​Packing a Punch

Not every poem
has to hit a homerun
pertaining to the wit
with which it is presented.

It is not perfection
that is expected,
only the pursuit thereof.

A Rage Most Sublime

She dances with Shiva –
a controlled frenzy
taken to the furthest edge
of a precarious precipice,
laughing with thunder,
alive with electric chaos
pulsing through each
burning tendril, tantalizing,
reaching out to touch
the distance we cannot fathom…

She screams with a nuclear reaction–
a crazed momentum
careening past the urge to cease,
giving way to fervent temptations,
stretching out to taste the Beast,
seized by silent surrender,
and Revelation is
a sacrifice to the gods of war
who want more, more, more,
demanding blood at the altar…

She is the dripping chalice –
a chosen huntress
roaring with the scales of judgment,
passing righteous verdicts
rendered nightly from the moon
as waves crash…