Psychedelic moon

Home fires

spark, ignition to a
tremendously big flame

the release of the sun
that smolders inside us all

the release, then radiation
of the heat and energy
that humans encircled in stone

the stone, the embodiment
that captured and hides
the burning heat and light

and with the stone
humans encircled around
the hearts of their homes

the first circles of the
eternal cycles synchronizing
sacred with the mundane

glowing orbs crowned
the desert gods in circles...
the writing on the wall

the eternal syllable sounded
in reaching ultimate reality
encircles the lips and mouth

and serpentine opposites,
the balancing forces, were
encased in circular fashion

wheels laid upon the face
of the mother to honor
the ancients and fae

and wheels of eight spokes
speak the path into
understanding mercy

for golden rings hovered
over saints and incarnations
of the crowning divine

but also the holy whole
was intersected
by drawing a line...

and another and another

for swastikas and crucifixes
and stars of different vines

strummed sweet and sour tones
in foreign hearts and minds

the circles and lines found
voice to give human technology
a language of itself

and fought in defining the
duration's measure from
the very starts to the very ends

...spins the world encircling
what was captured and released
to spark, ignite the tremendously big flame

Calcified leftovers

Jargon jaunting: part life's explanation

hence germination
at first parturition
protruding from procreation
to bound the soul in incarnation
and sentence it to mastication...

defecation...

mastication...

defecation...

the regeneration
of matter's incorporation
from procreation
of each and every generation

valued in the proliferation
of life in this manifestation
over and over reincarnation
to plague with infestation
and sentence the soul to mastication...

defecation...

mastication...

defecation...

and after a naturalization
in this habitation
under vigorous dedication
for gene continuation
through constant procreation...

mature to reach deterioration
the body's degradation
and the mind's speculation
of the soul's life evaluation

and through either incineration
or the grave's separation...

divine realization
and soul's assimilation
into blessed revelation

Sips of lips

headed to the sun
I know you're the one
bathing in my heart
from the very start

in scenes of long ago
of bitterness and snow
we ignited in the night
'til the first glow of light

now take some sips
from my dry chapped lips
that spill the words
I should have said to you

and heaven only knows
what I should have said to you

in days that never end
and ceaseless blowing wind
you hold my hand in yours
and open all the doors

we sneak into the bed
our hearts racing red
I look into your eyes
floating away into the skies

please take some sips
from my dry chapped lips
that spill the words
I should have said to you

soak in these drips
from my dry chapped lips
that cry the words
I should have led you to

in the boiling snow
I could have known
all the pain in the rain
falling down... made you drown

slipped on by... lost to time
the thief, the crime
trying I'm...

so take some sips
from my dry chapped lips
that spill the words
I should have said to you

soak in these drips
from my dry chapped lips
overflowing with words
I should have bled for you

On the sealess shore

bodies bleached on
an ocean less beach
and under timeless days

bodies stretched in
white and silver timber
soft and smooth from wind

a wind relentless would
raise the pores of flesh
in times of golden leaves

but days are long in
cooling feet with digs
below the surface

in cool wet grains
below searing terrain
rolling in ageless change

rolling with suntanned
caramel dust under tiny
canopies of silver blue

and bodies bleached
the islands set amongst
these thirsting waves of sea

and castaway of thought
and sense reclines
on fallen benefactors

gazes into azureus
fields held in the arms
of those still standing

the quenching sight
of serene delight pulls
lids of eyes to shut

for bodies dream and
drift and submit to
silent ocean days

Tokens red

cashed in tokens
for the float across
the mired Mersey

tokens red, blood
stained from past
and pass again

churning and turning
through ashes and sins
carried by the Ganges

red tokens appear
again to haunt, remind
the eye divine

of all that is seen
and sent beyond the
trivial life in Amazon

tokens of red don
the head in lips and
masks, in mundane tasks

shadowing true sight
in desert night that
thirsts for drink of Nile

tokens red given wings
for high crown to sing
a lost impression of...

blood money shines
in shallow streams
feeding great Missouri

and tokens red in
vessels flow, pennies
for this circled show

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 8

Meoooow and Owwwwl

beheaded those
two familiars
who resided high
in the treetop

in their arbor
penthouses, sniffing
nip and licking
mice... such vice

they twice
their nightly flights
ascending from
high-rise prise

Mr. Meoooow
slippery sleek
in between
fences and posts

Honorable Owwwwl
whispery wisps

through chill
of eve and ghosts

a murdered mouse
of fifty mice
was the straw
the camel feared

the plague of
two upon the many
mouse with mouse
would not allow

thus their vow
to catch cat and
owl in dark of
night and wicked hunt

to strew their
bones across the
fields as had been
done of many micely men

thus Mr. Meoooow
found his end
in a giant trap
baited with a dummy

and Honorable Owwwl
left this life
when he gulped up
poison in his tummy

tiny mice cleavers
hacked up the bodies
to fulfill their
vengeful schemes

and the nights grew
silent once again
when cat and owl
were only bad dreams

Warping the weft

sketch the little lines
of an unending thread

light into leaf
into bud into pod
erupting with possibility

spun, spinning,
will eventually spin
in passing towers
dancing on the plains

little lines flowing
into themselves

piggyback lies
and truths under
the thrashing sheets

sheets woven,
weaving, will be
weaved, grieved and
left on the line to dry

bleached little lines
of multi facet colors

each face taking
and adding and layering
their own earthen plies

due sighs for waste
in past haste of wandering
the fiber to wonder,
to ponder the fiber

