In all so seriousness

Only poets aren’t entitled to compose,
We con artists too with our two pennies
And tales as romantic as Monday mornings,
Sometimes we settle for bait than a catch.

Slight more than to what meets the eye
I always fall short to grasp my discourse,
As never do I go to bed with ugly wenches
Yet I sure have woken up with a few.

If the Crucifixion was for self-defense
I pen to bring forth a divinely comic me
So you may again get down on one knee
My two pennies on my beginner’s luck.

To land this playfulness to a sober end
I bid farewell to this joke unwitting
Unlike long ago I’d say ‘So long’ after
So long that no one would long any longer.


 

Memoirs of Kal-El

 

Lex Luthor: Clark, you can't save the world. 

All you'll end up with is a Messiah complex and a lot of enemies.

Clark Kent: I saved you, didn't I? That turned out all right. 

 

The lonely city candy affair

A pause in this loneliest city,
A dialog I add of footprints emerging
In chapter of turndown eternity.

Since I turn only to you undone,
In retiring light of the morning moon,
In stoic light of the evening sun.

It shadows my fairish glitter.
It blinds one if the sweetened white,
I’d shirk divorcing the mirror.

Shirk not envying the postman.
He pleases to please, ceases to cease.
For how your talk goes my pen.

The comfort I jilt of my shelter,
A bedpost and a seascape on the wall,
The universe for knocking later,

To become a mistletoe pendant.
On your oak where metaphors bloom.
My darling oxymoron, old friend.

On the bed cared-for when we lie,
Secretly open-eyed and close-hearted
In the compass of a needle eye,

Tickle not my fancy to flee often
To the slightest ice on the coldest lake!
Dilemma of half-lost, half-gotten.

Infant and redundant up the sky,
Down they blur to divide and conquer.
Sad! I can’t more than clouds cry.

Blurry streets I can’t but dread,
Where with each blink of my eye fades
The imprint of your silhouette.