Wet wearing kiss

jagged meandering crevices
jutting through pavement
once permanent, now
another fleeting folly

web of cracks branching,
blue veining alive in
cement slice of cheese

instigating, the liquid
poured and drizzled and
caught and frozen

tapping fingers on oval
puddles, canyons created
by wintry reveling and
late freezing kisses

oval puddles blinking
with each drop, puddles
feeding creeping courses
through concrete cliffs

each drop its duty
to steal away the land's
booty in flooding flows
and out to salty sea

long the lick of earthy
skin for mineral spit
and muddy blood

yet slippery hooks have
will to carry any stones
that sit and tarry

wider and deeper and
more the cracks grow as
pavement yields its youth,
as earthen flesh grows old

Jargon jaunting: part blimey rhyme disease

it starts off with a wheeze
then a repetitious sneeze
next the verse comes in threes

it could have come from split-peas
or an ailment in a fateful breeze
blowing across the inner leas

the cause, one of those mysteries
perhaps contagious slimy lime trees
are the roots of the blimey rhyme disease

of course it might be cheese
or a sudden unexpected freeze
one or a combination of these

a suspicion of infected bees
that stung a meandering sleaze
who then passed it on overseas

from medic journals we'll squeeze
all cases, doctors, and their fees
related with the blimey rhyme disease

not the same virus type for pc's
instead a plague suited for fleas
or lyrical listens written to please

now this may set an unease
causing some to drop to their knees
while others spin into chaotic sprees

patience is needed with this reprise
and dealing with a grimy prime displease
as is this ridiculous blimey rhyme disease

Sandman's whim

in a dream was a choice
a voice of water or of dry

and sands were a still
and constant ocean
of whose waves I
couldn't climb and
depths I would not seek

stoic boulders were
islands in the underground
sea within whose waters
I glimpsed the paths
too distant for my feet

in the choice of water
I was shown a shadowed past

for evening torrents in
clouded gray green winds
cried against a casa blanca
stuccoed with western age
and companion clothesline

but west met east in
Buddhist inflections of
the scene, of the storm,
of the path or choice
laid in terrestrial terms

in the choice of dry
I was cast upon the sands

yet these desert grains
must have seen the rains
for moist were they when
swept away and leveled and
ordered for prayers said

in the murky skies of
the given choice from
this wet or that dry,
I reflected in waking duties
to think, to know little choice
there is between saturated
deserts and thirsty seas

Flickering moments

under surface and
into the deep, now to
seep into everyday days

in flickering moments
when lights tease the living
and stops green to go

feathers fly for
copper colored coins on
a luminous Ouija board

laughing when it hurts
to remember from
July through November

who touches leaping
heartbeats, who awakes
the flesh when near

in the still never known
in flesh, whispering tones
to catch a glance of

adjacent to the beauty
left, hasten the tears
falling in tissue basin

journey, stories written
savor,  memories printed
depart, love ascended



 

Pasture dragons

wavy tentacles reaching
out of Hades depths
hugging the earth in a
crown of thorns when
winter has its way

crown ascends to
royal purple in spiky
powder puffs where
stinging bees drink
as much as they please

silvery adulterated
emerald flesh laden
in silky hairs a spider
must have spun unseen

obscene a torturous
structure of spines
in slight windy twist
a flailing of damned
arms, legs, and tongues

earthbound dragon
with ravenous appetite
of blood for those
who pass by too closely

gnarled thorny
lizard who sends its
spawn in a breezy yawn
with tiny wings it
only dreamed of

Jargon jaunting: part possibili-pea

simply dressed seed
in botanical tweed
signifying its breed
and herbaceous creed

be it a tiny creeper
a run-about peeper
a high-stepping leaper
or a stand-alone weeper

then perhaps a giant
much too tall and defiant
becoming tipsy and reliant
on yet another giant

whatever it might be
it's surely a possibili-pea
when a gardener on knee
takes to the earth a plea

this of course after the snow
and when south winds blow
does the gardener till the dough
in hope that a plant might grow

so it's rather simple to see
any size from teeny to lofty tree
can come from gardening glee
when planting a possibili-pea

The lilac now left behind

only down forgotten roads
this floral sentinel will find
overgrown grassy yard and
the lilac now left behind

absent windows in stone
open to the passing of time
a home still fenced in by
the lilac now left behind

Henry's bushels of wheat
and Anna's mulberry wine
sold to purchase what is
the lilac now left behind

young hands took blooms
for MayDay baskets to line
yearly harvested from
the lilac now left behind

weary lives led to know
how love is truly defined
lives still blooming in
the lilac now left behind

generations have come and
gone abandoning their kind
for memorial it remains
the lilac now left behind

Fallow fellow

a wind in the mouth
of a grinning field
rolling around the
old man's lips, smoke
spiraling down draws

teeth have already
chewed the crust
so that other smaller
teeth may chew
another baked crust

no crust be made
though if those grays
and whites won't
let loose the reigns
and roll out the dough

dough of the wiggles
that nibble the crust
making sure crusted
hands' work don't go
bust later in the dust

that wind rolls round
on chewed up crust
a field steaming in
mornings full of
wishing, wanting, lust

Trees seven

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees

oddly the alder with damp feet
catkins sweet to stirring bees
short marsh trees that do all
but bleed when met with blade
their white wood red betrayed
for Bran's robes they don
as purple crows royal as swan
in fair-maiden kin the birch's twin

apple fruits long the pursuits
of fae and men and serpent sin
to bear the soul to lead the way
to mark lover's grave on rainy day
and feed for full a month or more
yet crave for the fairy adore
in older tongue twas uball or afal
save one in the tree for the man of apple

better you than me to bless the
yew tree and guess what we'll see
in midnight roads croaking of toads
and stools neigh sleep, the roots do creep
of immortal arms and limbs to
measure mortal men's masks or whims

of a divination clash, a Wednesday
for the ash too sacred to slash
with axe's blade dared not to swing
with thorn and oak it was triad king
and two of a kind be the berried to find
then fend off the fae with flowers of May
yet seed pods have found keys to fairy mound

hazel as alder and elder you'll see
not a mighty towering tree, yet it may be
the tree of life and nut of the wise
all be this in a dwarf shrubbery guise
to divine water forked hazels will totter
too, sacred to the poet, aye don't I know it

thus the elder as well, no great height to tell
but many times rich it be the form of a witch
and laden with sweet blooms and berries
if growing alone more than likely the fairies'

the last tree to invoke of course is the oak
a mighty spoke in the turning wheel of life
its flowers helped create a warrior's wife
Daron's devotees under oaks aimed to please
and mistletoe and two white bulls were slain
in its presence for fertile ground and rain
the fairy folks love old oaks, ash and thorn the three

on the isles of Celtic seas the seven sacred trees

The knave

promise of fruits
in swollen stem tips
promise spoken from
twitching blue lips

kisses from bitches
dressed in lacy white
who can't stay within
their Decembering night

yet a knight's needed
to slay the frigid stay
stab and jab and draw
the blinds of a warm day

but only can be found
a barking dog of a knave
to take from the people
what is sure as the grave

different is the green
the knave searches for
far from what grows
on the shaded forest floor

still a different green's
found within the knave's eyes
the same of the dead
ruled by the lord of flies

lives lavish the knave
with trees of hollow trunks
in company of either or
drunks or monks or skunks

for this forest, these trees
gnarl and twist to please
but blossom with toxins
to obliterate working bees

promise of fruits hidden
within the sticky ends
promise frozen burnt
by the knave and his friends