fabricated little lines
laundered in life's lather

surrendering wills to
washer women at
the Dead Sea coast

and baptizing rivers
weaving and leaving
layers in the coffer
that all contribute to

Fire within

Jargon jaunting: part larvae

in teenage years
between rage and fears
on a freaking creaking limb

racing heartbeat in dangling meat
above ravenous dogs and beasts

gnashing teeth far beneath
a burning heart yearning to fly

in teenage years
a green stage and tears
on a seizing teasing brim

tracing art feet is a mangling treat
in love, have in lust hoggish feasts

flashing sheath jars underneath
the churning part learning to lie

in teenage years
through mean wage and peers
of a sneaking peaking whim

chasing start, fleet a strangling sweet
sort of, halves in us prod release

smashing peace scars beneath
a turning smart, earning due why

Leaves white

just a simple ordinary notion
handing out tickets
from the thickets

snowflakes come early
that stayed awhile
in blushing fluster

chilling presence
violating hands
turning violaceous

just a sunny overstated nudge
throwing in the wind
a haughty season at end

albino puzzle pieces
glow with their show
in faded rubble

keeping a vigor
that never leaves
leaves, stays, leaves

just a silly overwhelming novelty
collecting at my feet
a symbol so sweet

tossed from heaven
high above our clouds
of sighs and whys

white-bellied leaves
as soft as the touch
you left on my soul

Speakeasy

littered words in
a flight of birds

falling from branches
to layer upon matted green

falling from hair in
a snow dust embarrassment

leaking from ears to
make candles for the night

dripping from nostrils
in a lethargic ooze

spewing over tongue
in a soiled course of discourse

littered words having
raked, blown, raked

to burn on chilled
afternoons in rising smoke

a burn to smolder
upon which all choose to choke

when the taste of
shoe leather becomes all too common

rain down littered words
shite white from frightened birds

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 7

Jargon jaunting: part rinse cycle

fell from womb to tub

a scrub-a-dub-dub
when, between a
rave and a grave,
this life of strife
this divine line
drawn in the sand
by an unseen hand
an offered wander
to here or off yonder
something to ponder
is it just to launder
everything you squander
in those prior days
beyond the dire haze
you came in green and wet
not quite knowing yet
a lingering unpaid debt
but with time as soap
a bit of patience to cope
there in lies the hope
on an outstretched rope
under a bright and sunny sky
you are hung out to dry
and discover the reason why
in this life we must die

Bride and Bridegroom

Where plain trees grow

one by one the
plain trees grow

darts thrown by an
exacting god
one by one along the
steel and timbers

one by one along
the course that crushes
stone to dust blow

with burden of man
resurrecting their
purpose on earth

the earth that is
crushed in dust blow
along the course
where plain trees grow

and the promise of
life eternal delivered
from men in tents

is carried by the
plain trees tethered
together by wires of
words and birds

children walking to
and from dusty
chalkboard lessons

listen to hear the
wind strum against
an aloof guitar, aloft
stretching for miles

along the course where
the plain trees grow
and powdery rock
is crushed to dust blow

oiled matches rise
on burning horizons
casting scarcest of
shadows along time

tethered towers rise
for owl to post
and peer into dark
for scurry of prey

in frozen seas of
white, when ice
gremlins sway on
sparking cables

that stretch along
a road of dust blow...

this road I know
where plain trees grow

Under skin

Stone gray

geese still fly
in skies stone gray

over lines aligned
with stones of gray

the fields of faded
grass and pain

from stone gray
clouds falls the rain

on lives etched
in stones of gray

to broken soil
it finds its way

upon hearts torn
between life and death

upon thoughts of
those in last of breath

upon parent's grief
and child's why

upon the anguished
from the stone gray sky

where geese have
risen high and flown

and children wait
for their flight home

but the wind of
change has blown

the Earth has
taken back its own

and laid those
who have gone away

in gardens made
of stones of gray

Heat

his earth moves me
shooting stars fall
before his eyes

traipsing tongue soothes me...

