Monday, December 8, 2014

Requiem for Pluto

there were nights when we
were smashed off Pluto
and tipped our brims to
lights stretched across our skins

we were not to spill
and were not to hold
what was passing through

the age and blood
and lights and piss
were sweat and tears
and endlessness

and there drenched
in perspiration we danced
on Pluto's orb

it was a land of
which scholars told to
toast and boast in
the night divine

but faded now is
such gratitude for duty
paid and played at the edge

seems our kisses and touches
and many time collisions
disappeared into the dark
and faded from solar view




Sunday, December 7, 2014

The boy from Sasnak

In Sasnak, what's meant
to be forward is backward
and what's meant to be up
is altogether upside down

and round is square
where sharp is soft, the softest
folks with bluntest pokes

yet of these members
where scarce the timbers
was a boy, a young man in fact
who was born not shattered
but instead all intact

he knew the why
of the sky turning dark
and to light again

he knew the who
behind the tricks that
blinded both beast and men

he knew the how
in dreaming dreams to
make the future then

and for the time his
own life shall cease, alas
he knew the when

In Sasnak, what's meant
to be gone still lingers there
and what's meant to be still
is nowhere to be found

and the round that's square
blends together with the air
on a blank endless plain

yet though one there moves
but hasn't moved at all
the boy has seen beyond his
nose and further yet, beyond
where the wind blows

he knows the why
for giant skies to loom
over those below

he knows the who
discontent with rain,
or drought, or even snow

he knows how
to make his dreams
exist without an end

and for the time his
own heart shall break, alas
he knows the when

In Sasnak, what's meant
to be close is very far away
and what's meant to be miles
will always instead surround

and the round, albeit square
is here and there and anywhere
but nowhere and everywhere

yet distinct are its members
living where scarce are the timbers
and the boy, who has left them all
and has answered the wind
and its endless call

he forgets the why
of the blue sky that burns
from October to December

he forgets the who
of once he knew and
wishes he could remember

he forgets the how
a dream can grow far
beyond where he's been

and for the time his
own voice shall hush, alas
he forgets the when





Sunday, November 16, 2014

We were bees



In slumber rest the glossy wings are still
when tiny buzzing yields to winter's cruel chill
and fills with dreams of feasts of flowers
while sleeping and slipping away the frozen hours

The revels of dewy petaled morning glories
stream through the golden striped pollen stories
to tip and sip of the sticky pistil chalice
while humbly abiding in the silky floral palace

The warmth of these, the faded golden days
preserve the dormant hope under thick icy glaze
when the sun slowly thaws and melts away from these
it is simple to recall the time spent when we were bees




Saturday, October 25, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part Chopin

chopping Chopin flip flops
dropping, fry pan, sizzle... pops
beat one, two, three
sing doe, rae... it's me

thus see the dry
musty sea of rye
o'er plains where rains
more drains e'er stains
in delta laps poison relapse
the glades fallen on blades

slather of slithering
boorish come withering
swallowing gator smiles
hollowing later miles
of time dis-time
miming  the climb
priming the crime

wearing rare ring
daring, dare... ding
the ting, this thing

here and now,
crying sow,
in that habitat
cat needs rat
tit for tat combat

fry pan sizzles... pop
Chopin drizzles... stop




Sunday, October 12, 2014

Autumn

she has shown her face
in early shallow mirrors
those crisp layered shells
to shatter under a nudge

she has loathed the youth
in vibrant tones and changed
their skins to ashen crones
and raven plumes and sordid
putrid greens of dying dreams

she has clawed at reaching
hands and torn the turning
sun with its inflamed forest

she has stolen the beating
hearts of the stagnant pools
and plunged them far below
into her dragoon graves

she has her knaves who
break the brittle and hollow
pits to leave the shells in
sightless soundless soulless
hells but whistle her tune

she has her names she
drains from veins the vamp,
the hag, the killer of Pan

she has her time that
blackens days into glorious
nights and hearkens those
back to hearths and frights



Saturday, October 4, 2014

Flowers in your hair

shattered the life that was
and fell and flowed
into hands that now
itch of corn and reek
of late marigold essence

the life that fell into
halls only rabbits frequent
for royalty and pilgrim
sails in whirling puffs
for sips of divinity

the life that flowed
through those halls
as slithering hunger
to beget a shiny coat
to forget the shedded
skin left in shadows

the life in body wake
fell asleep the toad
in buried October mud
and married the little
gained from trolley tones
and Amherst rendezvous

the life not known
but once was home
now harbors beyond
the bay with first breath
in May little more to say




Sunday, September 28, 2014

Twining days

in twining days
that slow with heavy fruit
the impatient nights
are sought by local gods

whose croaks are remnants
of former nocturnal glories
and cry now for what few
crumbs of creeping things
and dragonfly wings will
keep them in an icy sleep

in twining days
that shed what both
earth and light married
in the angels' lair

whose feathers drift aloft
in battling breezes among
and through the gnarled
halls of ancient lullabies,
through the arms that once
cradled, swaying us to sleep

in twining days
that crown the trees with
hues of Aurora's glory
bleeding from the eve

whose blackened cloaks
of indigo webbing and
cobalt silks ripple across
the midnight high, to catch
the Sandman's dust that
gleams above a child's sleep

in these twining days
that coil around trailing flame
and whisper out a name
to the chill upon the wind

whose deed is death in
a freezing breath that raps
upon the Autumn's door
and laces dreams of the
dormant seeds deep within
their terrestrial sleep




Saturday, September 20, 2014

Neither now nor later

what will I know
when hopes are sold
of soldiers bold
to brothers, choke
on their polluted joke

and what was home
a country known
now country owned
by boundless greed
and twisted seed

the wind, it ran
now whistles through
heavy charcoal hue
pours down the pain
that weeps from rain

the earth, it slept
now growls with spit
sick chemical vomit
black blood reborn
churns in ocean storm

what was the home
where dreams were sown
and soaked to bone
the goals to feed
unknown paths to lead

what have I known
when my tales are told
and the sun is cold
when clears the smoke
from this sleep I woke




Sunday, September 14, 2014

Cold creep

the cold is an audacious cad
making leaves blush from his advances

the cold's impatience marbles
the lingering September warmth
adulterating it with rushing vigor
that lacks in endless August days

the growing evenings glow
with fire revelries of patrons
needing more than one or two skins

the cold lures roots from
their soiled cellars and
fruits from their lofty perches

it spurs spinning of silks
by sickle shaped moonlight
until eight legs aren't enough anymore




