Saturday, August 31, 2013

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


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!"


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


Sunday, August 25, 2013

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
 
 

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