Snow shine

the silver streets

shimmering in the

sun who's forsaken us

the glaring menace

of those streets

makes eyes beg for

days of dull dry

gray pavement

but it seems

snow can't help but fall

from imaginary clouds

in the grim and

hateful sky

and those flakes

of forgotten content

reflect the memory

of a kinder sun

into weary eyes

An olive branch to Hell

such sweet divine speech
so practice what you preach
forgiveness of the sins against
man, against God himself
and yet he himself can't bring
his right hand of wrath
to absolve his own enemy
he indeed would grave
ego be to not put in place
his own plan for the peace
of humanity and the world
into his very own heart
for the word proclaims
God is love and love
keeps no records of wrongs
and the greatest of these
is love, to embrace thine
own enemy and yet will he
yet does he, an olive branch
outstretched to the gates of Hell
such bitter condemning speech
a practitioner of what you preach

House of many lives

I found myself walking though
a mansion last night
a house of long ago that
may have never been a home
yet the photos on the walls
showed the servant lived as
an equal to his master
and as I passed through
all the many rooms
each room became bigger
than the room before
there was also much debate
of where each piece of
furniture should be placed
as though the vacated house
was left in disarray
and indeed beds were set up
in the banquet hall and
pianos left in dressing rooms
and I was no longer alone
but speaking with many
who had become my party
in walking this house
we consorted in the tour
and realized to take up residence
perhaps starting up where
someone else left off
in this house of many lives
in this house many times

Shore leave

from wetted sands

the winds tickle the barren plain

as those adrift scratch

their heads

atop their landlocked sea-legs

for oceans have pulled their

rugs from under

the feet of those landlocked sea-legs

and drifting pauses in puzzlement

while rotting time drapes

across stones

a silent sand quickly losing

the luster of its marine wonders

bakes in the ethereal expanse

of evaporating horizons

the call of lapping waves

sings no more for the dance

of those landlocked sea-legs

and stranded in salty sand

those once adrift

shed their tears

in hope the ocean will return

New norm

we've bred a brood of vipers

and live within its walls

each viper at attention

ready to strike with venom

filled fangs and bite

and our air is filled with hisses

instead of friendly hellos

and lovers kisses

all of what needs defended

has all but vanished

as the vipers focus on

everything to be offended

and it is pretended

that all will be okay

if we leave our lives

to the snakes

Snow crunch

how soon the crunch

of leaves

can transfigure into

the crunch of snow

and the many hues

that were plastered

on the lawn by the

trees with their oil knife

have been wiped

away by a linseed cloth

revealing the blank

empty white

of the canvas skin

the winter kin

Within walls

within the walls

bides eternity

where the witch

knows how to walk

through and into

the endless time

within the walls

within the walls

cries infinite

where waits the

witch in golden flesh

and darkly dress

of those shadows

within the walls

within the walls

lays serenity

where the witch

holds candle flame

and gently whispers

out your name

within the walls

Star dust

the dust has turned

to stars

in the stagnant cells of

the ceiling

the subtle brilliance goes

unseen

by those who keep their

noses

to the constant turn of

the grindstone

they only catch the eyes

of those

who turn their noses up

to work

and gaze into the micro

cosmic glow

Peacock twins

audacious solar peacock

arising in the morning

to fan tail feathers

across the heavens

in hues of the hearth

a brazen blazing flash

into the once sullen

serenity of the dark

he withdraws his

amber glow flowery

show and tosses his

luminous crown through

the blue celestial sea

where it's caught by

his twin waiting in

all his pretentious glory

The barrel

he lives in a barrel

the barrel most foul

emptied of spirits

to make you crow and to howl

the wood of the barrel

has drunk it all dry

at least that's his claim

he speaketh a lie

his liver gave notice

and told him good bye

he sits in his wasting

and wonders to himself why

"I've lived when I fancied

didn't fancy a lot

I worked for a living

and a living I sought

but happy is fleeting

its lasting all for naught

what good is working

if from it life can't be bought?"

