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

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

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




 

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

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

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