Even Pinocchio Knew His Maker

The puppets mock the puppeteers

not noticing their strings

They dance and hop and raise their voice to sing...

All they know are peers

of wood and wire

of paint and polish

of termite hollowed ash

of ventriloqu’d voices

and mimicked choices

that with their pride does clash.

“We are the kings

We hold the strings!”

They obediently say

not knowing who in the air

above holds fatal sway.

Don’t you see the enemy?

He wishes you to dance

your time away until you say

it was nothing but mere chance.

Don’t you see the enemy?

He wishes you to hide

him behind a myth or blind

tradition that you deride.

And what if sin and evil

are more than dated words?

What if they hold meaning

more than the absurd

notion of a god that acts like a child—

notion of a god that is anything but mild—

For what does this race earn

if not cruel death

by turning on itself and ignoring the rest?

We rape and burn and pillage

We steal and break and kill

A child takes a village

But one father has no will

We sow our own destruction

And arm our future foes

We revel in corruption

To what end? No one knows

And all us so-called-people

Who think ourselves so good

With hubris higher than a steeple

At the wayside we all stood

The spectators are guilty

The watchers did the crime

The reclining ones have blood-stained hands

We all live in the grime

Not one of us is sinless

We all hold equal share

We can make ourselves all kinless

Or admit there’s burdens to bear

When we see that we’re all brothers

And sisters straight from birth

We’ll be halfway to discovering

Our purpose here on earth.

Broken Dreams in Otherside

When love’s façade breaks

And crumbles

Like a wall of shattering glass

Leaving a thousand tiny mirrors

And you find yourself

Looking amongst the settling dust

Deeper in

You begin to notice

That you played deceiver

As well as deceived

In this bleak charade

Dancing on the tips of fingers

And the blades of shoulders

With hearts and eyes locked

Beneath forgotten combinations

She or he

Was a fractured mirror for your

Secret desires

And the goals you’d deny

(Even to yourself)

To toe the line

To trip and fall

Down to Otherside

Lines that cannot be

Uncrossed

But they can be

Recrossed

Again and again

Oh, and again

And when the crossing becomes

Redundant

What then?

…

An awkward pause

An awakening after sickened slumber

A clearing of filmed and grimy eyes

And the tears

Shed for loss of property

When love’s façade breaks

P is for Pithy

Ah, this prevalent preposterous pretention once again:

People presuming to play the part of the Pardoner!

Please! Such pitiable perceptions perched on personal pride are pointless

They seemingly preach to prevent the pernicious poison prevailing;

While pervading the popular paltry position

Perhaps we Plebeians should pay no heed to the proverbial verbal pugilists

But the paralyzed patrons lack the prudence and puissance to perceive perjury

In the perverted parlance from pugnacious puss

Presently, the public that peruses this paradoxical poetic-prose grows perplexed

Yet they do not pursue the many paged publication that can penetrate the portents on this paper

This poor paradigm pronounces the pandemic of pessimism and passivity in this place

There is a privation of passion and proficient pondering pooled

The pedestrian pack proliferates only the pathetically plain perseverance of the pompous parasitic persona

Permissiveness! Parsimony! Promiscuity! Power!

The four pillars of our pallid plagued Parthenon

The putrefied potency of vacillating piggish peons

Per contra, there are some penitent and some pure

Some puerile and some the prey of the perfidious

For this parcel of pilgrims on the paths of perdition I will prescribe progress guided by Providence

And persuade toward pursuits more profitable than powder purposes that plummet under pressure.

Pick your party promptly because the periphery will not provide protection.


Sincerely,

F.L.