in dimming days
with darkened skies

a cinder falls upon
the caramel sheets
falls upon his chest
burns within his rest

stale cold ignites in
smoldering skin laced
with the laudanum found
beyond the gates of bliss

his earth trickles
in two streams draining

pain... the tails to the
heads of pleasure's obol
a coin spent to avoid hell

a coin we've spent so well
on the laudanum found
beyond the gates of bliss

in a kiss, made before
eyes close for rest
I still burn upon his chest

Jargon jaunting: part moolah rue

scented notions
of presented potions
writhe in poisoned
rivers of time

lethal doses allotted
to many, diluting
the delusion of immunity

all suffer, gated
in the suffocating
swell of research
datum and polls

jabbering pros scoff at
profiting profs and
prompting prophets' parables

in the set tables
of these fiddled fables
sedated debate
fizzles out in stalemate

and perplexed experts
vomit many more exerts
of the tainted painted play

In the waking days

heights glow, burn
sentinels to lost time
mourning for minutes
in morning hours

shadow plays upon
the temple skin
blinding and warming
in its absence

half slumber slips
past possible matches
and briefcase cars
dwelling stale

gray dwindles in
rivers of burdens
flowing in ticks of
the impetuous revolution

shadows cease their
dance upon the temple
with loss of
solar contribution

a day lent for a second
or sixty times sixty more
a day to clean, to ponder,
to forgive or to explore

in loving someone never met
and in loving one never to forget...

Trees and the Damned

inflamed, they steadily
knock at the gate ajar
their limbs long to dance
with those from afar

their gnarly fingers flail
in the stir of eve
the living and dead
this night they'll weave

their fingers grasp for
the latch to the earthy gate
impatient they are
after a long year's wait

scratching at the dirt
mad hens after worms
tossing soil and stones
into piles and berms

raps upon the caskets
their feet had disturbed
lifting off the lids
to souls quite perturbed

from putrid state and
lapsed memories they steal
and of many the graves
they've made their meal

thieves that long to revel
with their own prey
they will spur them on
until the light of day

a sordid resurrection,
they raise rotten remains
that lack this and that
some skin, a heart, brains

bones dressed in their finest
lift on sinewy strings
the swaying limbs serve
as their gruesome wings

marionettes climb from
soiled cribs in misty mire
renewed youth and hunger
any blood they'll desire

both parties uprooted
to savor a night of mirth
until the dawning ray
whence they return to earth

Pieces leafed

careless... broken chances
remain on frozen pavement

now that I have fallen
fallen and touched my flesh
to the frozen pavement

I am pulled to pieces
careless broken chances
remain behind

you saw me and wanted
me and touched me and
pinched me and pulled...

me to pieces by your
ravenous touch freeing
tearing me away

what is left, what
remains on the pavement
my prison cell

what is left, what
remains for you after
you plucked me from hell

tears I shed cement
me, merge my soul
to the cold frozen whole

yet you have grasped
and gripped and fumbled
and wrenched and toiled...

to hold me in your hands
whatever remained of
my memory bygone

careless... broken form
scattered in the freeze

Enter the underground

Shroomacow

a single herd of
Farmer Morel's cattle
wondered off into a
jungle last year

when the bovines
returned, knowing they
had been in a forest
fungal was clear

their hides were
glowing luminescent
from rubbing against
many a foxfire

and each took on
some rather strange
hues, ravaged from
any a pox so dire

upon their heads
sprouted overnight
a fright of 'shrooms:

cloisters of oysters
corrals of chaparrals
and "load-fools" of toadstools

cattle calls vacated
the farm as the herd
was waylaid by
champignons' pow

yet one bovine
"high-brid" lived on
Farmer Morel named it
Tri-shroom-a-cow

unlike the others,
she bore only three
of the fungi upon her
broad roof and brow

and as some sporing
beings do, she gave
birth to none other than
Quad-shroom-a-cow

Pilgrimage

a journey was made past
whispering grasses along
a discarded road to receive
the river's anointing touch

humbly through silver
seas of spicy wormwood
to the shore where my
perceptions would erode away

at the sandy river bank
below lacy tamarack boughs,
blanketed by leaves bronzed
by the turning of seasons

aroma of soaked clay and
evolution rose, the ancients'
incense amidst towering
pale trunks and verdigris canopy

currents of silt laden
unseen depths passed
before my adolescent knees
bent in naïve reverence

yearning within churned
as an earnest symbol, desire
to taste liquid memories
of epochs and golden idols

cast into the sweeping flow,
I watched fires float, daemons
drown and surety sink as they
drifted onward into the east

misread words of an unspoken
prayer drifted in the wind
and rested in the ears of deities
rollicking in the upper branches

my knees rose to numb stance,
a cicada emerging from its former
shell, and left below the lacy
tamarack my own former hell

from the sandy river bank
I flowed into the ocean of wonders
far beyond whispering grasses
and silver seas of spicy wormwood

