9/29/10

the philosophy kiosk

checked in with my old pal
the other day,
toiling away
in the philosophy kiosk
at the local mall,
and she said that
there was not much going on
at all,
just depression,
depravity,
disconnection,
and of course
the immutable law
of gravity;
some mendacity,
too much atrocity,
and more duplicity
than one could count;
but hey, trouble is everywhere,
it's like dirty underwear,
it's the smell,
not the amount;
and I just smiled,
and wished her well,
as the whole of us get ready
to march into Hell.



September 29, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage 2.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

9/23/10

echoes

the amphitheatre,
formed naturally by the basin
that is the lake
on this mountaintop,
carries the echoes
of our having been here,
speaking in low tones,
since voices carry on the water;
when we are gone, too soon,
others will fill the spaces
that we leave behind,
with their own hushed
conversations,
their own echoes
of a short stay,
and their imprint
will be just as fleeting as ours.



July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

9/18/10

drug aid

the television commercials
had me conditioned:
"was I healthy enough for sex?"

I was, accordingly,
determined
to find out:

(back soon)



yep
three times.

and don't get me started
on that whole "erection
lasting more than
four hours" thing;
She's on my speed dial.

my doctor can fend for
herself



September 18, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

pot o' gold

step
by
step,
down
that
murky,
dank
stair,
a trillion
glistening,
slimy
microbes,
their
teeny
clutches,
seeking
any hold:
the darkness,
overwhelming,
the only
sound,
your brief
stifling;
when
suddenly,
upon the
final step,
is found
not terror,
but
a pot o' gold.



September 18, 2010.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

having done

philosophers cogitate
while poets and playwrights
and lesser such
consider much
of life:
from the rude
to the polite,
always stopping
to note wrong
from right,
and the vast chasm
of uncertainty
in between:
life as life,
and life as dream,
possibility
for what can seem
to be none;
not for being sure,
but for having
sought,
for having
fought:
for simply
having done.



July 27, 2010.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

9/17/10

the last of the impatiens

the remnants of the impatiens
stare blankly, if brightly,
right through me, as the sun
reminds us both of stories
of past glories, of sunrises met
with few worries,
way back then, way back
when life was buried treasure,
and not just a sunken measure,
with little left to play,
with little left to pray,
if praying helped plants
or people.



July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

9/7/10

bound by chains

a seldom seen scene,
when the careless son
of a careful man
encounters a woman
of uncertain parentage,
unswerving in Her resolve:
"don't tell me what to do"

not merely sparks,
but fireballs ensue,
as destiny drives me
to You:
not a simple kismet,
but a foreshadowed
adieu;
it must always be
"see you later,"
as I can never say
"goodbye" to You;

time roils,
and words spill out
like watermelon seeds
from the mouths
of summer's youth,
and the simple truth
remains:
I lie in the basement
of Your heart,
yearning,
but bound by chains.



September 3, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.