he lives in a barrel

the barrel most foul

emptied of his spirit

no crowing, not a howl

it lays in the bottom

of a six feet deep hole

the barrel took his body

yet the spirits took his soul

Of shadows

in the shadows
of the forests

I plant my feet

in hope they

grow like roots

to travel the

underground

the dark damp

where worms

feed and rock

melts in water

and in time

in the shadows

of the crowds

I raise my arms

in hope they

grow like trees

to see above

those around

the hollow mass

where worms

feed and souls

melt in boredom

and in time

Luna

she waited around

this morning

perhaps for a lover

that never showed up

perhaps for someone

worth waiting for

I longed to see her

for whom she was

but all I could ask

myself was is she

half empty or half full

Oh brother

oh brother

you're poor

your debt

is the blood

shed on

foreign shores

and the bodies

in your backyard

you don't see

anymore

or choose to ignore

oh brother

you're not

so big

for the bigger man

would have

done more

yet you're poor

not noticing

the holes in

the pockets

of your soul

loosing all

your change

to one step forward

three steps back

oh brother

don't bother

why start now

you're locked in

those irons

of the machine

printing your cash

with deaths

of your people

red on the green

just in time

for your

Christmas card

Office balloons

these tethered stars

bounce in the HVAC

currents, casting shade

from fluorescent suns

a once bold metallic

foil plump with new

inflation now sags

as helium dreams seep

through the ether

these tethered deflating

dreams sway above

their dreamers in

their cubic cells

Cooled coffee

there's a temperature

that coffee reaches

when I can only taste

the flavor of large

dandelion leaves

that are full of bitter

chlorophyll and minerals

of course my tongue

would have simply

thought of the flavor

at that temperature

as merely cooled coffee

if it had never had

that little spring herb

mingle with its buds

Eat up

this modern diet

has something to be desired

so much indigestion

is obvious from what

spills on to social media feeds

yet our minds follow suit

to our stomachs growling

for the chemical laced

temporarily satisfying

and of the utmost convenience

ground up whatever

between two sesame seed buns

and our minds

eagerly munch on all

salacious rumors

scandalous behavior

and outrageous insults

that are hurled

in this summer camp

food fight that was

started by whom?