Saturday, September 13, 2014

Fleeting flight

a trade of toenails and head of hair
for dusty wings in the autumn air

and in the warmth of morning sun
an open blossom to lay my tongue

for salmon hued beacons of hope
carry troves of pollen laced dope

the rope from which to hang myself
in pooling oceans of nectar wealth

and gladly give my bag of bones
to swim among these vivid tones

perfecting headstands in the flowers
and to sip away the afternoon hours

what it is to be bee or moth
to hide in silky petal cloth

a life of whim in moon of cancer
dining amidst orange yellow anther

out to seek pistil lip kisses
flowing from sweet fountain head wishes

for this do take my human soul
and trade it all, paid in full

don me now my weightless wings
take my place among fleeting kings

for then when water stands as glass
my glorious flight will come to pass




Monday, September 8, 2014

The monsters that I've known

to wear silks
over a hollow shell
the spider's spit
in a woven hell

mind a trance
in forgotten days
in times where
the darkness stays

and blood turns to stone
remembering the monsters that I've known

color takes leave
in colder sleep
sepia seeps into
the dreamer's keep

ice to encase
a burning heat
to idle down
the restless beat

and blood turns to stone
remembering the monsters that I've known

liquid flesh falls
from ravaged arms
shedding what was
and other charms

for madness screams
from swollen eyes
witnessing the throng
of Beelzebub's flies

and blood turns to stone
remembering the monsters that I've known

feed the grubs
and slimy slugs
they are the dosage
of laced drugs

and mildew white
on sprawling leaves
where the spider still
fiercely weaves

and blood turns to stone
remembering the monsters that I've known

bows the high
with haughty head
to rotten roots
the shadow's led

curls what dries
to wither there
and twist within
the chilling air

a place it was
that woven hell
and mastered over
by the name of L

and blood turns to stone
remembering the monsters that I've known




Saturday, August 30, 2014

Dew

hangs from webs
from silky threads
the lover's morning kiss
in the night to surrender
in light to dismiss

lingers on cheek
the taste of knowing
what wild beasts revel
in tempest winds blowing

to cease, release, the
inevitable calm at tips
of savage hands and hooves

bathe with earthly
sweat and wash clean
any lonely threat
that lingers within
the kiss dismissed

glows the peace
post tempest release
and soothes both
wild men and beasts

in somber groves
of stretching legs
and branches advances
surrender of the savage
beat in the moment of heat

and fades the pulse
which shook the dark
in the dripping dew




Sunday, August 24, 2014

Jargon Jaunting: part how cow

a man with grass hands
the man on flat lands
has much at stake with steak
and a moo amore

a man on a hot day
the man who's fought hay
has much to rake for steak
and a moo amore

a man out in cold snow
the man laying out the mow
has much to make in steak
and a moo amore

a man bringing the herd
the man's horse being spurred
has much to take for steak
and a moo amore




Friday, August 15, 2014

Muddied boots

leave your muddied
boots at the door
don't need your
footsteps on my floor

nor the wet earth
with all its weight
a rainy day that's
come way too late

tipsy clouds spill
out their wine
and scurry off
in time for shine

yet it's the weathered
ones who know
that without rain
it's just a bow

in darkened days
the light is dear
sometimes in laughter
there's a tear

a flood will wash
away the past
to make your dreams
come true at last

those crazy clouds
spill out their wine
and rush away
in time for shine

the weathered ones
are those who know
that without rain
it's just a bow

dams and levees
are often for naught
stop of flow
can lead to rot

leave those muddied
boots at the door
after this tide you
won't need them anymore

'cause trippy clouds
are pouring out their wine
and rushing away
in time for shine

those weathered ones
aren't the only who know
that without rain
it's just a bow




Thursday, August 7, 2014

The pool

bathe between
basking to remember little of the pool crawled out of
the pool's ponders
of passing present
and how future presents

of clay and ash
burnt in the kiln
to harden, to break,
to crumble and powder
for liquid lips to quench
their thirst for
earthen flesh and the rest

that stirs the waters
for memories laid low
and laden below with
weighty deaths, the births too anxious to wait to pull taffy trapped between what one believes,
what one knows in soul

the whole that all
fell into and from to
waken from the waves
crashing upon sullied vessels and rise
from murky cradles

the pool to birth
to forget former drops
that teared and ran from
flickering flames, released
and relented what drained
through grasping fingers

that stirs more than silt
the ash of deeper chasms
unknown to busy toils, all
too familiar to frequent
pauses taken throughout the day

no night nor day lingers
to dangle a toe in the pool
beyond the bath the ticks tock
and leaves fall and rot
yet all who have played and fought
are the endless tides of the pool




Saturday, August 2, 2014

From dreams

from dreams the lot is lost
in cast out prisms which beckon
naught the glory of hue
from crimson blood
flooding indigo blue

prisms beckon instead
those puzzled memoirs lurking
in drowned chasms of the head
drowned victims released
after arising from the bed

the release of bloated
corpses who have been
thrown down endless stairwells
the release of rare hells
that hunger with brimming bellies

and in the letting go
of ravaged moments,
times which have been
over savored to tastelessness
their cocoons are severed
for silk on tiny legs to fly

to fly through raining
sunlight and the snuffed out
bonfires of words






Saturday, July 26, 2014

In the rain

words on a page
smolder red in a rage
and flicker in the
pouring...

rain was the way
we danced in that day
and trickled down the
flowing sea

it was you and me
and nothing but the...
clouds, cried aloud
from their lofty prison cells
gray was the day
in deafening thunder
and clouds unbecoming themselves

red on a bird
flew away with a word
and shuttered in the
freezing...

pain was to stay
to dance another day
and utter just a
bleeding lie

no more you and I
and nothing but the...
clouds, cried aloud
from their aching tortured hells
betray another day
in deafening thunder
and clouds unbecoming themselves





Saturday, July 19, 2014

Orange glazed horizons

awaken the eyes
the rise from slumber
to a burning soul
in orange glazed horizons

still the tassels twirl
in sweeping swirls of
pollen-laced clouds
by sleepless breezes

these, the breezes
keep green dance partners
from rest at peace
least at this hour

in flower, the cosmos
with blended golden
azure ripples in unfolding
petals of the day

lace makers of foliage
yawn in this orange dawn
with grinning green teeth
and v hind legs

their cousin man
no longer shares their
emerald smile, after all
it's been awhile

since their fingers plucked
a leaf or two to sit and chew
and have their fill
of raw in state chlorophyll

now when man beams
from ear to profit dreams
the last tooth is blue from
time spent smoking the sky

no need for those teeth of
green, they have been wean
to sip on numerical words
and liquid earthen blood

and awaken their eyes
the rise from slumber
to a burning soul
in orange-glazed horizons




Saturday, July 12, 2014

Portrait of a Poppy








Knowing up from up

what keeps the water in the land
to hold its drops from dripping up
and raining down into the sky

for eyes of you or even mine
are looking up into the blue
yet looking down from another view

our magnet soles cling to the land
when into the nightly abyss our
gaze pours down into the sky

for lies anew or even of old
are spilled into the cosmos
and retold for every directional cue






Saturday, July 5, 2014

Canvasing

timid hairs rise on the arm
on the extended hand
of the brush laced with thickened hue
pouring pain and pleasure both
in each and every stroke

that strokes the tightened skin
stretched to never move again

but move it does
in twisted calico contours
that tunnel through a neighbor's brain
in stark chilling structures
seeded in tearful black rain

rain that spatters
and tatters purest of white
the naked flesh of the mirror
flashing pieces of soul...