Farewell fleur

 

mourner's black you will don in the morning

dawning dew crystallizing your veins

showy vanity to melt in the thawing ice

your obvious but overlooked vice



Red stripe

painted stripe of red
across flesh of breast
seeps deep into sternum
and rains upon constant drum

the rhythm that began
when energy stirred
and rose from its heated
and cloistered existence

an initial reach beyond
what had always been,
known and honored,
the center of it all

a reach that breached
the sanctuary's walls to
enter the depths of unknown
hollows, pores and pits

a breaching stretch of light
swirling from spinning galaxies
discharging from molten vents
rising from broken bodies...

pulse beat beat, pulse beat beat
pulse beat beat

painted red stripe
licked across the chest
saturates the beating heart
in an ocean of breaths

inhaled dawning tears,
bitterness of early hours
exhaled illuminated fears
abandoned in crumbling towers

inhales written leaves
falling on faded blades of grass
exhales swords that
loosen the grip of an unknown past

to inhale body's passing
in a temporary goodbye
to exhale into eternity
in a sudden wink of an eye

pulse beat beat, pulse beat beat
pulse beat...

beat of drum echoes into
the chasm of the cosmos
where red ebbs and flows
in infinite tides

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 6

Wait loss

long twitching fingers part
the draped silky veil
spun by one with eight legs

behind the veil, the image
of a morose and overwrought
shell gazes at itself

it no longer is angered
by those jesters who betray
in roaring hyena nature

it no longer is bothered
by sudden panics tearing at
heart strings in nightly hours

it no longer is chilled
by the breath of the waiting
shadow standing in the corner

eyes flow down the sides
of the face, expression following
suit of many days before

a Gothic arch rises from
lip corners to nostrils, clue
of disgust, closure of soul

pale flaky tissue lays upon
the surface, blurred in the
contrasting light at play

long fingers drag down
cheeks, slowly, as piercing
eyes witness in disbelief

Bidding the southern wind adieu

memories smolder, embers
of an incinerated empire dying

the past burns yet, and
my back still bleeds where
the dagger was pulled from

it is a walk in a forest
of hollow barren trees
each time I remember...

your face fades in silent screams,
drains from the temporal basin
leaving rust stains

mistrust pains in January
delivered from a banquet of lies

I should have noticed the flies
hovering over the rotting corpse
of once was at least respect
 
did he smile after you told
him that we were through

did he tell you, "I love you"

finally mentioned to pull
this roaring dragon from my chest
when I spent nights alone
I should have guessed
but I'd be waiting forever
for the priest to confess

instead I left, having the love
for myself that you threw in the trash...

those embers grow dimmer
as they smolder away to ash

The gate awaits

dull clouds, blinding lead
on the journey to the gate

sullen dancers pull their
painted faces off bowed
heads...  dripping streams
of coagulating colors

coerced of their clothes,
bare dancers drag against
the sorrowful scenery

their destruction, the bow
pulled over coarse strings
suspended overhead,
echoing a malicious melody

infamous dance traipsed
on the journey to the gate

heavy breaths, heaving chests
spew their tainted dreams
in jagged speech and
languished soliloquy

poured out bottles wobble
and spin, stumble and trip
through the moist veils

what's not needed stays
behind, what's not wanted
piles on, what's not heeded
bleeds the dancers dry

straggling stick figures
on their journey to the gate

Jargon jaunting: part repeat reap

decapitated dilapidated stalk
a Jacobin's javelin
fiercely piercing rock

beaming glory glow
the stalk's past
screaming hoary show
a pox cast

pride yield to humble
dried, sealed, soon crumble
cried field dew... stumble

taste of earth tarries
haste of birth varies
waste of worth carries...

curving lines, seeds follow
observing signs, leads hollow

as the stalk in this talk

Stag... nation

gears smeared...

green-hued lob-oil
gunked up in crevices
leaving toothless circles

same ole whirl
same dizzying twirl
round the clowns swirl
low dogs chasing tails

all are temps,
all are waiters and
waitresses preoccupied
with something other
than their occupation
on the sinking ship

toothless circles grinning
with green-hued lob-oil
jammed up their cavities

spineless plates spinning
on the ends of poles
with king clown balancing
each to and fro, friend? neigh foe

bills spill, a glaze on
the surface of the people's ocean
suffocating all those
suspended between freedom
and the murky depths

king clown awaits with
his constituents in those depths
with snapping claws and
lighted orbs dangling in
front of gnashing fangs

in all his gluttonous virtues,
king clown and his purchased
souls dance below the falling
fish drowning in the people's ocean

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 5

Fifth of the Tenth of the Thirteenth

seizure of bones
in the former eighth moon
rigid frigid moment
encased in the thin
mirror glazed on
the pavement last night

air taking flight
off the wide white plains
in the wintry west
it pushes its way through
leaving no thought
of warmth but hope

children fall asleep
their vivid faces fading
with the passing
of the chilling thief
lurking in the first light
shining down from heaven

southerners take refuge
in the abode's heated
arms rescuing them
from certain rapture
only achieved by succumbing
to the ultimate retrieval

wet clothes decorate
the stretched twine
bearing goosebumps if
they only could
while painting angel feathers
commences in this reality of fall