Of lost marbles

of lost marbles

that wash ashore

on rain swept ditches

of barren dirt roads

landlocked pearls among

the tiny glimmers

of broken glass and

smaller yet the shine

of grains of sands

washed away

the smaller yet

broken body of the earth

the dusty silt

pouring downhill into

creeks and rivers and tides

of lost marbles

collecting near nails

and other bits of rusty

fragments, teeth of the past

reveal their smile

in the ditches

of barren dirt roads

Waking eyes

I'm sure there were

landscapes of grandeur

and gardens of splendor

and exotic flora colored

in hues too vivid for

waking eyes

I'm sure there were

mansions of loftiness

and costumes of luxuriousness

and characters dressed

in personas too legendary

for waking eyes

I'm sure there were
stories of desire

and dialogues of fire

and moments saturated

in emotions too rich

for waking eyes

yet I will never know for sure

as my dog re-situated

his place at my feet on the bed

When geese were seen as rats

knew the road was wet

no obvious puddles

but the untrodden dirt

was dark with wet

the truck didn't care

and had no mind to stop

and the smooth road

was soon ruins

with ruts

swirling next to

fine green hairs

of the wheat field

in April

the geese hissed

at the disturbance

in passing

flapping and scuttling

until resolved to

nip at the green hairs

once again

their abundance was noted

doing too well

for themselves

like rats

In the cup

looking into my cup

of coffee this morning

reminds me of when

I, with my siblings

at a very early age,

stared into the abyss

of the world's largest

hand dug well

hoping we wouldn't

meet the same fate

of that baby that

was on television

this dark liquid with

its dark reflection

staring back at me

in its trepidation

for the next words

to spill from my mouth

for those drops the

color of abandoned

beer bottles to somehow

make it all go better

Sweet dreams

all those flirts in dreams

whose lives seem more

than the fleeting moments

they exist within

do they change their skins

after each performance

is the alarm clock

their falling curtain

are they the same actors

each and every night

simply with a different script

their words grow gray

as the sun moves through the day

but are the sweetest grapes

on their vines that twine through night

Falling

he felt himself falling through an abyss

as he sat and waited

these tugs had tugged on him

since he could remember

most noticeable when sitting

having little else at his attention

often after the tug

a feeling of lightness followed

and tarried for a bit

serving the ebb to the flow

yet this rule to the game

was broken this time

the abysmal descent continued

after a few seconds

turning the tug into a snare

and free-fall into fright

had these tugs before

been a gentle nudge

from the great severer itself

had they all been whispers

of the inescapable

and was this the moment

the slight slips would empty into

the final collapse of the soul

NO-vember

I'm saying no to November

no to the over eating

of hypocritical gratitude

no to judgmental dinners

with disapproving indigestion

no to the dismal days

tunneling their way

to even shorter, darker days

no to the beastly purchases

destined for some dusty closet shelf

and then the trash

I'm saying no this month

no to the first icy streets

when drivers forget how to

no to those first icy sheets

that pull your feet out from under you

no to lamenting the green

while snuggling up to the gray

no to you November

scram, piss off, GO AWAY!

Pent-up serpent

nervous spasm

his thumb twitching

pulling to his palm

as he waits behind the wheel

a serpent lying in wait

in the coils of his gut

hisses whisper

in the exhaust of the truck

a paper plan

sticks to his brain

a paper plan

that could be torn up

and thrown away

as the truck idles

with the serpent

Dim skies

in dim skies
the shattered must fall
and carried low
in earthen bowels
to an ultimate end
in flame and exhaust

those raven calls
carry the weary to the rest
in cold wooden beds
in cold stone houses
where worm work is delayed

those who stray
forgotten in decay
or sealed in ice
in some freezing device
who linger with little to say

October dream

strange to think

the old barn wood

mere planks the shell

between an inner sanctum

and an outer hell

but hidden behind the hay

we laid and shivered

fear the cold blanket

holding us in icy arms

for war it was

that flourished out there

beyond those planks

an unknown battle

plaguing an unknown land

as if tornadoes themselves

were playing chess

on a Sunday afternoon

the enemy could be glimpsed

through the spacing

of those mere planks

and it was through those spaces

a hand tore into

to grab my shoulder

to drag me near

to hold me against that shell

in a terrified ecstasy

in that place of hell

A cup of laughter

his name was Edward St. James

resting now in the bone yard

atop the hill to the south

some say he had a good end

only aware that undoubtedly

he laughed until he couldn't

but little was known of the cause

that started his laughable plague

and still less was sought after

after Edward gasped his last breath

he had just returned from a venture

to the north to a relative for riches

the distant once removed such and such

had overlooked his sisters the bitches

thus all that glittered in his clutches

was bestowed to someone he knew little

twas Edward who had never even met

his benefactor known for frequent spittle

the lawyers had said all their spiel

and left Edward with his lot in the hall

among all the house keys, deeds and coins

a curious glass chalice stood tall

it glimmered just so in the dim light

to catch Edward's attention and eye

as he looked into the crystal cup

a faint design he thought he could spy

the ancient home had been greatly ignored

over the years the owner laid expiring

so Edward decided to return to his own home

as the whole trip had been trying and tiring

once there he relayed the news to friends

and reveled in his new found gold and wealth

pouring wine, Edward chose his new chalice

and his party drank to good luck and health

the first drink from the cup hit him hard

and Edward soon found himself in a stupor

but he continued with cheers after cheers

to where his boisterous laughter was super

the volume and frequency continued

until the rest of the room was still

yet Edward continued hollering his cheer

which was apparently beyond his own will

this condition stayed through the night

ravaging Edward's body with trepidation

he was bedridden for three more days

until he was met with his own expiration

the room was piercingly filled with quiet

once it was emptied of Edward's last breath

the smirking chalice stood tall on the table

having the last laugh in Edward's death

Fore the freeze

the hours are a plague

in the October sun

their master Beelzebub

dances on my fingertip

as I lean my back

against the maple's

widening base

each sigh of the breeze

plucks another leaf

from the blushing trees

and spotted bugs ravage

the green for aphids

this moment I will lament

a month and more from now

Turtle in man's clothing

there was a turtle

dressed in old man's clothing

soliciting for smokes

at the courthouse today

he slowly paced the sidewalks

and would snap at passersby

with his ultimate goal

"Hey, do you have a cigarette?"