whole, diced, sewn up and spliced

mindful blind eyes look
into the twin,
the skin enveloping the frame
the same of a different name
whose will will never tame

for wild throats scream
across the spectrum of light
screams that resonate colors
of the passing moonlit night
echoing in fractured streams
in blended realistic dreams

where moths are released from the heart
then explode before us to impart
in a new creation, in something called art




Sunday, June 29, 2014

Woven

will has woven blades of grass
and white aloft in astral fields
what surrender has puddled
from shattered slicing notions

the woven lines once
stood in distant island groves
where within boyhood ponders
lurked among the misty morns

yet rises sol in solar planes
and morns weep for death of night
in dewy tears that ascend
to white aloft in astral fields

those standing lines bowed
for surrender of soul to scythe
the cutting blade releasing
time stored in youthful fears

and rooted lines laid low
to gather for life's bundled shock
in rootless pursuits of the
now fruitless distant island groves

woven what will has tailored to
pooling surrender from a vein or few
the past portions gobbled up from view
what could have been ensues




Sunday, June 22, 2014

In earth

what makes the earth
what earth has built and sown
and fed and named its own

for feeding threads
who have weaved the past
atop their grandfathers' fields
who have weaved the past
what their history yields

and wields the earth
a scythe and gnashing teeth
to reap and eat the old
in chasms deep beneath

so floats the former
in effervescent seltzer seas
where gummy worms meld
in bird-built grassy bowls
congeals the felled

in stone and trunks
that wandered green grass hills
the dead put them in their place
when an empty grave fills

thus earth is made
when sacrificed are the things
that succumb to their dreams




Saturday, May 24, 2014

Wet dry pact

tempest tears
ten blessed dreary days

my cracked skin
dry fracked thinning maze
a web of veiny raise
a bowl for rainy days

days to dance in wet
praise for dewy debt

in supple falling splash
down-pouring thrash

lap and lick your groove
in cool clear liquid move


wind dressed years
thin pressed eerie haze

high stacked sin
sky-tract spinning phase
of burning heat release
of fire and of grease

days drawn to turn
nights linger and burn

bodies fall and wilt
in time to form the silt

crushed, scattered, thrown
in the stars their sown


Saturday, May 17, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part forest

A forest tour it is, and a tourist you may be
but have ever you thought about what is a tree?

for there are many many kinds
and still more many many finds
to what makes up a genuine.....tree

for N-stance, if you found a trunk
and heard its bark rather eloquently
words beginning with letter fourteen
theN for sure you found an N-tree

touche I say, out on the flat plains
where very few things grow, you see
you can feel its presence, often cold
what do you expect from a blowing Win-tree

yet here in the kitchen cupboard or
there hanging upon the red chimney
is it a copper bottom shrub or a
cast iron bush? No, it's simply a Pan-tree

this one here can walk about
whether it moves too fast or slowly
nonetheless it likes baked goods
yep, you guessed it, it's a Pace-tree

many times this one is confused
with one whose bark is quite spicy
though this one is the same
from the middle, behold the Symme-tree

a very tempting tree is this
synonymous with a western city
however it stands guard of its
assigned charge being that it's a Sen-tree

this one's a lush, no doubting it
from the goofy grin and acting silly
indeed it was to be well bred and
uppity, but alas it's just a Gen-tree

these two are, if trees can be twins
the older known as an Ancien-tree
and from roots to hopefully forking
branches, the younger one is an Ances-tree

don't mind the squawking balk or
constant talk from this last one, finally
for little is known of the feathered
fiend 'cept for its name, a Pull-tree

so at the tour's end, I hope you see my friend
though I may linguistically condescend
beyond the bark and leaves there's much more to see
Huh? Why no, I didn't even want to mention this Poa-tree





Thursday, May 15, 2014

lingers Luna

she hung in the western sky
a remnant of her former glory
in pale array and bleached
when faced with her ignition

very nearly a mirage out
on the hemisphere where
what's old wanders off to

she too had wandered there
in the time when lights pass
between wake and sleep and
rusty skies and cracked open eyes

in the receding silence and
pooling hum of morning
she sank into her enormity

moments left to catch the
eyes of early risers and
dreams for delayed slumber
of others and of herself

dreams of nightly reign as
goddess aglow still brighter
across the glitter of snow

clinging to memories of
revelries danced beneath
her beaming arc, the wishes,
the hope, the light in the dark




 

Saturday, May 10, 2014

The calm ocean

she is a calm ocean
who all vessels know
and therein grow

she was given her
portion of the primal
bath when drier land
was more at hand

she and her sisters
carried inside the ocean
they once knew
onto the drier land

where no ocean
waves crashed upon
green forest floor
or parched sand

within her chamber
she held anew
she carried you

the imminent tide
carried you out of
the ocean your mother
and into first breath

though her tributary
to you was severed
the heart string still
humming was blessed

there isn't a distance
to sever her tie to you
or your memories of
those ocean depths


Thursday, May 8, 2014

The psychomanteum

a chamber, a crypt behind a door in
the back of a cellar

layered with smell of moist earth that
only dead men noses know

grimy stones holding dirt from swallowing
the man-made cavity

room of darkness never seeing light
beyond the cellar door

only infrequent candles warm the
stale damp chamber air

dim light radiant within enveloping
shadowy hunger and greed

into reflection, fire dances within
breath of shaking visitor

one who's walked the blurred path into
and beyond the mirrored veil

in chair and desire and eyes set upon
a lingering candlelit figure

exhale to extinguish the tiny flame
and into the obscure reflection

sudden dark heavily teases and tears at
straining pupils and eager ears

alone in silence and deprivation to trigger
a sense so used to, now missed

only a heightened inner lub-dub rings
out through waxy canals

slightly in widened eyes seep murky mists
of phosphorescence glow

in the yet deeper cavity of reflection does
the luminescent wisps grow

in the still deeper corridors of lub-dubbing
quickens the repetitious pulse

for fear and hope are the twisted rope
the visitor dares to teeter on

the two masters that spur the eyes to
consume all before them

in swift lub-dubs the breath ceases
as wisps unite and transfigure

a figure of light originating before the night
before dark, before shadow

copper the skin of a golden beastly face
and titanium flow of hair

sits opposite of the visitor trembling
in awe of the astral presence

the throne of silver thorns that slice
through the mirrored veil

raging fires flaring in the smoldering gray
abyss within the reflection

yet beastly face holds viper cast upon
the summoner of his presence

a smirk slithers across platinum lips
and into the piercing eyes

a gesture to ease racing lub-dubs, to return
a breath into starving lungs

eternity passes in the moment when he
and him dwell in their gaze

haze creeps with spidery webs as the
glowing astral being moves

to the visitor's rope of fear and hope
coiled around his beating throat

stands and is pulled toward without
refusal of the veil's call

outstretched, the luminous arm within
the silvery reflection haze

gaze fastened under lock and key and lips
between lub-dubs and breath

palms within and without draw near to
near touch to breach the veil






Thursday, May 1, 2014

Whispers of the dust

a slithering snake the
winding dirt road which
at times had breached
its banks and bled
into the parched fields

two or more of those
slithering snakes had
chased and played with
children walking home
from their school day
down the dusty dirt road

at times when snakes
were all afforded for toys
of girls and boys and
slithering dirt roads bled
into the parched fields

times when the land
crashed upon the prairie's
shore in choking waves
of dust and dark surrender
ever to remember

times stuck to flypaper
in the minds of those now
sitting in rest home lobbies
or chucking seed to birds
within the courtyards

those who had seen
crops come and go, seen
locusts come and go, seen
neighbors mostly go with
and where ever the plundering
wind wanted to take them

those who still sing the
hymn of the western wind
in pasted porcelain hearts
that still hold their
parents' tearful fears and
whispers of the dust




Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Wet wearing kiss

jagged meandering crevices
jutting through pavement
once permanent, now
another fleeting folly

web of cracks branching,
blue veining alive in
cement slice of cheese

instigating, the liquid
poured and drizzled and
caught and frozen

tapping fingers on oval
puddles, canyons created
by wintry reveling and
late freezing kisses

oval puddles blinking
with each drop, puddles
feeding creeping courses
through concrete cliffs

each drop its duty
to steal away the land's
booty in flooding flows
and out to salty sea

long the lick of earthy
skin for mineral spit
and muddy blood

yet slippery hooks have
will to carry any stones
that sit and tarry

wider and deeper and
more the cracks grow as
pavement yields its youth,
as earthen flesh grows old





Sunday, April 27, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part blimey rhyme disease

it starts off with a wheeze
then a repetitious sneeze
next the verse comes in threes

it could have come from split-peas
or an ailment in a fateful breeze
blowing across the inner leas

the cause, one of those mysteries
perhaps contagious slimy lime trees
are the roots of the blimey rhyme disease

of course it might be cheese
or a sudden unexpected freeze
one or a combination of these

a suspicion of infected bees
that stung a meandering sleaze
who then passed it on overseas

from medic journals we'll squeeze
all cases, doctors, and their fees
related with the blimey rhyme disease

not the same virus type for pc's
instead a plague suited for fleas
or lyrical listens written to please

now this may set an unease
causing some to drop to their knees
while others spin into chaotic sprees

patience is needed with this reprise
and dealing with a grimy prime displease
as is this ridiculous blimey rhyme disease






Saturday, April 26, 2014

Sandman's whim

in a dream was a choice
a voice of water or of dry

and sands were a still
and constant ocean
of whose waves I
couldn't climb and
depths I would not seek

stoic boulders were
islands in the underground
sea within whose waters
I glimpsed the paths
too distant for my feet

in the choice of water
I was shown a shadowed past

for evening torrents in
clouded gray green winds
cried against a casa blanca
stuccoed with western age
and companion clothesline

but west met east in
Buddhist inflections of
the scene, of the storm,
of the path or choice
laid in terrestrial terms

in the choice of dry
I was cast upon the sands

yet these desert grains
must have seen the rains
for moist were they when
swept away and leveled and
ordered for prayers said

in the murky skies of
the given choice from
this wet or that dry,
I reflected in waking duties
to think, to know little choice
there is between saturated
deserts and thirsty seas




Friday, April 25, 2014

Flickering moments

under surface and
into the deep, now to
seep into everyday days

in flickering moments
when lights tease the living
and stops green to go

feathers fly for
copper colored coins on
a luminous Ouija board

laughing when it hurts
to remember from
July through November

who touches leaping
heartbeats, who awakes
the flesh when near

in the still never known
in flesh, whispering tones
to catch a glance of

adjacent to the beauty
left, hasten the tears
falling in tissue basin

journey, stories written
savor,  memories printed
depart, love ascended



 

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Pasture dragons

wavy tentacles reaching
out of Hades depths
hugging the earth in a
crown of thorns when
winter has its way

crown ascends to
royal purple in spiky
powder puffs where
stinging bees drink
as much as they please

silvery adulterated
emerald flesh laden
in silky hairs a spider
must have spun unseen

obscene a torturous
structure of spines
in slight windy twist
a flailing of damned
arms, legs, and tongues

earthbound dragon
with ravenous appetite
of blood for those
who pass by too closely

gnarled thorny
lizard who sends its
spawn in a breezy yawn
with tiny wings it
only dreamed of





Monday, April 21, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part possibili-pea

simply dressed seed
in botanical tweed
signifying its breed
and herbaceous creed

be it a tiny creeper
a run-about peeper
a high-stepping leaper
or a stand-alone weeper

then perhaps a giant
much too tall and defiant
becoming tipsy and reliant
on yet another giant

whatever it might be
it's surely a possibili-pea
when a gardener on knee
takes to the earth a plea

this of course after the snow
and when south winds blow
does the gardener till the dough
in hope that a plant might grow

so it's rather simple to see
any size from teeny to lofty tree
can come from gardening glee
when planting a possibili-pea




Saturday, April 19, 2014

The lilac now left behind

only down forgotten roads
this floral sentinel will find
overgrown grassy yard and
the lilac now left behind

absent windows in stone
open to the passing of time
a home still fenced in by
the lilac now left behind

Henry's bushels of wheat
and Anna's mulberry wine
sold to purchase what is
the lilac now left behind

young hands took blooms
for MayDay baskets to line
yearly harvested from
the lilac now left behind

weary lives led to know
how love is truly defined
lives still blooming in
the lilac now left behind

generations have come and
gone abandoning their kind
for memorial it remains
the lilac now left behind





Friday, April 18, 2014

Fallow fellow

a wind in the mouth
of a grinning field
rolling around the
old man's lips, smoke
spiraling down draws

teeth have already
chewed the crust
so that other smaller
teeth may chew
another baked crust

no crust be made
though if those grays
and whites won't
let loose the reigns
and roll out the dough

dough of the wiggles
that nibble the crust
making sure crusted
hands' work don't go
bust later in the dust

that wind rolls round
on chewed up crust
a field steaming in
mornings full of
wishing, wanting, lust




Thursday, April 17, 2014

Trees seven

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees

oddly the alder with damp feet
catkins sweet to stirring bees
short marsh trees that do all
but bleed when met with blade
their white wood red betrayed
for Bran's robes they don
as purple crows royal as swan
in fair-maiden kin the birch's twin

apple fruits long the pursuits
of fae and men and serpent sin
to bear the soul to lead the way
to mark lover's grave on rainy day
and feed for full a month or more
yet crave for the fairy adore
in older tongue twas uball or afal
save one in the tree for the man of apple

better you than me to bless the
yew tree and guess what we'll see
in midnight roads croaking of toads
and stools neigh sleep, the roots do creep
of immortal arms and limbs to
measure mortal men's masks or whims

of a divination clash, a Wednesday
for the ash too sacred to slash
with axe's blade dared not to swing
with thorn and oak it was triad king
and two of a kind be the berried to find
then fend off the fae with flowers of May
yet seed pods have found keys to fairy mound

hazel as alder and elder you'll see
not a mighty towering tree, yet it may be
the tree of life and nut of the wise
all be this in a dwarf shrubbery guise
to divine water forked hazels will totter
too, sacred to the poet, aye don't I know it

thus the elder as well, no great height to tell
but many times rich it be the form of a witch
and laden with sweet blooms and berries
if growing alone more than likely the fairies'

the last tree to invoke of course is the oak
a mighty spoke in the turning wheel of life
its flowers helped create a warrior's wife
Daron's devotees under oaks aimed to please
and mistletoe and two white bulls were slain
in its presence for fertile ground and rain
the fairy folks love old oaks, ash and thorn the three

