The Bones and the Cards




The bones landed on the cards. The Fool.

The Sun.

The Chariot to bring them around

in front of me

so my heartbeat would even out

and my hands would stop rivaling

the dry leaves clinging to the sleepy oaks

at the edge of my yard.

They stand against the November wind

sweeping in to usher out October.


          Here’s the thing about fortunes:

their fraying corners are soft against your fingers.  

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The Seed

in what dark recesses of torture remain

exists a dreaded seed for us to obtain

to keep us sane and deliver us from evil

so goes the creed of an everlasting people


unending doubt resonates to be

impermanance rooted in an everlasting dream

scarcity of hope glimmering in dusk

prevention of fortune in a world of luck


forever told from stories past

eerily reminiscent of perpetual task

systems of new destroyed wisdom once known

for all apart of a world unsown


grimmace and malice plagued once more

in dire times that conjured vile scorn

but it was hope that was given once last chance

now grows a tree from the seed of our past


Someones son is dying
right this immediate second of now..
and his General wraps his meaty iron fist
around the all-mighty oil-soaked dollar.
  An apex jungle-predator won't kill
for pleasure or amusement; 
  Even when hopelessly entangled
in the shimmering, dew-wet death
of a spiders web; 
  The spider, knowing it has no use 
for what has surrendered to its entrapment,
releases its prey not out of mercy, or sorrow..
but out of the calm calculus of reason.
  What then of this war? 
To quench the beasts' blood lust
of un-satisfiable desire?
  A revolution is growing silently 
in numbers, behind the backs
suckling from the tit of self destruction
and greed.
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Lucky Birth Seed

New seeds planting

in old mounds

made by kicking,


at the shadows

made long by

receding sun

that signals

the close of day.

At later

intervals, they

come to sprout

at the behest

of this pure

and unwieldy

random known

as time's passing.

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The Clovers and the Sun

No poems

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An endless trip.


the dream you keep inside your mind
is one which bothers you tonight
'cause it is what will make you BIG
that will allow the things you did... ...not ever do...
...then notion will materialize
where there you meet your mirror eyes
that staring back to you
and all the things will pop in mind
that bring those abstract needs you back...
and bed thou sit on here tonight
will meet you one and many days
before the last ring'd rung
because the dream that bothered you that night
had bet you will
but you did not -
you thought that there is
plenty time to take
it up in future life
today when You rock in
a chair and see
young boy with cloud in thought
you say that 30 years back you'd
rather taken it by that*
and say inspire word to him
that may be he will carry
through entire his life:
"young boy, be gutsy in
your life and follow dream that'd
bother you one night..."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*taken it by that - to take the bull by the horns.

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