he hid under his brown hood

in the weathered clothes

and disguise he pulled off well

but it was his pace and gait

that was the revealing tell-tale

Waters

hold me in your waters
let me pool in your memory
I will be the ebb and flow
of your blood
the rise of tempest lust
the thrashing of gale licked seas
and the still reflection
holding your face in seeming glass

hold me in your waters
until the final air escapes
and I abandon the world I knew
to surrender to your ocean depths
let your current carry me out
into those cold dark depths
to lay me upon the sandy floor
where we will sleep
until eternity awakes us

Namesake

hollow is your name

for what is in it

the letters to sound out a familiar beckon

a recall of long past genetic couriers

who mingle within your pool

it is a shell, an abode

donning your self chosen this time

on the merry-go-round

to look upon this world

from your perched perspective

choosing to see

believing the sight

right in front of your eyes

when someone else 

holds out their hand

and gives you their same hollow name

Gentle fear

gentle fear
a song at eve
the severing of sight
the ceasing of light
what beholds in
the folds of night
the awe in
gentle fear gazing far
into reaches beyond
any hallowed star
the chaos eternal
in boundless dark
the cold chill
raising hairs in
gentle fear
the kiss of fright
pounding of chest
shaking of heart
loss of movement
and of thought
surrendering to
the fallen stars
within the folds
of the night
in absence of breath
in absence of light
this gentle fear
holding you near
for to it
you are ever so dear

Elusion

this whole existence
one giant suggestion box
from each life, each death
an input of varying perceptions
an interjection of choices
an often gaggle of arguing voices
for each one knows the better route
the ignorant with hate for the unknown
the intellect with hate of not knowing
give us our rest in death
even there will we hear worms scream
and those scratching at their coffin lids
who have a better idea for their last breath
for bless that hindsight in all its lessons
the know-it-all in unblemished glory
the elusion of life

The visitor

the sun had blinked
and the night was tucked in
a soft darkness befell the house
whose views rolled out
into nothingness
a small glimmer haunted
an upstairs bed chamber
a youth old enough
to remain in the house alone
read by candlelight
in all the attention paid to
the words on the page
a distraction tempted to
lure the youth away
it was the way the humble light
glided across the walls
and danced off the vanity
an oval mirror minding its own
business in the corner of the room
the temptation too great
the youth tip toed out of bed
with the candle stick in hand
abandoning the book and its words
the glow grew, casting greater shadows
yet all was cast aside for the youth
as the reflection in the glass
intensified in the shallow dark
the youth took a seat
and beheld what the mirror spoke
pupils dilated in its depths
and the surrounding room
vanished from the ghostly vision
a being took form behind the youth
with horrific radiance and hue
the hypnotic rapture froze the youth in place
as this apparent being of light laid
its hands upon the youth's shoulders
a voice emitted not from the vision
within the mirror but instead
resounded from above the youth's head:

"I am time, the same of which you read.
I am always thirsty, and I am never full.
I will permit you to see me only this once,
but you'll never keep me from savoring your soul."

Flowers among flames

those petals to shed
the tears to pluck from the heart
he loves me... he loves me not
he is the shadow to abandon
to what was
to relinquish to the flames
of all consuming time
he is the promise broken
the potential unreached
he is the discarded shell
so soon grown out of
he holds the thoughts
that once were truths
and the ideas whose
brilliant blooms have
now faded gray
he is those petals to shed
the tears to pluck from my heart
I love him... I love him not

