c'est la vie

mordents become lessons
when lesser mortals roar
while their ruptures corrupt
with deafening groans
strewn across ivory floors

they stiffen their sleeves
as they erratically prance
while seeking to please
their idols of sleaze
in homage, on their knees
to counterfeit Apollo and
genuflect the Pharisees

streaked with shrieks
of feigned disdain,
they have trained themselves
to strain with practiced pain
while scurrying underground
overwhelmed by shame

unedited

Greetings!

Rexsy is curently offering free download on several Albums of
Romantic Symphonic Piano Music, which is about Love, Romance, and
Beauty!

The music is Great for Relaxation and Meditation!

http://www.rexsy.com/rexsy_music

Enjoy!

Rexsy
Rexsy.com
http://www.youtube.com/profile_videos?user=Lexsie2008

"The sunlight reflected indescribable joys over the ocean of beauty,
where the sea birds glided freely under the calm blue skies. Peaceful
state of being exists when the mind and feelings merge into the
Universe's reality as One. In this state, there is no energy
differential between the mind and the constant changing reality,
thus, the manifestation of life has transgressed into quiet state of
existence. The sunset traveled towards of the deep blue sea's
horizon, as the Earth rested quietly in the profound Universe." -
Rexsy

The Wooly Manmoth

(Being a Brief Essay on the Mathematics
of the Drunkard's Walk Equations)

I met the Ghost of Christmas Pissed
Staggering a streetlamp;
I left him flailing in the mist
To sit beside my heatlamp.

A year or so went by before
I saw that Ghost again,
Still flailing the same semaphore
Below the flowing chin.

He flapped around the argument
That somewhere there was light,
Rebutted it by accident,
Then wheeled to pick a fight,

But I sidestepped his premises
(Which I was none too keen on),
And left him flapping at his post
With nothing else to lean on.

Tika

Tika died
in my hands today
as I cupped
her fragile feathered body
against my hollowed out
and roaring chest
praying
every rapid thump
could beat prolonged life
throughout her ailing frame
as it inched away
with every shiver
of her speckled claws

Shall a pale shadow
and she a ghost, a phantom
cost so valiant a king
whose heart is held by a promise
and break it with beguiling
she will betray you with a kiss
*
Arms that will hold you
eyes that encaptured your own
in another's arms entwined
making warm with passion the place
where is no promise to bind
sweetly dying in their embrace
*
Chivalry begone
with chasing from the kingdom
Camlan's field will be the site
the question Guinevere shall pose
wild the cherry she will bite
will bitter you too in the throes ...

hey you

when will you fold in that boulder
and roll it into a sloppy soldier
or perhaps, a yodeler?
there's no point
in letting it smoulder

when will you shoulder
a colder mould without arms?
behold instead without dread
the many lives living in your head
and the many faithful wives
supporting your bed

only then can you know
what was bought and what was sold
in order to allow fruition a foothold

to be bold, we are told
by slogans of old
is far too slow,
but we know the show

Some useful notes I came across for everyone/anyone to read:

http://www.blehert.com/essays/critique.html

http://www.writingforward.com/writing-tips-tricks/how-to-give-good-critique

blindfold

metaphors meander
erratically about
while dropping clues
replete with silent shouts

they litter lush, verdant forests
from an immeasurable sprawl
to unnoticeably small
visible to the astute
when the mind is an eagle
a gopher and a scout
as it wanders this world
foraging for the fall

boundaries vanish
amongst expansive spaces
with traces of faces
erratically scrawled
across circumscribed walls