282

Posted on April 5, 2011 by urbansonnets

Life. Starts. Today. On the brink of collapse,
bizarre business cracked on the hot pavement
like bad eggings. On the verge of two traps,
I grasp at the sticks of meaning's sentence:
The verdict is in, after the madness,
after condensation brings the rains in
through the windows, mirrors our sadness,
reflecting life and death as the panes spin:
Life starts now, without further preamble –
through denser dreams I now step, confident
in my mind despite its need to ramble;
it leads me always home, my light unbent:
These mirrors don't refract – no esperpent.
I am just what you think. I'm confident.

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281

Posted on March 29, 2011 by urbansonnets

Worn down for lack of choice, for lack of care,

I wonder which way to cheat: left or right?
Should I step to the left with a blank stare,
or limp to the right having lost my light?
Face it: life's a cinch if you fail at it,
and giving up's akin to chasing dreams
broken with bare hands, when you've just had it
up to your hair with losing your way, means:
In an economy of hope and hate,
you've given up hope to embrace a state
of empty feel, as thoughts evacuate,
of hope, from a happy home. The earth quaked:
Your head is wounded and open to God;
the earth's abuzz, and your haven's a cloud. 
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280

Posted on March 26, 2011 by urbansonnets

Forget the tiger, embrace the liar,

make decisions with your right-hand vision,
stoke an ego to replace the fire
that was quelled by the downstroke's derision:
Changing faces mean contrasting habits –
what was once a smile are now tired eyes
looking for a way out of quicksand pits,
and finding release every time she cries:
Who? Well, the Flying Empress of the East,
better known for laughs than her flightiness,
but increasingly wishy from the Beast
and way more washy – mind and heart amiss:
No need to pander to the patria – 
my isla's shores are always popular.
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279

Posted on March 23, 2011 by urbansonnets

Until the candle burns out, I don't sleep.

Until the moon fully wanes, there is light
at night, which means that there is hope and steep
prices to pay for those who lose their sight:
Even when fully waxed, the moon is new,
meaning a cycle of new light for those
who choose to trace the sky from black to blue
as Luna flickers, then re-crescendos:
This candlelight vigil for tiresome flames
imbues the waning wax with increased aim;
it does not drip all over; it reclaims
its fullest form when cooled – I burn the same:
I may burn myself trying to shine bright
within this world of dark day and weak night.
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278

Posted on March 23, 2011 by urbansonnets

Dreams die everyday and then are woken

by loss, oh, hopeful loss- the only friend
of late-night dreamers with eyes unbroken
by the pain of fear, the impulse to bend:
The dancefloors empty as dancers grow up,
leaving a pool of passion's sweat behind
for childish souls to s(l)ip on and throw up,
disgusted by their own lithe and svelte minds:
I understand that there is much pressure
to put the joy behind that (ideally)
marked our youth's first steps beyond the measure
of the madness of mankind. (Yes, really!
I do understand, and I do feel fear,
but I won't let my ritmo disappear.)
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277

Posted on March 23, 2011 by urbansonnets

Vivid colors remain impressed on this

brain, and I hear sounds like speakers buzzing
floating around my feet and my chest. Is
this really a dream or a drubbing?:
Tornadoes in heads, and earthquakes afoot,
my world was so subject to conforming
to tighter worlds where conforming is good,
to fraughter schemes where losing is learning:
Buzzing and singing and dreaming in praise
of the essential goodness in us all,
I am trying to learn more as the days
further force me towards a wanting to fall:
And by "fall," I do not mean from full grace,
but rather to disappear and lose face.
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276

Posted on March 23, 2011 by urbansonnets

One more poem and it's back to the work

that might come to define me in your eyes.
How does it feel to discover a smirk
in a smile that morphed into a disguise?
It feels like electrocution, like hate
backfired as capital punishment.
I guess it just was my ignoble fate
to be buzzed with no true admonishment:
Maybe I'm blind, or maybe I believe
in the growing fervor of my instinct.
When I cannot see, I turn and conceive
of thoughts overflowing from my dream's sink:
I should have got a stopper to bleach it;
now the truth is so sunk, I can't reach it.
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275

Posted on March 23, 2011 by urbansonnets

I'm a bachelor of truth in my sideways

mind that strains to understand its goodness
when empty thoughts let bygones be byways
to utter isolation from our mess:
A lot of cords and cables were left out
on the floor untangled and in plain view;
beware of tripping if you do have doubt
because to trip is to fall in plain view:
My goodness was questioned in ways not good
and unworthy of any mess I'd left;
If I left a cord, it was understood
that I'd return to remove what I'd left:
Just leave it, though, and watch it start to spark;
That's my fire that must outshine the dark.
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274

Posted on March 22, 2011 by urbansonnets

I don't know what is happening to me,

but it's moving me somewhere, anywhere;
anywhere is better than where I stood,
so I'll sit back and maximize the ride:
The terrains are shifting beneath my feet,
and inside my chest, the rains are pouring,
cleansing away the blank stench of defeat,
which has usually been self-inflicted:
I am slowly learning to ask for help
before people feel that they are forced to
attack me for being smug and flippant,
when in truth I didn't want to be rude:
One situation might yet be salvaged.
The others? God bless you for your patience!
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273

Posted on March 21, 2011 by urbansonnets

There’s water on the floor! Please don’t step there,

or you’ll slip straight into unconsciousness
and start a slipstream that will soak the air
and not be awake to clean up the mess!:
See, I told you so! And now you’re half-dead
until your fate decides to wake you up –
by which time all the culprits will have fled
the flood that they created with loose love:
I’ll be here for you, though; I have such trust
in your ability to recover
that I’ll feed your dreams with undying trust
in the deeper truths you must discover:
You’ll come to soaked in the pure consciousness
of knowing you tried to step toward success.
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