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees




Wednesday, April 16, 2014

The knave

promise of fruits
in swollen stem tips
promise spoken from
twitching blue lips

kisses from bitches
dressed in lacy white
who can't stay within
their Decembering night

yet a knight's needed
to slay the frigid stay
stab and jab and draw
the blinds of a warm day

but only can be found
a barking dog of a knave
to take from the people
what is sure as the grave

different is the green
the knave searches for
far from what grows
on the shaded forest floor

still a different green's
found within the knave's eyes
the same of the dead
ruled by the lord of flies

lives lavish the knave
with trees of hollow trunks
in company of either or
drunks or monks or skunks

for this forest, these trees
gnarl and twist to please
but blossom with toxins
to obliterate working bees

promise of fruits hidden
within the sticky ends
promise frozen burnt
by the knave and his friends



Monday, April 14, 2014

Fleurotica

unearthed desires
yellow crimson fires
exposed in full to
lure to haunt to
pray in meadow
sweet sweat

exhumed choir
tempting crier
echoing over dell
in floating breeze
in waking bees
in seductive tease

blatantly bred
carnal colors wed
dusty anthers tickle
taunt exuding pistils

trickles honey crystals
within memories of
polar winds and
southern solar trends

the twins to lead
the bull to fertile
green and his
blooming brides

proliferation crowns
adorn the heights and
grounds for sipping,
for sniffing, for plucking
 


Sunday, April 13, 2014

Tree rouse

what eager waits
under weathered
facade now enriched
with coursing memories

returned the sun
that rises in the
subterranean sky
on its memorial course

a play on worlds
of seen and missed
from light reaching in
to soak up and drench

through twining
routes flaring cells
flash to fall within both
harbored heavens and hells

chambers tumble
in tunneled path
where giants had suckled
fumes and volcanic wrath

blushes warmth
the winter bleached
when once receded stars
again shine bright branches

and birth the bloom
from dripping wax
in rejoicing revelry days
the frozen reign has passed





Saturday, April 12, 2014

Spring rose

gold faded
copper tan and
dusky silver hair

fallen from fair
arms that have
prayed through
frozen words
and absent birds

risen from fallen
hair, youth of
new yet known
seeds already
sown before
within the floor

lifting hands
young in what
the birds have
sung or sing
beyond winter
icy sting

fragile meek
and mild, the
wilds speak in
green crisp
tongues of
the old turned
new once more




Friday, April 11, 2014

April's song

whistle when
the April wind
in evening calm
and rising dawn

birds of black
and others back
chatter tunes
morns to noons

yet in the night
and quiet quite
the still is still
no buggy trill

so on what beast
these birds will feast
whatever wiggles
muddy squiggles

hop-a-long
robin in lawn
a look bygone
of dino spawn

a peck of that
after winter fat
gone more to thin
in April wind




Thursday, April 10, 2014

Lady in a spotted dress

little lady
spotted dress
yawn from slumber
awake to this

dancing atop
cobalt stage
orange and onyx
a winged cape cage

little lady
silver stems
faded azure
papery gems

threshing about
bundled birth
scattered across
freshly turned earth

little lady
large bright eyes
into the spring
away she flies




Wednesday, April 9, 2014

How the rabbit got his eggs

there was a squirrely rabbit
who stole the robin's eggs
he jumped away like lightning
on his bouncing furry legs

and took the colored eggs
over to some poor lad's front stoop
no sign was left of his theft
'cept for his jellybean poop

hippy hop aaaay
hippy hop ohhhh
bunny did a noooo no

the robin squawked at the
sight of her vacated nest
she signaled for the falcon
to search for the arrest

and bulletins were sounded
out via busy beaver tail
if the robber rabbit hadn't fled
they would've roasted him in jail

hippy hop aaaay
hippy hop yeeee
where's bunny... we'll see

the rabbit sprinted over
to the chocolate factory
and tried to hide inside a
giant vat of sweet honey

but lacking brains he stuck
himself onto the assembly line
after going through the cocoa
flow his flavor was divine

hippy hop aaaay
hippy hop yeeee
no more thieving bunny

hippy hop aaaay
hippy hop yeeee
let's eat a chocolate... bun-ny




Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Head 'n clouds

foolish fancies rise
in sun baked days
and daze the sphere
above, below, around

fanciful fires that
feed voracious vapor

firing cylinders of
ascending image engines
for flight through
billowing white balloons

cylindrical elevations
swell in an electric field

elevating spark arcs
in whirling steam,
coiling lobes and
drifting cerebral fruits

sparking breaking
stores, birthing downpours

breaking heat of
aging days and ways
to see, to wish and
want, to...




Monday, April 7, 2014

Planting the canvas

clawing away death
of a season best served sold
what had died in faded
gold, insulation from the cold

digging into a blank soiled canvas
where writhes the production
of new buried in layered
pages of bygone life

blades dig deep
as talons scratch surfaces
left bare in between
islands of promise green

and the pages flip
back and forth in the tome
soon a tomb where
the unseen follower revels
in a grassy facade

or perhaps futures have
slowed their pace instead
and rabbit steps bound
in a second layer of a
summer not yet burned

roots coil within
what flowers are and
will slither out into what
leaves and stems have become

soiled canvas lays
stark and still yet stirs under
sepia, taupe, withered gray
shiny white and yellow
drawn to bleed green
and speckled hues




Sunday, April 6, 2014

Fair-wooded friends

rivers flowing to the sky
rivers stretch and sigh
when winds pass by

flowing into dome or bowl
pouring out the buried soul

rivers frozen now release
steady paces now increase
bringing still to cease

frozen wintered weathered veins
hailing back the warmer rains

rivers slowly yawn to wake
in the soil their beds to make
and the riches do take

slowly unfurl the green in hand
to cast a shadow across the land

rivers holding nests above
cradling the young thereof
nurtured nature sort of

holding nests, young and eggs
massive arms over buried legs

rivers flowing to the sky
reach the stars so they try
though I wonder why



Saturday, April 5, 2014

Resurrection

raising from frozen
stale graves
green hands stretch
to sunlight
to southern breezes
to hungry rodent teeth

resurrected thoughts
in reverse manner
ideas now hover
over buried bulbs
glowing for none
to see
to read by
to turn off

but lights do rise
and colors do shine
when lips
open and speak
to whisper
to greatly shout
to gently kiss

in darkened chill
in growing days
silken dress
bow with airs
to dance
to scatter alms
to acquire one more year




Friday, April 4, 2014

Heaven on a stick

having heaven,
even heaven on a stick,
such a treat but a trick

merely moments,
molten memories melting
in the heated thoughts
of how heaven was found

crafted wings for those
wanting heights wane in
wax and tumble to ground

shells of shattered souls
are peeled by feeble hands,
tossing hues to foreign lands

what is left, all the
theft could or would not
carry and hadn't the time
to terry for an early thaw

thus heights and shaded
shells, which many find at
sales or in abandoned wells,
are closer to granted hells

having heaven,
even heaven on a stick,
what will one someday pick



Thursday, April 3, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part moles

wordy whisk, wicked wish
off tongues of troubled souls
impish limps, wimpy scrimps
of lives lived in tunneled holes

the moles...

drolly trolls pulling tolls
of grubby buggy wormy pests
fruiting roots, booty shoots
plate the bait for feasting fests

of moles

sightly light quite a fright
for eyeless pilous scratchers
mounded ground, drown the crown
flooded blood of spud snatches

the moles!




Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Leafovers

whence solace solar light
lining paths in polar night

withered resurrected leaves
tousled jostled premature fossils
in blades of eager sleep

each rustle, every tussle blown
tears asunder the fragments thrown

frosted lips of an earthen mouth
are showered by those who once towered

clay palette waits, wants early thaw
with ever-present and inescapable draw

sooner than June or even break of May
flow will fall upon limber toiled soil

a dirty grin will claim again its own...
the seeds, the deeds and the fragments thrown




Tuesday, April 1, 2014

First of fools

the hee hee ha forte
idiots unite for your day
when pete's sake & lordy
lordy lord cannot afford
to pay a pence for
certain recompense of
a jolly folly joke
be it from she or a bloke
they all have their way
a month away from May

for wind has gone
or is going by the side
taking chill of bone
from the entire outside
and pedal here for
a petal there in drops
and hops, a bit after
for wee begs of dyed
and boiled eggs though
not always in April days

thus sit and wait in
nonsensical debate
for tweedles did and
do perhaps persuading...

you or two in the
icy dew of a day owing:

to those of little knowing

to that in rain or snowing

to dead calm or windy blowing

alright alright, I'm going
going to fervent verdant fields
forsaken and forgotten by fools





Monday, March 31, 2014

Moth in bloom

simply the lunar wheel
drifting in the stellar sea
far from its former
half-eaten halo parades

when the wheel has waxed
its all it beckons call and
tempts my chest to unfold

you hover in the anxious
heated evenings, suffering
the steamy days ends to
partake in what I have offered

you bide your time in
whirling laps around my
sanctum as I arise in the
encroaching night's splendor

the sun barely touches my
ethereal skin through the
magic of the moon's mirror

I release my essence into
the darkened air and succumb
to your impetuous raps at
 my chamber door

you nestle within the
core of my existence
overcome by the magnitude
of the carnal feast I serve

drinking me in, your
intoxication is complete
with every breath you draw
you inhale my soul in whole

sip from my chalice 
indulgent, essential nectar
with the pulse of a victim
escaping its last breath

in the moon's gluttony
bask in your own
and slowly slip into the
silk laden cosmos I
unfurled before you




Tuesday, March 25, 2014

To come upon the Earth

bones stained of
the color they were
in days of fruits,
first flowers lure,
lure of fleur in
color released
of stained bones

known the home
that shelters pulse
and quickens and
jolts to quake the
shell, to shatter and
break the hell of a
home once known

savior of brine
stirring waters where
birth choked former
present ways of eggs
and cells, the colder
jars and cellars full
of brine to save

made the raft
in salty grit and
silty laps upon a
shore, body born
and worn for mere
moments in current
torrents for which
the raft was made

and time was bade
for barking dogs,
the bottomless hogs
who knew not past
nose in giving those
the days, the praise
in buying back what's
bade for time

too, moments lost
amidst raging waves
swallowing holocausts
drowning to digest
the sacrifice to bear
any heartbeats to spare
and pay for the short-lived
stay, a refund for that
lost to moments




Friday, March 21, 2014

Don't stop Belize-ing

searching, sniffing
bloodhound for expertise
on how to purchase
land located in Belize

France can keep all
its frilly fleur de lis
and let California have
its giant redwood trees

I can ignore the Swiss
chocolate and their cheese
and all the Dutch flowers
will only make me sneeze

for it's a life of sun and
sand and full of ease
that I'm seeking in
a quiet abode in Belize

I look for the day with
a warm gentle breeze
and when the sun sets
the night doesn't freeze

must I humbly bow
low and drop to my knees
pleading and begging
"Pretty, pretty, PUH-LEASE!"

is it the Mayans or Queen
Mum who I must appease
to find a home in the
beautiful coasts of Belize



Sunday, March 9, 2014

In the letting go

watercolor saints pool
within folded hands
Jude transfigured
in a Judas glance

knees know well
to bend, replacing
feet for burden bear

and bones scrape
bones where once
a cushioned tissue
wore asunder

fingertips have lost
a steady pace in
grappling over tiny
orbs pierced by
liturgical links

cinders send
frankincense to
heavenly heights
mockingbirds of
a sinner lofting
prayers that way too

ritual rites are lost
in the depths of loss
and plummet into
the abyss the emptied
vessel laying before
all was poured into

blurred is what is
spoken an hour and
a day ago, giving
way to clarity of
a first dance and kiss

...the moments missed
and now sting when
sleeping alone or
fumbling with a ring

and almost heard
are the angels when
they sing, then
again it comes from
the loft in the back
and earth is still here






Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part B

the jinx on the mountain,
certainly reveled in hijinks
thunderous boom!
indeed did that loom
in the form of an
elegant elephant

pray, it was a
lack, to confirm,
to have fear of
this pachyderm

rather it was surely
a jinx of other breed
a wild hare or steed
perhaps sparked the
stampede of hoof
and paw, foot and claw

thus it was an avalanche
without a branch
to cause a stanch
to falling fur and
feather and scales and
shells and whether
or not they, the bees,
did as they please
above the trembling
trees, it has to be said:

they clearly caused
the dread in each and
every animal head of
a malevolent force,
besides the obvious horse,
which sourced the course
of the rumble and stumble
and then the... tumble
and eventual... bumble
of the beastly jumble

but the tiny bees,
yet not quite as tiny
as fleas, continued
on with their tease
for they evaded the
blame and guilt was
pinned to another name

for after the calamitous
plummet from the
high advantageous
summit remained only
one animal from... it

there with crossed legs
elegant sat the prim and
proper elephant with jars
of jam tucked snugly
in a push or pull pram

the bees hissed so and
the geese and snakes too
and it seemed as though
the rest of the throng
yelled out a loud boo!

