"Fabric of Deceit"

Small spirits traffic in the ruined name

And outnumber the stars above the sea;

Their poison spreads, yet those who would remain

Must grow beyond the reach of calumny.

The lesser swarm and nibble at the heel

Of any greatness that outstrips their kind;

But victory belongs to Truth alone,

Whose force outlasts the powers that have lied.

Beneath the assault the strong grow yet more sure,

The weak grow weaker in their evil net;

In the end, Truth holds, and the pure endure

To watch the fabric of deceit upset.

   What started as a game of wicked fun

   Turns round at length and is itself undone.

October 22, 2026

"At First Blush"

I post verse fresh at the earliest stage,

Acceptable seeming then — at first blush;

But later, clear flaws leap out from the page,

I rely on your pardon for the rush.

To pause and polish would halt the cascade;

Fear of judgment stills the mental burst.

So I offer half-formed lines, yet low-grade,

That show my poetic skills at their worst.

Within this stream of work, both weak and strong,

A gem appears that far exceeds my skill—

A sudden light that does not quite belong

To what I know, that justifies the spill.

   Forgive the middling drafts I toss your way;

   It's not the final product (just foreplay).

October 22, 2026

"Snake"

When your life is but a tissue

   (a tissue of lies)

It's structure you eschew

   (swapped for snake eyes).

October 22, 2026

"Shark"

Surfing atop a foam of lies

Protected from the shark beneath

He gets to you, and fantasy dies

Punctured by his factual teeth.

October 22, 2026

"End"

Those who create might understand

Sometimes it comes out fully bland

But come out it must if we are to grow

And end up with something we might show.

October 18, 2026

"Gals"

Calliope, Erato,

Euterpe, Polyhymnia

What these gals must understand

I need the freedom to move my hand.

October 18, 2026

"Dreck"

In my rush I fail to check

   the dreck

   that gushes from my pen

I hope one day to make emend

   to the penned

   my Muse would not commend.

October 18, 2026

"Crime"

A poem that does not rhyme

   is no major crime

Unless you come from 1950

   (when everything was nifty).

October 17, 2026