Abysmal dark

deep in dirt their hands
reach down in abysmal dark
the absent color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from the ancients of ancients
who swam in squalor puddles
absorbing into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from steel trunks into choking
lungs, depleted the elemental
that rose from whose hands
reach down in abysmal dark

whose hands have reached
the puddles that remain from
remains settled in silted time
the grime the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
into young arisen of the dirt
where hands still reach into
abysmal dark and cavernous days
the ravenous haze lingers
yet and swirls into the lungs
that turn into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from chariots and trading
caravans and shooting comets
polluting, vomits, gasping
reaching into the abysmal dark

deep in the dirt they gnaw
calcium grinding calcium stones
whose bones pick teeth
and teeter as buried temples
where flesh and blood have
flown into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
for light, for words, for young
arising from the dirt where
hands dig deep into the dark
to forget, to remember, to
turn into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
and rises to fall upon the cold
the older than the old who
no longer remain as remains
within the abysmal dark

Tear the tears away

some days the wind takes her
beyond the technicolor shoes
beyond worlds of rainbows
above the clouds and the blues

some days the wind shakes her
by slamming the door
like it did to her mother and her mother
and their mothers before

but she is a child of the wind
and knows how to find her way
she knows it's worth the fight
and how to tear her tears away

one day the wind will make her
into the song sung from her heart
into the joy and the love
she possessed from the very start

one day the wind will wake her
and she will know she's so much more
like it did for her mother and her mother
and their mothers before

for she is a daughter of the wind
and knows there's a better day
she knows it's so worth the fight
and how to tear her tears away


- for Jaimey

Grains of rain

in the grains of rain,

so temporary and loose,

are captured small worlds

lasting as long as the 

grains of rains remain

moist eyes these wink

collecting the grains of rain

and peer into views above,

around and within what

the grains of rain contain

oceans puddle murky and

still full of the grains of rain

until sun straws dive into

puddled portals to sip

the grains of rain champagne

Cupid these days

found feathers, formerly floating
now fallen, fastened now

a passing kissing fancy
of this, a heart enwrapped fantasy
passing thoughts what could be

cheeks rest on forearms
a titled head with heaven glances
longing wishes of more those chances
at least of beat skipping dances
that linger in dreamy trances

but Cupid carries tasers these days
and is here and gone and rarely stays
to simply stun with a little fun

a tickle, a tease, please,
oh won't you please
instead draw back your bow
and penetrate this heart
with your sharp headed arrow

be done with it and me
in flesh bound satisfactory
let the blood flow down my chest
and in it find your rest

Car candy

multi colored jellybeans zoom
there and back again on streets
of black licorice lanes

and with the jellybeans join
over-sized gumballs and
jawbreaker freighters

dances commence within
the licorice tangled intersections
as red, green and yellow gumdrops
blink and wink and stare

maple syrup drips and drops
with glazing rains in early morn
to sparkle shine the streets
of sweets in later shining day

frosted wafers stand at edge
of licorice lanes to guide the
beans and breakers and balls
along the sweetened streeted lanes

and jelly wheels spin around
to carry each along their way
through maple syrup showers
into sparkling shine of day

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 10

Grass flowers

  

I spy outside my window

a tiny bird simply sitting there

without a worry or a care

so still the little sparrow be

amidst the fallen blades of green

and as I spy so too does he

upon his world of fallen green

the newly turned darkened dirt

wet with rain and freshly sown seed

so strange this moment

I share with the little bird

as we both pause without a word

to simply stop in life's busy hours

and remember the stand of grass flowers

it once ran from fence to fence

and bellowed waves with the winds

and sparkled in the dawning rays

harboring a multitude of residents

the rains spawned fungi spore

as I found tiny mushrooms

and too the many clover blooms

which claimed the land as "ours"

under dancing stems of grass flowers 

the reach tempted me to tarry there

as the tiny bird without a care

and laid me down amidst the stand

to listen close to the grassy prayer 

Jargon jaunting: part 'cept for

ignore who wore
the crowns and scepters

look more to your
own frowning specters

a past in class
of "look-down" receptors

the caste amassed
in surrounding sectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the squalling lector

'cept for...
'cept for...
the call of nectar

implore the cores
of all defectors

restore and shore,
enthrall protectors

deplore the lore
of pol directors

explore, care for,
above all, connectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the gall in vectors

'cept for...
'cept for...
the thrall of scepters

May pull

it stands behind the house

with arms full of green hands

and dances with those winds

that bring the clouds to earth

dance partners they may be

in overcasts and humid shade

both letting go inhibitions

as they flow through each other

the wind releasing wet breath

an essence of stirring kiss

the tree releasing paddled seeds

promises spinning in the breezy sea

in the multitudes they set sail

from the arms full of green hands

to twirl and spin and float and fall

and fill the grass with whirlwind wings

Brain bomb

a ticking brain bomb
tick tick tick...
a mental mine to some

those aching coils
tightened within the skull
beating, throbbing in
time with the ticking bomb

inferno of the boil
fueled by cerebral toil

tick tick tick...
behind brow the bomb

heavy the head
pushing and pulling
grinding the stem
the pestle within the
bowl of the neck

the spinal rod churns
the fuse that burns

crimped and shorted
the white serpent tail
slithering the tether

hissing in pressure
under counting bomb
tick tick tick...