What is life? Life is one adjustment after another, until you refuse to adjust anymore.

Thoughts on a Christmas Contradiction

 

Snow on a velvet green

can only mean a Christmas scene.

But yuletide carols I do not hear,

nor other voices of Christmas cheer.

 

Instead I feel the press of throngs

buying things to Christmas songs.

Political advertisements have been replaced

with toys and cars and model's face.

 

Yet, silent night, holy night will prevail

as I eat my cake and drink my ale.

Spiked eggnog too will be a remedy,

as I sit and sip near sparkling tree.

 

And as I ponder the Christ child's birth,

as I consider my own self worth;

for the less fortunate may I pray

and other's kindnesses repay.

 

D.M.W. December 23, 2012

 



Don't take the Undead forgranted.

 

There ought to be

an even playing field,

between humans

and the undead.

 

What gives them

the right to molest us,

when we're sound asleep

in bed?

 

Sound asleep, I was,

my strength

from work-

 all but spent;

 

When a vampire

unknown to me, bit

my neck, then

out the window went.

 

It was all

so depressing,

it was so surreal,

it left me truly blue;

 

The ordeal was so

very unexpected and

out of the ordinary,

what was I to do.

 

Call the police?

Don't make me laugh,

they would

treat me as insane;

 

Call the doctor,

and show him

the fang marks that

 I could not explain-

 

How they got there,

not to mention

how the blood

from my neck was drained.

 

The marks were worse

than a hickee

from a lover's kiss

or poisonous snake bite.

 

I Think you get my
distress and meaning;

the only recourse

was to fight.

 

How do we even up

the playing field-

is there a true remedy 

for our plight?

 

Writers of this genre

offer crucifix, and spike; 

but can these truly overcome

 a hungry vampire's might.

 

I racked my brain for days,

for a solution I did seek;

then the solution came to me-

to one so mild and meek.

 

When the vampire did return

and bit me,

I bit him back-

then much to my surprise;

 

Wearing a grin he drained me;

he drained me completely dry.

Then afterward he fed me and

commanded me, "Arise!"

 

So, I write this poem to warn you,

gentle readers all;

heed the words of this vampire,

lest upon you, my fate, will fall.

 

Don't take the undead forgranted...

 

 

D.M.W.   January 12, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



All hail the apocalyptic age

All hail the blood of sacred simpletons slain,
of murdered millions from metal's mines and mortars,
from bombs and bullets and bayonets hurled by the insane.

All hail the sweat of worshipping worker's pain,
of marketed millions mindlessly lusting and laboring
for holy-hellish artifacts, for architects of capitalistic gain.

All hail the graves of countless corpses that remain,
of mortal millions martyred- children of the industrial age,
from selfless serving sacrifice to gasping grasping greed's reign.

All hail the death of innocence, of promised paradise lost,
of faceless figures, nameless, numbered, and forgot,
by poisoned profiting politicians who never counted the cost.

D.M.W. August 28, 2012

Pillows



Pillows are a gift of God,

of that I am assured;

they comfort when we are ill-

until and after we are cured.

 

Pillows are our friends indeed,

and nightly caress our heads;

they embrace us 'til the morning light

drives out our dreams and dreads.

 

Pillows, at times, are vicarious foes

when we upon them vent;

without complaint they take our blows,

until taxied-strength is spent.

 

Pillows beckon from couches, chairs, and beds,

"Leave your boredom, work, and play;

cast all your cares upon us;

we shall take them all away."

 

No, I shall never take pillows for granted,

for in my final rest,

one will surely be lodged behind my head,

as I join the sleep of the blest.

 

D.M.W. October 26, 2012

 

What sorrow is this?

 

What sorrow is this,

that began with summer's kiss,

that promised forever love,

that assured of life-long bliss?

 

 

What untimely winter has taken you away,

darkening our delightful day,

subduing our blooming love,

leaving pain born of dismay?

 

Why, could not my summer's kiss

comfort through winter's cold;

why, could not our blossomed love

warm you as we grew old?

 

Though you have 'this winter' left,

for another's summer kiss;

sweet memories' fire shall keep me whole,

'til in heaven's love, you, my love,I dismiss.

 

D.M.W. November 15, 2012

 

 

 

 

 



The Rocking Chair

 

A rocking chair I hear

in the room above mine;

a lady from a marriage

short-changed

rocking past cares away

with the present by design.

 

"Work, work, I call upon you,

take my cares away;

keep me busy with chore

and hobby;

distract me from the missing ring-

forfeit ring of wedding day.

 

"Comfort, comfort, comfort me,

in your own time;

as I rock and drink glass after glass

of loving warming wine.

Grant me the courage to sleep again

before the midnight chime."

 

The rocking chair stops.

Walking, I suddenly hear.

The lady paces back and forth;

walks to think, to recover

her sanity;

walks to outrun an outcast's fear.

 

A blurring bed calls,

but the lady returns instead

to the comfort of her

rocking chair, only to pause,

to toast midnight's chime,

filled with new day's dread.

 

D.M.W. November 15, 2012