Lea shells

silent, hollow cicada shells remain

ornaments to gothic arches

of bending lime daylily leaves

they have emptied out

their screaming voices

in August heat exhaustion

and inevitably transformed

into water urns catching

the drops of passing storms

they remain at summer's end

when spiders rush to spin

passes  them the dance of fall

as ash leaves waltz with bees

in the stirring winter breeze

Raven rain

I've grown into the gray
brittle skeletons that are
probably still sunning
themselves in the sand
among the sea of sage
their silvery bent bones
curled up and warped
retracting sinewy fibers
after each drying day
the over exposure to
lapping radiation isn't
the force acting on me
for I've seen days of wet
and dark and ravens
that raise mushrooms
from their soiled graves
that casts a hue of green
on almost everything
I no longer sit in sand
and count what might be
yet gnarled I've become
as those skeletons in the sun

All those discarded

what I wouldn't give
so many times said
looking back on the sidewalk passed
it could have been fun
it might have been the moment
that would have changed it all
that definition of my life before it
and my life thereafter
it should have been the time
I should have said that
which would have meant more
if I had known before
what I've since learned
it looked as though I should have gone forward
instead of making that turn
I thought I should pass it up
this time, there'll be another
I'll keep it to myself
I thought was best
it wasn't time to pop the tab
and pour out my soda just yet

The genie with the maple leaf tongue

the genie with the maple leaf tongue 

is a sight to see on genie day

which just happens to be this day

and a huge festival is held 

in his honor in a very peculiar way

some far off place rhyming with

Transylvania, or perhaps there indeed

towns will drink up all the bottles of beer

and will save the last bottle

for the genie to drink its own cheer

the villagers will wait in their stupors

surrounding that last bottle for

the genie with the maple leaf tongue to appear

who knows if it's truly a genie

or just lasting vapors from all the beer

anywho, usually one of the folks 

will eventually pipe up and proclaim

they've seen the genie pop up from the spot

by this time it's more than likely 

growing dim and they'd all rather be toking pot

the village elders then gather to consult

after such a proclamation has been made

and question the witness on what was seen

if the genie was seen with his tongue

poking out then they'll be snow on Halloween

if that is mentioned the witness is shunned

and won't get any until the ringing in of New Year

poor, poor pitiful the time will be for thee

but if the witness sees no tongue

a wish will be granted by the nearest oak tree

and all the villagers will then take their turns

visiting the tree to whisper their desires

in turn they must take an acorn back with them

who knows why, like any of it's true

these are all just words said at a whim

Light within the storm

the breath

the torrid tempest of the breast

rises and falls in tidal waves

across the flesh

and acids gush 

a volcanic rush up the throat

as foul phantoms gather in the gut

poisonous vapors seep 

through cracks of this earth

the thunder clasps in coughing fits

or sudden gasps of pain

from electric bolts that scatter

though the webbing of the nerves

and fogs drift in to linger

a sleep starved misty vision of the world

within this stormy suit of dirt

the light beams from clearings in the clouds

it dances in the dark chasms of bones

reflecting off the lonely pools of blood

in shattered mental states

it is the rain for a thirsty body

the wind for a listless mind 

the lightning for a weary soul

In shadows

pierce the shadows from candle wax
still it drips in the flow from the flame
a timid drink for lurking phantoms
the liquid drops flowing from the flame

shattered the shadows from lantern glow
midnight trips for secret rites of night
behind bars and through empty glass
tipsy feet dance for secret rites of night

abandon the shadows from streetlight lamp
where wages gleaned for penny pleasures pushed
when knives sing a softer evening tune
wages plundered for penny pleasures pushed

crack the shadows from moonbeam eggshell
bat wings fly as unseen dragons eat the light
ravenous the dark stalkers just beyond sight
matching appetites of unseen dragons eating light

Tethered timbers

this forested sea of them and us

a bind of flesh, of liquid, of gold

the stones that crush and are crushed

and spat upon and stirred and molded

after each explosion 

the destruction, the decay

the creation in clay

which rises and blooms 

to follow the unblinking father eye

and ignore those others that remain

but have already given in

this forested sea of seize and surrender

the spillage of self into it all

tearing of hides, pawing of earth, waiting

in dissection of the being birthed 

is all that follows

and recedes into the tempest beast

a forgotten chaotic hymn sings

lullaby of mother tidal waves

this forested sea of tethered timbers

a rite to sever the root

to break the chains of the cell

the flight from stagnant hell

in sacrifice within the temple

the bodies, a path to where