Mudpie

trickling over cracked earth
tiny courses of liquid
in grasping-hand fashion
dampen and darken dust

earthen lips wait agape
after anticipating the influx
of gratifying flow
on dampened darkened dust

pure clarity adulterates
with grounded perceptions
as the liquid itself
darkens in dampened dust

concepts float momentarily
suspended in the flood
and soon find bedded wombs
in darkened dampened dust

thoughts germinate swiftly
and raise from the storm-brewed
chaos and its effects
in dampened darkened dust

thoughts bellow out
throw off dried out husks
and seek anew from being
in darkened dampened dust

hybrids are sprung from
loins incited in juice
poured out by gods onto
dampened darkened dust

'tis nectar that moves in
and through the solids
for a brief moment
in darkened dampened dust

'tis nectar that changes
the fallible forms forever
in the inevitable path
of dampened darkened dust

Jargon jaunting: part left bereft

Low Men know then
ways of a hazy daze
spilling from frontal lobes
spoiling numb fungal probes

Low Men partake of these
slow kin forsake love...

geez

know when Low Men
your steps lead astray
and lore reps speed away

blind led by eyeless creatures

mind fed by pious preachers

know then Low Men
shrunken pails of drunken veils
are no trade, although paid,
for eluding tears or brooding fears

unable to relieve the pain
unstable, you bereave a vein
forfeiture, your shit cure...

as blood will flow
so Low Men know

Within the ribs

a barren sea swells
inside the contour cage

pale grey bars withhold
the burning dancer
in his dismal cell

his inflamed steps
skip across the roaring waves

a stone skipped many years ago
that ambles on its path
along the tips of lapping liquid

dancer dares not to escape
dares not to scorch his
flame drenched skin on the cage

hollow bones of the
fallen messenger bar his flight

engulfed in ruined desires
he can only flow to and fro
to appease the gluttonous fires

sighs exhale upon the heated stage
fanning the fame

in the dancer's mind does he see
the steps laying behind
his fear-inspired course

in the dancer's mind does he hear
the tears that tap upon
his soul's window...

pain, an overstayed companion
he has yet to bid farewell to

burn, ignited in a chance
gone feral from best intent
he dances in the contour cage

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 4

Mirrored

in his eyes I am found
he is my looking glass

fingers to softly caress
the outstretched image
laying before my eyes

in this dreamy reality
only a pinch can tell

the steady drumming
of his chest lures me
away to soothing rest

where does his body end
where does mine begin

suspended in bodies
not reflecting the
mirror's sweet serenade

our dance glides on
silvery glass memories

flight from the axe
released from bodice
in all these remedies

regrets fall as leaves
from October trees

divination has now
passed before the
windows of our soul

partial sight has given
way to beloved whole

Afterwords

folded at the foot of the bed
lover lies relinquished of thought

simply a draped effect
of the exuberance that
shortly before was the
ebb and flow on a heated shore

liquid body melts into the
deluge of sheets coursing to the floor

gathering there in pools
of adrenaline and lust
that bleed from lover's
glazed eyes and euphoric passing

vacant temple briefly rests
on drifting weightless shoulders

anchor to such a vessel
slowly skims along
pores and drops of sweat
with drowsy stumbling fingertips

folded at the foot of the bed
lover lies in pulsing pleasure echoes

tones of voice and
catch of breath sweep
over the exposed plain
in a rolling ocean of surrender

Jargon-jaunting: part windy-fall

rustling from the bustling
early hurly-burly gust,
chasing leaves under eaves

the first dispersed burst on this
wonderful windy-fall day

in the gust, Autumn thrust
past drooping ripe fruits
and looping-type roots

wheezing breezy trees on this
wonderful windy-fall day

hint of Jack's nip
on blushing rose hip
tint of chilled cheeks
in only a few weeks

caught wind of
the thinned glove on this
wonderful windy-fall day

falls the seed, stalls the breed
return in a warmer season
and discern from a former treason
after rest enticed, undressed in ice

mere think-exhaust
of nearing frost on this
wonderful windy-fall day

River of Delivery

draped before first inhale
in lustrous apparitions
dripping in the hollows
of creation's chasms

internal echoes of the
physical form fighting
recognized realities and
forgotten fundamentals

eager eyes cringe at
first sight, nocturnal
wanderers reacting
to dawn's first light

sensations absorb
under newly fallen
snow of skin, warmth
repeats in heart beats

worlds breached in
the vacating of womb
where we were once
one with eternity

suspension of lot
released, lives are
poured out, patented
and positioned by fate

pain-delivered life
begins in wailing
ending the same
for those left behind

in the physical flesh
formed by the incarnate
whole, identifying with
infinite fades from view

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 3

 

Sept ember

bright fleur rests
in evening still
from breezy daze

hue nears the
harsh threat
of tiny daggers
clinging to stem

nears harsh
in the calm
dingy gloaming

it's held high
and away from
its fruited fellows...

those dull orange
hips which shifted
to and fro in
the prior gusts

bright fleur comes
late for the show...

such a gay fellow

Jargon jaunting: part leaving leaves

plighting night
taking flight
in leftover leaves
when spider weaves...

abundant traps
or dew-drenched maps
glittering wet,
flittering threat
in nipping breeze...

