Tick Tock Sherlock

Tick tock goes the clock
His heart the King will burn.
By the fall defeat the foe
The Virgin shall return.

Tick tock goes the clock
The Iceman had to pay
It broke his heart that for his sin
His brother could not stay

Tick tock goes the clock
The Adler soon shall see
That when it came to his end
She should have begged for mercy.

Tick tock goes the clock
The Mouse she holds the fuse.
Tick tock until the day
That they unveil the ruse.

Tick tock goes the clock
His heart the King will burn.
By the fall defeat the foe
The Virgin shall return.

Tick tock goes the clock
A genius they did hate.
As he dies they realize
Their grave mistake too late.

Tick tock goes the clock
Inspector that was he.
To the fallen friend he’ll love
For his strange strong bravery.

Tick tock goes the clock
His heart the King will burn.
By the fall defeat the foe
The Virgin shall return.

Tick tock goes the clock
Mums are hard to come by
Tick tock was the hour
That her not-son did fly.

Tick tock goes the clock
Oh, the friends we leave.
The army doctor, always true
Forever he will grieve.

Tick tock goes the clock
His heart the King will burn.
By the fall defeat the foe
The Virgin shall return.

Poison

Words like poison,
Dying to be said,
To wound,
To scar,
So that I am not
The only one in pain.

Words like poison,
Twisting like a knife,
That will never be uttered
And so it's my heart alone
That turns slowly black.

The clouds tease
And taunt.
Promising refreshing rain,
Catharsis,
 Relief.
But we are denied.
And that which might
Have been good
Is delayed,
Leaving us staring at the sky
In disappointment,
Singing and praying
For rain.

Kneading Bread

It's powerful,
The feeling of dough in your hands
And flour caking it all.
There's this connection,
To millions
Who through the years
Have flipped,
Folded,
Pressed
Bread dough until it is ready.
It's glorious,
Kneading bread.
Who would let a machine
Connect to history for them?

I should draw again.
All these images
Bursting in my mind
That cannot be put into words.

If only my hand would cooperate

I hate myself a little
For finding a small thing to smile at
And acting on the tiny joy
When this seems such a time
That the sun will forget its light.
But I cannot help myself
And only hope
That the sorrowed knows
My heart breaks as well.
It's just mastered multitasking
To survive.

The sky is a perfect canvas.
It conveys,
All at once in gathered clouds,
The rushèd stillnes
Nature was born with,
For as the clouds stay present
I feel they move.

The radient sun,
Ever godly in his sphere,
Adds color and drama
To this free tableau.

Red skies give
Warning or delight
And always blessèd inspiration.

Write on,
Paint on,
With the blessing
Of the Artist Most High.

I can't move.
To move would be
To disrupt the conversation
In the other room
And I can't do that.

Because if I moved,
If I disturbed the phone call,
Then I would go all the way
To grabbing the mobile
With my own hand
And hanging up
On the abusive little-

That's harsh.
Maybe.
But to hear my sister,
The smaller and younger
Sometimes wiser one
That is not a mini me,
Sadly say,
"No one listens
To my opinions anyway,"
Pushes the limit
Of a sister's restraint.

Hypocrite.
Judge.
Stubbon.
Self-Righteous.
These words leap to mind
Like poison
Even as I recall a flash of oreos,
A swift giggle,
And down the stairs
To sleepless nights they go.

And it's too bad
This care and passion
The caller has
For animals,
The poor,
And Lord knows what else
Doesn't include my sister.

I'm sitting beneath the stars
(Not really but
For the sake of the poem)
I'm sitting beneath the stars,
Friend on my right,
Family on my left,
Watching gunpower
And fire collide
In a whirling torrent of
Colored passion.

This, ladies and gents,
Is what our nation has fought for:
Launching dangerous stuff into the sky
Surrounded by those you love
As music far too loud
Plays through it all.

Happy Independance Day.

Shakespeare on the Green

Hot summer nights,
Under the sky,
The stars,
Practiced voices lending magic
To an old stage,
And old text.

The Bard resides
In that little park
For three all too short weeks
As thousands gather
To hear his words,
Paying only with their time
For such lengthy joys.