regardless of the noise
and shouts hurled at
the seated elephant
the long trunk rose
above and served as
its own celebrant

of course the proof
was not in the pudding
as this case found some
place else for its footing

the evidence was obvious
unbeknownst to the rest of
us, there the elephant, sitting
most elegant, was dressed
from head to knee in a suit
colored as, you guessed it, a bee

and found in the pram were
not little jars of jam but rather
filled instead with honey and
on their way to be sold for money
yes the elephant wore black and
yellow stripes, but soon that would
be traded for black and white
as the pachyderm, with the help
of a law firm, was soon to serve
a rather lengthy prison term

it was found as well,
consequently while the
elephant was in jail, a
little needle that had
a tale to tell or even yell

for that is what it led to
when it was stuck in
the red backside of
one Mr. Blabby Baboon

and that first yelp of wild
pleading for help infected
the crowd with a whelp

the needle that told this
much told more after a
touch for a toe print was
found from such... a touch

thus it was found from the
needle off the ground that
the elephant's guilt abound
and instead of money
from stolen honey the
pachyderm, in a very
certain term, was far
from living free for
falsely impersonating and
criminal theft of a bee



Barren treasure tree

fragments of the outcasts...
shards of iron and of glass

littered among the dust
in trodden mud and
quenched cellular earth

chains to tow now loose
links buried in the snow

earthen branches sprawl
weaving the net to catch
these artifacts in time

mechanical bones, broken
vessels the holy relics
for the amassing graves

fenced in by weathered
wooden arms and claws

droughts and gully washes
play chess and move
their pieces around the squares

these gaming forces hold
the keys of crusted chests

and in the sinking sun
when loving lies are spun
sparkle the paths of past

the paths that resurrect
metallic inventions that
man has no decision for

hallowed rust to dust is
swallowed in a windy gust
then forgotten evermore



Friday, February 21, 2014

The elders

is it the sun's grip
on the limbs of trees

is it the longer shadows
that guide me to a past
I rarely know now

winds of last night
beckoned me in my
sleep to places my
bare feet once touched

to the waters my
bones, flesh and blood
had arrived too late to

to the restless grains
of sand that danced
when zephyrs stirred
the waters of the sky

to the thirsty roots
that grew like forests
inside the torrid land
and sometimes found
themselves exposed
and gnarled and weary

the scattered remains
of gray giants littered
those restless hills and
were fodder for them
and relentless wind

beneath their armor
the giants bore silky
bleached bodies of
which my fingertips
could not ignore

between their flesh
and armor was an
ethereal silky tomb
which housed the elder
gods in aged cocoons

from their bodies
coiled the veins of
reverence or guilt

there was abandoned
Eden with its renounced
splendor and ambrosia
I dared not to resist

my feet became their
roots and snaked into
the cool damp below
and my back arched
in the current gliding
through the slender grass

the bones, flesh and blood
too late for the waters
I still long to breathe,
these were their device
they dreamt of long
before they drifted from
their parents in the wind

they uprooted me and
did as their parents did
casting me out into
the late August wind
and I was lost to them




Take a gander

a gobbling gander
flaps and flops in
gibbering style

he thinks to make
up his offensive
jabs with a smile

but a fowl's foul
is always most foul
when armed with a jest

and what's worse
is his march and
protruded proud chest

yet he's unaware
or so he futilely
attempts to explain

that any of his
petty, pointless actions
are made in vain

waddle and sway
but still keeping his
head high on neck

he's unseeing of
his path that he's marked
with many a speck

thus one can
at all times see where
the gander has gone

of course the
gander's no bird
I'm sure you caught on



Monday, February 17, 2014

Tomorrow, last year

tomorrow, last year
your voice thawed
my still heart

a breath held for
a lifetime was released
into what I said

and tomorrow, last year
you reached through
the veil to touch me

to waken what had
overslept deep within
my soul's lonely bed

our hearts recognized
what our eyes could not

they heard what our ears
dismissed and discerned
what our lips failed to explain

tomorrow, last year
stripped away the
shields we held

little safety we
wielded to bear the
pain of the past

for tomorrow, last year
we didn't need
shelter from the rain

the refuge we had
sought we had found
in each other at last








Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Tree routes

they never desired
to be ornamented
with suspended
lifeless bodies

nor did they wish
to surrender their
own carcasses so
bodies could serve
as examples in a
more convenient locale,
their arms piercing
others' skulls

their fate is always
of that tied to us
ascending ladders
rising higher to
cloudy oceans and
smoldering quasars

but ladders possess
both directions and
tunnel deep into
depths overlooked by
everyday eyes and cares

deep into solidity
where pressure and
wait marry dismal
with brilliance

either ladder end
bears its own reward
and what is sought
can be found in both
depths and heights

only from mines
deep within can be
found gems adorning
crowns on high

and ladders are
climbed to and fro
as lungs inhale and
blow away collected
perceptions of existence

that is their fate
to be entwined and to
entwine what always
will be with what has
always been:

the germ and its
many coils flowing
down a stream of
dreamt toils



Monday, February 10, 2014

Gender rolls

the great baker man
turns out cake in pan

stirring together
one part carbon
to three parts water
and a pinch of
calcium, sodium,
and the spice of life

cracking open shells
and pouring out souls
to whip into frothy
means of existence

placing into wombs
a batter of body to
bake for many moons

but the sweet dessert
always comes last
the revelry and feast
after the long dull fast

though the baker
turns out budding
bodies from piping
hot female kilns
the buns aren't
ready to serve until
they've been buttered

and only a bun
can know when it's
ready for that
and find it's place
among the giant pan
of gender rolls



Sunday, February 9, 2014

Bottle in a genie

a loan, just a loan
can you throw
me a bone

this needs gold
and that needs...

silly me to think coins
come down from
hanging gray skies

or are found in
the morning...

do they even
accept these bits
and pieces deep
within my chest

always the same
their wish's name
always why they came
lame the game

a loan, simply a loan
was there anything
you have thrown

as you can tell
I am in my own...

help! if you can
as I tire of the throngs
rubbing my belly
as though I was
from some eastern land

I wish they'd see
the genie is already free...

sort of, because I
swallowed the bottle
a bit too much to drink
you might say

and there's the loan,
a mere loan
for though I'm
out here on my own
in the bottle still
lays my wishbone



Thursday, February 6, 2014

Gooseboots

'twas an article,
a simple piece to
wear when the world
had worn enough

away from you
my station passed
into a waning horizon

the sun dimmed
the view, blackened
blue flooding an
upturned empty bowl

spilled out the
moments onto its
canvas we stretched

over the bones
of our life to splatter
with oiled faith and
watery figments

flowing over
forgotten stubble
uncut from dull blade

the necks of many
waiting their penned
turns, rabbit hearts
leaping in their breasts

from the seconds
still to tick within
a few given minutes

comprise an end
to the last of walks
for which these brief
boots were fashioned for







