Delayed aide

Mingling with future skeletons...

tarry the thoughts of overwrought speech

Dissection to the point of murder

wreaks the havoc of a blood sucking leech

The reluctant evangelist preaches

“Don’t over till the soil, must be precisely”

Standing, cloaked in widow shrouds

looking beyond, feeling indecisively

Their tongues are meat hooks thrashing

believing their words hold utmost meaning...

never knowing unseen incidents

For in the shadows, their demons are teeming

“Hold thy sword, better is of silence!”

the shy man of cloth beseeches and begs

“Resist any admiring advance your way...

turn immediately and shut your legs.”

The devouring devotee nears the shrouded

hovering as smoky vulture or ashen crow

Layered in bitter gold and icy silk

the admirer will only blanket with show

“Oh my, tell me of your skill...

it is obvious and honors my very eyes.”

Tempting praise and luring tongue

follows with oohs, ahs and lustrous sighs

The shrouded submits to devious regard

forgetting the frail friar’s sermon of late

Choosing in small action to play

opening ears wide to the devious gate

Caught with hook to inner cheek

reeled focus to cement the devotee’s ploy

Coddling the shroud’s social infancy...

of the companionship to seemingly enjoy

The sickly coyote will soon abandon

after discovering the absence of tasty crumb

Jaunting off to some new horizon

leaving the victim scorned and even more numb

Aye, the scavenger lurks in pain

seeking only those equal or less than he

The fragile minister utters in low

“I should always listen to the advice from me.”

Own prison

Long in the chamber have I waited,

my vexes and fears still non-sedated.

This lonely cell embraces the dark.

The flight from it I wish to embark.

You there, can you not see my hand?

From the gap, I ravenously wave my hand.

In the night shines my ghostly pale hand,

a beacon that shows across the land.

 

In the dim candle light I detect

a silhouette, off silver does reflect.

In every motion it chooses to emulate.

My empty shell’s shifts it does simulate.

You there, can you not see my feet?

They dangle over the lofty rim, my feet.

Flailing in the crisp deep night are my feet,

waiting for the warm free land to meet.

 

Solely I plea for some help in rescue.

Solely I beg for it to come to view.

Do not pass by my desolate, dismal cell.

Do not pass me by without any avail!

You there, can you not see my tears?

Running out of wounded eyes, my tears.

Crying out from wrongful acts, my tears.

Imprisoned am I for all these years.

 

 

The Heart's Footsteps

Overshadow of consequential regret

looms in stark, yet subtle glances,

when one will gaze and suddenly

retreat, withdrawing all advances.

In the anxious wings fluttering

off the pool’s clear reflection,

pulses quicken and thoughts race

under doubt and self inspection.

Sensing warmth of breath on

numb skin, only to depart.

Evading the heated grasp

so as to not follow one’s heart.

 

Fading after review of actions

that escape life’s chance of joy.

Sobbing in kerchief of sorrow

and using ole sympathy’s ploy.

Twisting in gnarled fashion,

dimly dressed in mourner's black.

Sipping on bitterness ale,

always anticipating the next attack.

Wading in caution’s fountain,

to appear seemingly smart.

Heeding the words of text books

instead of following one’s heart.

Wondering, lost and fearful

in the forest of distraction.

Overwrought with despair

to miss meaningful attraction.

Gliding through sunlit glens

to find a veiled treasure chest.

Keyless frustration consumes

with wails and pounding of breast.

Abandoning the unopened

trunk, no vacancy in the cart.

Nearing but veering astray

to the following of one’s heart.

 

Solitude greets with dawning

ray, silence of spoken word.

Crow to awaken a cold ear.

Meal of stewed oats and curd.

After daily labor of tending

beast and garden comes rest,

until worthy pilgrim wanders

the trail, arriving with the test.

Standing brave under intensity,

agreeing is just the start.

Surrendering, shedding all,

to embrace the following of one’s heart.

 

 

Of the ditch

Lo! Ye be of the lowly weed.

Seeds of ye abundant be.

No matter to fall on stone,

potential brick or glass.

They sprout and flourish

in the dark or thick grass.

 

Lo! Every travel ye vestige.

Ye be assail in blustering gale.

And yet thee set forth

generations to ever unfurl.

Tumble and bumble your way

along the road will hurl.

 

Lo! Taking as though a gypsy. 

Spending thee of spent will be.

Hungry roots grow deep.

Thirsty tendrils do creep.

Defending poisons seep,

as throng of thorns cause leap.

 

 

Lo! Change is an age old chum.

Ye took chance of circumstance.

Searching though the rubble,

abandoned house and yard,

of crow, rat and even roach.

Aye, of you, so sings the bard.

 

Lo!  Ye should be proud.

Ye outlasts while higher castes past.

Of great, untraveled blood

and pipes of poisoning lead.

Greater yet, delicate beauty.

Their vineyards now lay dead

 

Lo!  Lift ye head high.

Ye should know as the times grow.

Endureth your family loins,

in current times do play,

knowing not the solemn grave

but only warmth of day.

 

Five-spice Masters: Clove

 

Ole Master Clove is a hornet.

His hobby is playing the cornet.

He’s shiny as brass,

and sustains much class.

But for a coat he wears a shore net.

 

Five-spice Masters: Cinnamon

Ole Master Cinnamon is a slug.

He loved his little brown jug.

After getting drunk,

he fell in a trunk.

There he slept it off very snug.

 

Five-spice Masters: Fennel

 

Ole Master Fennel is a locust.

Nothing distracts him from focus.

But pondering on a log,

he didn’t see the frog,

then he vanished like hocus-pocus!

Five-spice Masters: Ginger

Ole Master Ginger is a cicada.

He guarded against any invada’.

Wearing dense armor,

he spoke like a charmer,

becoming a very fine debada’.

 

Five-spice Masters: Anise

 

Ole Master Anise is a praying mantis.

He taught in the halls of Atlantis.

While eating a jujube,

he asks me, “Who you be?”

“Neither aphid nor fruit,” my recant is.

Pour... soldier