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
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
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!"
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!"
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
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
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
Sunday, August 25, 2013
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
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
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
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
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
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
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
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Exchequers of the sands
captured rapture...
this in barren locales
dried, peeling lips...
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
Friday, August 16, 2013
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
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
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
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
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
Monday, August 12, 2013
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
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
Friday, August 9, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, August 5, 2013
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
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
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