Saturday, February 1, 2014

Off to school

chilly the wind of
early spring mornings
imploring rosy
cheeks on siblings and I

too long a walk
though it seemed
down a pebble paved
road the length
of our homeland

past neighboring
pens which caged
the animals that
captured a child's
avid curiosity

but there were
other things to
tend to then

finding our way
through tear soaked
views brought on
by the sting of cold

in the waiting
for a bluebird
with a giant yellow
body to carry us off
to the limits of
our silly little minds

in the waiting
we burrowed down
digging earthen chairs
in sides of the ditch
and ducked below
the cold wind's grip

in jacket or coat
huddled down we
waited to hear the
advancing diesel
engine roar and the
squealing brakes of
the giant yellow bluebird

for in there at least
was a bit of heat
enclosed from the
chilly morning wind



Saturday, January 25, 2014

Washer woman's words

where be mer
bottle of bluing

ye know, da one
tat's used to treek
yer eye in seeing
yellard stained
linens as pristine
fresh snow white

for tat bottle
with its little
ground mineral
will brighten dis
sullied soul tat's
been dragged down
to da gutter view

for tat bottle
wit its powdered
azure dust will
turn dis ragged
tone to petals
tossed in angelic
flight e'er white

treeky viewing
a hue from bluing

trading brittle
torn pages past
lessons from da
looking glass,
for glamorous tale
behind pale veil

trading veins
unfolding paths
once traveled,
for salty flats
wit aimless reaches
and barren fonts

eyes surmise
what's seen aherd,
dat's all dat's said
so a bit of
bluing for deir
viewing and need
not know true
yellar deir pristine
white as snow


January 25th

raw space, raw emotions
jagged words and devotions

shutter once, shaken thrice
bumping into you was the spice

you apologized for it too
when my body joined you

"anytime", I softly said
going right over your head

giving me another chance
you spoke volumes in your glance

sight to that night we missed
to that night we never kissed


Sunday, January 19, 2014

Painted lady

unsaid the impulse
hiding behind wine
blushed cheeks and
ruby stained lips

pale canvas where
these features lock
away the longing
haunting the shell

inflamed hell of
satin flaring liquid
that physician's let
in long ago days

liquid that warms
bisque flesh held
fixed in throngs
of those below

bellow they may
and coo and bow
to know her favor
may be found

around the corner
is her mind where
lovers' hands glide
over breast and groin

loin massed with
lace etched wings
hover her heart in
doting fools' company

wild hooves race
within her bosom
for she has found
desires run free

there the rushing
wants take flight
for heart desires
lack any ankle irons

yet she be her
own prison keep
with rusty keys held
beyond love's reach

and satin layers
wall within stark
screams rattling
a pale fair cage




Thursday, January 16, 2014

I'm gonna get the mail

holding air when
wind encircles hooded
face in blinding embrace

bare footprints in
the snow shuffle over
road that knew of black

and black is still
a metal box on post
rendering afternoon post

box mouth yawns
and upchucks three
slips of tree upchucks

scuttle back to
door ajar in white
head to flow aground

behind a door
with post in hand
wrinkled raised brow



Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Villusions

awakened from a
slumber realized
from sedations
body numb in
rising, lacking
simple sensations

eyes are dripping
with rancid
hallucinations

subconscious has
vomited all
its floral creations
budding and
heady blooming
of  elusive gestations

irises unfold in
a field of fetid
hallucinations

of genie smoke
granting wishful
blissful elations
in foreign lands
beyond known
tongues and relations

pupils seeking
truths behind rank
hallucinations

yet lamp light
grows dim in the
shadow of negations
where reasoning
and rules meet
manic abrogations

lenses are blurred
from seamy
hallucinations

ships still set
sail in oceans of
dire temptations
in which teeth
and tentacles
execute predations

so grateful these
be only foul
hallucinations


Saturday, January 11, 2014

More beauty unclear

more beauty
near explosions
yielding glass
in the sands

sands as white,
the tattered
lattices falling
from frozen heights

heights to which
rise the release
of ignorance
with excess power

power in pockets
and burning fear
and shovelfuls
of unclear stones

unclear, stones
that were whittled
by time's and wind's
instant feats

feats for death,
for surrender of
chaos and breath
held those minutes

minutes blooming
in the lack of rain
near unclear waste
and more beauty


Friday, January 10, 2014

Breakfast

buttered burden
on burnt toast
in stale chilled air

sipped the day
not yet met by
glimpse of sun

hidden in the steam
rising off the cup's
dark surface

waited for the
push of the liquid
and its inoculates

expelled a smoke
that filled my lungs
and seared my body

hidden in the face
of listless and
bloodshot eyes

scanned black
and white and
lines and letters

waited for time
to catch up with
plans not made

hidden in the feet
dwindling with
every passing tick


Monday, January 6, 2014

And bleh!

can't say
cannot really
drooping lids
weighted lashes
draw the
optical sashes

close sign hung
on lips taxed
from conjured
chit chat

spat and spit
those letters
linked to this
or that thought

full or was
when stomach
growled in its
emptiness

was present
in grasping for
answers in a
chamber some
place up high

and low for
the chatter was
too slow but
the objections
were too fast

last call for
chipping into
the slop bucket

won't feed any
piggy bank here


Sunday, January 5, 2014

The dust people

they had been sitting
at the front door too long

whittled their fingers to the bone
in front of chunks of earth
matted with roots that once
grew beneath their feet

and now who knows where
house and clothes end
and ground and skin start

consumed the soil they have
and traded it for a thing
finer than any sand that has
measured any amount of time

all that measures their time
spent inhaling their home
are memories quickly savored
in the brief moments the
wind decides to catch its...

breath is as elusive as
the rains leaving a people
to bathe themselves only
in their sweat and tears

upon year after years
the fence posts bitterly
disappear by the hands
of gritty air and locust teeth

and houses and barns
are taken by large metal
blades backed by suits
and numerical hearts

that scatter a people to
makeshift mobile lives and
canvas tents where Zion and
the promised land drip off of
saturated evangelical tongues

yet the promised land was
theirs underneath their fingernails
and deep within their lungs

it piled up at their front doors
as the wind tried to bury the past



Friday, January 3, 2014

Meshroom in a bottle

"Sip in times of
doubt for full elation
from the bare vessel
of first creation"

...scribbles on
pasted paper, the labels
that enwrap us all

heretic, virgin,
lost, drunk... preacher

ink from scribbles
runs in the aging
rains and twisting times

malformed details
pool together in
the belly of the bottle

meandering down
transparent cheeks

into a pool where
descriptive edges
are abandoned

where the whirling
details are found
to be lost in

...did they ever
really matter to us

yet glue is still
slathered on bare
vessels of first creation

and thin decorated
advertisements are
still slapped upside them

thus join in this,
a raised glass of
sterile stagnant thought

poured from this not so
bare vessel of first creation


Wednesday, January 1, 2014

And thirteen bowed

carniver - us
the cadaver dipped
in batter, fried in
an oily lather for
folks at the carnival

sublime slime oozing
from grins reveling
in the levels layered
throughout, exuding time

screaming clowns -
years neared and veered
to and from the hazy
maze that is the brain

wincing strong men -
moments in show tents
when strength eddied
down porcelain toilets

cackling ladies with beards -
hours of nosegays in
flowers, soaps and hopes
for friends beyond ends

studious jugglers -
minutes of print us,
them or him placing
pen to paper, shaper of words

the birds and cards and
wands and rabbits, habits
of magic sliding out of cuff
and collar to a tedious scholar...

ravenous fire eaters -
flashing seconds, beckons
the two flames floating in
a night beyond twilight

to thirteen cars along the rails
was added one, empty to tempt
thee to know, but for the show,
what's certain is behind the curtain