this animal knows how to roar.
The best you can do,
is find a place to lay low.
Because if you can endure,
it will go away, ever so slow.
But even when its gone,
it is always there.
Hiding and lurking in the shadows,
soulless and evil, a creature without a care.
Gout (also known as podagra when it involves the big toe)[1] is a medical condition usually characterized by recurrent attacks of acute inflammatory arthritis—a red, tender, hot, swollen joint. The metatarsal-phalangeal joint at the base of the big toe is the most commonly affected (approximately 50% of cases). However, it may also present as tophi, kidney stones, or urate nephropathy. It is caused by elevated levels of uric acid in the blood which crystallizes and the crystals are deposited in joints, tendons, and surrounding tissues.
Dark blinking cursor
Creativeness frozen blank
Need to fill pages
Time is fleeing,
floating so quickly away,
it would be nice to freeze one day,
one day for a stay.
+++
Why do we try to keep it?
Like an animal in a cage,
for time needs to run free,
time needs to be.
+++
I wish I could be a thief,
and get back the moments of wasted time.
For if I could.
Would that be such a crime?
+++
Who wouldn’t want?
Just a few extra hours,
to get back at that monster,
that monster that towers.
+++
Yes time can flee,
so easily,
it can pass,
in the blink,
of an eye,
but we live for it,
we harness it,
we make it our own.
For to be without it,
that is something few,
few, have ever known.
Dreams are flying,
they are in the mail today.
What will tomorrow hold?
What will tomorrow say?
We as writers,
struggle and need,
with desires and hopes,
looking to be freed.
To pursue our passions,
what makes us whole,
yes, we give a lot of ourselves,
to have The Writer’s Role.
How to describe a mom,
well,
it may be too hard to do,
without leaving out,
too many things,
that are true.
For a mom is a blessing,
a true gift from God,
her patience and virtue,
is something,
you could never prod?
I had no idea,
April was poetry month,
I tried to latch on at the end,
with day to day posts,
through WordPress I did send.
Now my posts will get more random,
not so much day to day,
so I won’t bombard you,
or run out of things to say.
It’s tough trying to post everyday,
thumbs up to you who can,
but I just need a break,
so I can continue being,
The Poet Man.
ode to Pirates
Take to the seas,
a sailor’s life you please.
Plunder, pillage, do what you do,
man that ship – man that crew.
Pirates and Mermaids
of Pirates and Mermaids
I’ve heard told,
stories from sailors,
centuries old.
We know of pirates,
they did exist,
but of mermaids,
was there a twist?
Did the legend get changed?
year to year,
mouth to mouth,
ear to ear.
Maybe sea monsters,
or other things from the deep,
where down in its dark heart,
the secrets it keeps.
Perhaps we will never know,
if mermaids did exist,
but of this I do know,
their legend is hard to resist.
ode to Mermaids
A sailors aid.
A deadly raid.
A siren song.
A luring wrong.
It’s Midnight in Hawaii
Sitting in my little tiny beach hut,
far from the pounding surf,
nestled in among the trees – the palms,
castaway on my own gentle turf.
The moon reflects its golden rays,
upon the cigar smoke I swirl,
as I take flight in my swinging hammock,
with thoughts of the sweet Hawaiian girl.
She hulas into my mind,
with dreams of erotic passion,
I see her in the blue ocean surf,
her small bikini – her only fashion.
My thoughts are rustled,
a visitor at my tiny hut door,
she is the soft Hawaiian girl,
dropping sand upon the little beach hut floor.
We kiss in the warm night,
the moon at her soft brown back,
it’s midnight in Hawaii,
as I close the door to the tiny beach shack.
The Lone Hammock
Laced among two swaying palms.
Caressed in a swing like motion by the breeze.
Set upon a lone Hawaiian beach.
Where the winds of winter will never reach.
If I was a job,
what would I be?
Would I be successful,
or tall?
Would I be grand,
or small?
Would I have power,
or would I have not?
Would I be a worker,
like the bee?
Or power nations,
like the president you see.
Would I stand against the rising tide,
or find the nearest corner to cower and hide.
If I was a job,
what would I be?
I sit alone in the darkness of the naked night.
A storm is rolling softly across the ocean.
Thunder cracks-Lightning flashes.
A Warm Miami Rain beginning its motion.
The turmoil I feel inside.
Can be expressed by only one man.
The feelings are his alone.
All a part of his own forgetful plan.
The plan was a simple one.
Full of joy, No pain.
Washing the spirit clean.
Like the Warm Miami Rain.
I stand naked at the window.
While the whore opens the door to leave.
It closes with what once was my soul.
Along with my heart on her sleeve.
She evaporates into the rainy night.
I watch her go so slowly away.
I’m just another man to her.
I’m just another lay.
She climbs inside her car.
The engine combusted with pain.
My heart slips further down.
As she drives off in the Warm Miami Rain.
This night is over for me.
Her’s is one with a cruel unthinking start.
The cars tail-lights disappear.
Into the storms beating heart.
I suck deep on a cigarette.
Crush the butt out slow.
I take a step into the shower.
Man I feel so low.
The water dances upon me.
Like a growing eternal pain.
The lights flicker.
It’s the Warm Miami Rain.
A door opens.
Thunder booms.
The lights flicker.
A meeting looms.
What will I tell them?
My friends who’ve come to see.
The joy one moment couldn’t give.
To a man who is me.
The water turns off.
The floor is cold.
I towel off naked.
As I long for someone to hold.
The pleasure of a loved one.
After such a moment of glee.
This night it’s not a pleasure.
A pleasure for a man like me.
I dress, and open the door.
I step from the mist of heat.
They wait there.
Anticipation on the edge of their seat.
They think it was fun.
A pleasure for me.
They do not understand.
There is no pleasure or glee.
Just a hollow feeling.
Like a knife inside with pain.
I tell them everything.
While I stand and watch the Warm Miami Rain.
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