A sunbeam enters
through an opening in the curtains.
It is light finding its way in.
Morning is a covenant with time.

A stream flows
Into a river, then joins the sea.
It finds the path of least resistance.
Water is the womb of life.

The wind blows
Ubiquitously, gusting strong or calming breeze.
It moves at an independent pace.
Air is the breath of spirit.

Yesterday goes.
Tomorrow never comes.
Today passes quickly, elapses slowly.
Reality is the kinetics of the mind.


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The Sunbeam Cafe

A Lover’s scramble with Coffee and cream.
Conjoined eyes lingering with wine and lust.
Lips loosely sealed from Cupids erogenous aim.
Conversation mixed with love-light and toast.
Last nights delight, tonight yet to convene.
For hungry lovers with nervous stomachs and no names.
Breakfast at the Sunbeam is a must, it would seem.
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Raining on Broadway

Forgotten entrance. No looking back.     
One way out. The final act.
Blocked stage left. Blocked stage right.
Exit front and center. Stage fright.
Forgotten lines. Final curtain call.
Show canceled. Silent applause.
Raining on Broadway. Long walk home.

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Don’t believe every spin that’s spun.
What you’ve been told… what you might hear
may only be relative math done by one.
An incomplete equation, a variable unclear.
One man’s division is another man’s sum.
Calculate the whole before you are done.


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A Few Shorts

It has always been there, in plain sight,
in the hiding place.
The painter painted it there,
in negative space.


I’m tired of all the anger.
It feels so inescapable.
All of you. Just you. Me.
Time seems so infinite
Between now and the manger.
Our gods appear quite incapable
Of taming the beast
That demands to be.


A Grey Knight’s Prayer

I can no longer endure this slow demise.
I can no longer defend the line.
I can no longer don the delusive disguise.
I can no longer proffer my time.
I grow weary. I am tired,
My shield is chipped and cracked,
My armor is weakened with rust.
Lead me beside the still water, my Lord.
Restore my soul before I am dust.


Gunners Lament

There’s a rider in the distance,
A silhouette in the sun.
On a pale horse he sits,
And tallies what I’ve done.
The horizon is in flames.
Time is melting down.
The others have all fled.
I stand here on my own.
Down to my last round.
Religion can not help me.
I must face my fate alone.
As the rider slowly approaches,
I am down to my last round.

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Yawn -New year, another day.

Lazy Day

Lazy day, you’ve overcome me.
You’ve dulled every point
I’d intended to make,
And undermined the erudite gems
of wisdom I’d hoped to convey.

Now, in your subtle way,
You grin at me.
You sharpen your wit and poke me awake
with reminders that I am not the only fool
with something cool to say.

Your tranquil whisper flows by in a breeze;
“we are only deep when our consciousness sleeps…
close your eyes, it’s a lazy day.”

(c) Mark Fought




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