Winter's tease

flashes of hues
splashes of rouge
and amber gold
from times of old...

stooped reaping crone
in drooped sepia-tone
she disturbs the dirt
frees herbs and wort
root and fruit fill the nest...

fool and ghoul chill the rest
sweets and treats thrill the chest

givings for livings
come in grateful platefuls
days are wrought numb...

'tis the ways of Autumn

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 2

 

Pale shatterd porcelain

youth drains from view
into memories
best served cold

crimson gold flutters
in the ground's aspiration,
in it's hunger for the descending life

those who have risen
now return to soiled wombs,
laying down their spoils

buried hearts collect on debts
when the pale shattered porcelain
drifts down


veiled mistress of dreamers
casts her shrouds
to gain her reign

indigo seeps into solemn
twilight, erupting
in nightmarish splendor

bronze hands bleach during
absent hours of warmth,
fingers twitch, minds grow numb

blue buds rest in biding breasts
when the pale shattered porcelain
drifts down


bestower laps the life spilt,
the life seeping into silt
and miming bare stone

empty cages wither
under carnivorous ice
and the harsh southern sun

paralyzed claws scrounge
for skeleton banes to shield
from Boreas breath

land is a tomb turned out
when the pale shattered porcelain
drifts down

Lamentation for eggs

tired arms ache
under the burden
of letting go

aching arms with
lichen-licked
weathered bark...

the only armor
offered against
the stinging sleet

tired arms mourn
for barren nests
chilled ice blue

mourning arms with
tangled twigs
overgrown in dreams...

the only hope
offered against
the empty sleep

tired arms weep
to rooted origins
buried in the past

weeping arms with
tortured form
grasping for eggs...

the only promise
offered against
the fated feat

Norman echoes

fallen into: Tas veneratus
the whispers set into ageless ears

passing eras turn from laughter,
from ecstasies, from fallen fears

fallen into: Tas veneratus
the soiled fantasies of earthly wants

lucid visions, remnants surface
in stagnant cares and favorite haunts

it is in the heap of honor
that grubs snub sickening sanity

peep inside the hallowed hill
they dance with virtuous vanity

spoken within: Tas veneratus
repeated over the waves of time

drifting regret set sailed,
the unpaid debt or dismissed crime

spoken within: Tas veneratus
'twas and is, e're will be soul's lament

epitaph of stone echoes,
"spirit's tomb is the body's ascent"

Recycled angels

in the eve of frost
they sail on weathered wings
and glide their shiny toes
across satin spar lakes

their bodies silver ice
join in the resplendent lights
overhead in nocturnal play

pale expressions alight
with the reflection of a mirrored moon...

stars reside in their hearts
and collect on their beaten ascensions...

in the eve of frost
they rise in indigo skies
for overdue missions found
below an invalid's tongue

delight is theirs in eyes
that view what comes true
of visions held in hope's abode

bare metal limbs seek
the riddle's clue of ageless forfeited fables...

most prayers are heard
and ultimately fulfilled by these recycled angels

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 1

 

 

Rewired

worming wires,
relentless messages
ooze down the neck from
saturated cranial deployments

the cat feeds the mouse
in this game of "Can you hear me?"

wayward wires
lighten loads
or so is supposed
in the ground and under sea

the cat has starved itself
in it's desert litter box

wounded wires lay
scarred and sparking
leaking letters and
spewing sonic sonnets

dead mouse is overfed
and tires of wiggling to and fro

weakened wires melt
and fuse in frustrating wait
sighing summons tap their toe
for a later outlet

Round timeline

granted are the lines
Helios casts upon the dial

lines age draws
upon the human face

lines found in
studious books about long ago...

lines that ripple in the trunk
from the seed's start

subtle evidence, these lines,
that something at least has transpired

something at least was communicated...
at least was experienced

lines aren't for everyone,
they aren't for those who
know lines have stops and starts

who know time is more
than vile smiles and angelic hearts...

