Self-improvement is a Movement

The noblest of aims is self-improvement
So when there is clarity of vision
Fixity of purpose
And an active pursuit of goals
The result is progress
Or a manifestation of ambitious movement

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The Zone

On some blackcurrant and plum
Cabernet Sauvignon
Up early AM
Sunday morn…

Dying to rest
But living to create
’cause expression is freedom’s requisite
And confession is the only way to let go of certain things


The Quixotic Quest

It would have been quite easy for them to see
That their quest was quixotic
Had they not fallen victim to mass delusions and deceit
But seeing that they were already on the receiving end of ignorance
It seemed too late to save them, so to speak


The Unknowing Enchantress

Met a goddess and an angel
So timely
As if to bring out the best in me

Seems so irrational
Admittedly
Curiosity got the best of me

But since she appreciates poetics
I’m hoping for this she’ll pardon me
That is, if she should ever decode
Or read between these lines

Figments of my imagination
Which run away with my mind
Into an imaginarium of intrigue
Where I always imagined there existed her kind

A rare breed
Beauty, brains, benevolence…

How blessed I felt making her acquaintance
Because even though it was from a distance
I was still very much enchanted with her presence


Only Fools Fall in Love on a Friday

They long for romance
And yet remain reticent
A folly all too common
Among our men and women

Who forget there was once a time
When freedom was frowned upon
O, how imperceptive are our ladies and gentlemen?

We cannot master our essence
So we imagine it easier to subdue others
Casting nets to catch our fancy’s best
Only to enslave ourselves

Always under the impression our needs are the cause of things
Often missing a truth in plain sight
That our needs are in fact the effects of the things themselves


Rose

Black Butterfly,
How artful

Your active preservation
Balances my energies

While your soft wings
Keep me warm

Kill my cold-blooded ego
With your sunshine.


Pieces of April

Season after season
Temptations, transgressions, and everything in-between

Days in, nights out
Sex and sentiment
Love’s dark arts
Indulged in way too much

That nothing can make it right
Not necessity, passion, or commitment

Still, to give one’s heart
Whatever is left of the pure parts
Is hope for a new beginning