.
O city streets of din and clatter,
gibbers and gabbers – chitter and chatter.
A bolt across the heavens and they all seem to scatter.
.
April’s thunder echoes to mumbles.
The awe inspires as it humbles.
For every Sprout, the Mighty tumble.
.
.
Effervescent rain on velvet petals.
Mother’s touch is most gentle.
Love needed on many levels.
.
.
Behold, the dawn shines on a multitude of kin.
Woe, what we are today we have always been.
Lo, the light that shines brightest shines from within.
.
Our iridescence is inherent,
Either heaven sent or mere accident.
Is not consciousness self-evident?
.
.
Burgeoning bulbs soaking Sun’s rays
through the morning dew and the foggy haze.
The more to do in these longer days
.
Trade winds blow, mountains thaw.
A collage blooms as the fowl soar.
Prancing prey and pouncing claws.
.
Today’s the morrow where dreams begin.
No one wants war but we all want to win.
Always wanting more leads to all other sins.
.
First light of the vernal, all children enchanted,
Question all known, leave nothing for granted.
Rights once given, now recanted and redacted.
.
Sunshine on thy face and the winds at thy back,
Spring’s hope renews all, the fearful backtrack.
Wolves stalk downwind so prepare for attack.
.
Alas we all toil, till, reap, and we sow
to the waxing and waning of that nocturne glow.
The wisest are un-wizened, for they ebb and they flow.
.
Icecaps melting, tides arising.
Twilights eyes, no longer shining.
O Northern Lights, so mesmerizing.
.
Shooting stars all bright and gleaming,
The incandescence leaves us dreaming.
Wishing no time-soon leaving.
.
Upon starry nights one does ponder,
Myths and facts both make the mind wander.
What can never be known lies far beyond yonder.
.
What’s known best in life, reminds
us of better times we left behind
but stays in mind.
.
One last rumble from this Son of Thunder
to be remembered afore the summer,
in one stroke all can be torn asunder.
.
But there’s always something not yet penned.
Life’s purpose is preparation for the end.
Once transcended, your legend begins.
.
For we are the bearers of a message,
once whispered, winds gust relentless.
Our own testaments hold us in awe and reverence.
.
. . .
.
Once verbose verses are converted,
now conversed as tersely worded.
.
Nouns, verbs and adjectives
delivered natural with no additives.
.
More subtle than Serpents’ crafty antics.
More powerful than scientists’ atomic tactics.
.
To their dismay they’re dismissing the isms
because it’s tongue-twisting with lyrical rhythms.
.
But the ink’s the serum that’ll heal them,
And let the pen inject the fear of reality in’em.
.
.
And on the first day as the new dawn skies
proclaim what is screaming from what burns inside.
.
So hone thy pencil, black lead number two
and whittle the pages with what’s known only by few.
.
Late is the hour,
thy time is at hand
Hark to the wage
this Rogue Poet commands.
Behold it is finished,
my psalm now complete,
Be bold when opposed,
and forever foot fleet.
.
.
For you it begins, Children of the Thunder!
Lay waste the grand gates, the truth awaits for plunder.
.With pen as your sword and pad as your shield
held high overhead, your fate is now sealed.
.
.
.
And as Spring showers flowers,
set your parchments to drink.
Your words are what’s endless,
Just make sure your quill has enough ink.
.
D
.