time is less than true
of what goes on between them and you

lacking truth is what often chokes
the tubular tarts and bloated blokes,

and they spend their time
as they spend their loot
at lotteries and paid toilets

they miss the chance to step
off the broken record
wobbling on the old Edison

rolling past are the circles
lost, eluding linear sniffers

for it is in this and only this
in how lives are spent differs

Yeti

Sharpened sticks and bones

wrapped up words...

shredded, layered, glued

molded in the form
that frames suspects
in the library

molded in the form
that slices, dices, chops!

molded as an instrument
of murder, this one
with greater pain to inflict

slowly sinks
with its layered letters

sinks into victim,
often them and
the assailant unaware

unaware that the letters
posed in such a way
produces poisonous prose

the nose of the form
driven directly to the bone

the tortuous texture
tears through tissue,
tendons and truth

mangles supple self,
slashes silken soul,
corrupts curious core

layered letters lodged
between sternum and rib of four

Jargon jaunting: part sovereign-ated fat

squeezed into a pair
of shiny black pumps
strolled the plump
Lewd Lard Lord

in a gallant gait
of stride-hop-skip
he surveyed his
brood, yard... horde

ever allotting
little lots to the low
was the goal of his
glued scarred gourd

in enforcing edicts
for his own cravings
he oppressed with his
shrewd guard sword

rains snubbed grains,
and pestilence pestered
the rotten reign of the
Lewd Lard Lord

suffering serfs
rightly retaliated,
for their erupting
feud, sparred... warred

their anger afire
blazed the lord's home
suiting its lust for
stewed, charred board

dancing in the dust
and embers, they sang
echoes linger of that
spewed bard chord

"Food, homes, and clothes
we now can afford
once we finally fried the
Lewd Lard Lord!"

In some knee yak

lewd ideas fall into
the bed late at night....

sleep to be found
when sheets are worn
as second skin
and head with
pillow meets

rest to follow
when saturated sutures
burst at their seams
with did I? do I? will I?

pounding pulse
echoes off the pillow...

internal clock ticking
away life's seconds
and masticating
the Sandman's duty

heavily burdened eyes
absorb the color
of the numbers
at the head of the bed

weary eyes to rise
and reflect the red
in early morning
after hours spent
stirring, doubting,
lamenting, looking...

confirming the time
suffered before
the sounding of the alarm
was spent in vain

Lightning bug

Ms. Musttell

A goosey loon served as the public voice

but wasn't necessarily the public choice

 

In Caplinkaville the paper

flowed with grammatical errors,

misspelled names, and other

assorted editorial terrors

 

The Caplinkaville Eavesdrop

Newspaper was holey true

and always printed events

when they were far from new

 

Although the reporters

were punctual and precise

their stories were often mutilated 

in the editor's device

 

Ms. Bobo Musttell was the

goosey loon's name

and printing trouble

was her very favorite game

 

She'd sit crouched 

over her tiny letter keys

looking like someone

who was searching for fleas

 

Her fingers would scurry 

across the lead-poured typeset

as her eyes reflected

her instigating mindset

 

Her scratchy aged voice

cracked out her decrees

yet all the time she was infatuated

with her little letter keys

 

Through morning and night

she labored at her post,

ignoring her eggs she

should have looked after most

 

One morning she was 

found stiff-dead at her desk,

frozen in time and 

looking rather statuesque 

 

Over her keys, 

lo she was still crouched

"lead poisoning the cause,"

the coroner vouched

 

Although many thought

overworking did her in

the tiny letter keys

were found in her abdomen

 

Caplinkavillites knew the news

was for the birds

they just never realized Ms. Musttell

made a meal of her words

 

 

Lids!

Tempest

Pit of long ago

on edge,
inched to oblivion's ledge
gaze into,
grasp with your eyes
the eternal tableaux

tips of toes
futilely grip onto
all that is leaving,
all that is stripped away
with the transfiguring flow

what was left,
what was sacrificed
to the erosion of the eras
lays below in a pit
of long ago

release the
apprehension,
surrender the chains
of preconceptions
hopping and skipping
behind "although..."

free fall
past the thieving phantoms
of exiting truths,
plummet into the forgotten,
remember and relish the afterglow

then burn
the shredded veils,
light them on fire
to know what it
finally is to let go

Tubular wingspan

Playing with the light

Jargon jaunting: part-ly true

the mire a liar
must acquire

over lips when he sips
from the font of fraud


the brier a liar
must desire

so to hide all he's lied
in nocturnal maraud


the buyer a liar
must require

for the yarns he thus darns
so slick, slyly swift


the sire a liar
must retire

change the reign, truth has slain
sordid supreme shift


the higher a liar
must conspire

as each tale weaves in hell
doubting demon dance


the choir a liar
must rewire

to the tune so roughhewn
chancing circumstance


the prior a liar
must attire

to pass lies, Lord of Flies
sin savors sheep suits


the spire a liar
must admire

aloft roles, aloof goals
riddles reside in roots

Exchequers of the sands

captured rapture...
this in barren locales

where blind men count the sand

and red drips from foot, from hand

 

plagued by tree carcasses

holding men carcasses,

the dust cries out, "Abba!"

the wind howls, "Holy Jesus, why?"

 

and breathtaking sights crash

on the blind men counting sand

whose blood stains the land

 

the death poles draw smiles

in the dirt as the sun passes by,

and the earth spins impaled

on its own penetrating pole

 

"Crawl out of me!" one blind man demands

of the regrets his blank stare has gathered

dried, peeling lips...

 perhaps the skin became too hot

parched, crackled voice...

 perhaps the soul began to rot

 

fumbling fingers, weakened minds, dried up glands

these men who sit counting the sands

 

they count the sand at the feet

where blood drips and boils in the heat

 

the place where man merges with tree,

they sit and count and ponder thee

 

"How many times can a hopping toad get struck by lightning?"

a question one blurts out in rank phantom fashion

"How many times this I ask?"

 

fidgeting digits stall awhile

jutted lips lift up in a smile...

 

in a state from under a Bodhi

casting the absence of shade,

another sirdar of the count yells out, "Only one!"

 

...satisfaction found under the burning sun

 

 

 

Touch song

in your hands,
I found my song

those lines coursing
through your palms
and wrapping their tendrils
around your fingertips...

those lines were the
stringed instrument
that soothed the raging
storm seeded in my soul
long ago and far away

it strummed my melody,
echoing from the
rising suns in your
fingernails

it harped my lullaby,
sweetly humming from
the soft touch of your
fingertips where your
soul's labyrinths vined

it screamed my anthem,
beckoning me to your
grasp that melted my
stalled state

I gently dripped,
the season's snow melt
that carved your banks
and accelerated your stream

your cupped hands held me
in the rain's resonance

A reflection

emptied...
yet saturated in surroundings,

three fragile vessels rest
in dilution

enveloping liquid coincides
with their basic nature
of deforming translucency

they themselves fall prey
to their own salacious manipulations

absorbing reflections
of limits out of reach...

their faces

projecting self images
onto neighboring vessels...

their legacy

basking in the image
of a theoretical sun...

their truth

bare the middle and sunk blindly
with the others
into the aqueous trend

transparent the middle and showed
what the others couldn't
in their decorated cobalt facades

dare the middle to ascend
with the escaping air
that bubbles to the surface

dare to breach the surface
of the water-logged world

dare to feel the warmth
of the rising sun
to know, not just theorize...

dare to abandon the reflection of reality

The ocean bed

I fall with the flow
into his broken heart

the heart that shattered
in releasing love
from its earthly cares

cares that blow away
in the wings of a butterfly,
vanish in the morning sun

he bloomed with the sun,
giving his life to all the pieces

and the pieces of his
broken body were scattered
to the ceaseless wind
and unending waves

there is no end in sight
for the nightly rain
attempting to wash
away the pain

there is no end in sight
for the pill-laced sleep
that carries him to
the cold ocean deep

regret of words said
and those left unspoken
is the knife that twists in his heart

guilt of letting him climb
the mountain barefooted
is the hammer that breaks his voice

his broken body found rest
in the cold ocean deep
he returns there every night
in his tear-drenched sleep

Lost monarch

Jargon jaunting: part time

Begotten of this prolong notion
and string-along emotion
is a lifelong devotion.

Is it such a crime
to be immersed in rhyme?

Sublime are the times
spent in birthing rhymes.

'Tis a melodic chime,
a fresh nosegay of thyme
to swim in the waves of rhyme.

An escape from mundane grime
is the moment spent in rhyme.

One can clear their throat of slime
by sputtering out a roaring rhyme.

As there are mountains to climb
and bravery and courage to prime,
so it is to sit and write out a rhyme.

To have lemon with no lime
is to have reason with no rhyme.

Thus invested are they and I'm,
poets who choose the directing rhyme.

So go and spend your shiny dimes
on all the silent Parisian mimes.
I'll stay here in these trying times
and work out more relentless rhymes.

Beautiful Jay-sunflower

 

roasted toasted sunflower seed

planted 365 days ago

within cold, saturated dirt

 

dirt smeared across brow,

in chest...

upon lips

 

roasted toasted sunflower seed

sent on Mercury's divine step

by flickering flame prayers

 

prayers paced with burning hearth,

lightning heat...

rabbit's heart

 

roasted toasted sunflower seed

begged heart race for art space

in frozen nocturnal travels

 

travels fused to smoky walks,

ethereal talks...

celestial hawks

 

roasted toasted sunflower seed

bloomed on 14th of the second

realizing dreams of seven

 

seven set in years merged,

age enlightened...

month birthed

 

roasted toasted sunflower seed

returned at the foot of the bed,

the sign of fulfilled promises

 

promises born on angelic feathers,

heavenly dispatches...

winged sandals