Saturday, July 26, 2014

In the rain

words on a page
smolder red in a rage
and flicker in the
pouring...

rain was the way
we danced in that day
and trickled down the
flowing sea

it was you and me
and nothing but the...
clouds, cried aloud
from their lofty prison cells
gray was the day
in deafening thunder
and clouds unbecoming themselves

red on a bird
flew away with a word
and shuttered in the
freezing...

pain was to stay
to dance another day
and utter just a
bleeding lie

no more you and I
and nothing but the...
clouds, cried aloud
from their aching tortured hells
betray another day
in deafening thunder
and clouds unbecoming themselves





Saturday, July 19, 2014

Orange glazed horizons

awaken the eyes
the rise from slumber
to a burning soul
in orange glazed horizons

still the tassels twirl
in sweeping swirls of
pollen-laced clouds
by sleepless breezes

these, the breezes
keep green dance partners
from rest at peace
least at this hour

in flower, the cosmos
with blended golden
azure ripples in unfolding
petals of the day

lace makers of foliage
yawn in this orange dawn
with grinning green teeth
and v hind legs

their cousin man
no longer shares their
emerald smile, after all
it's been awhile

since their fingers plucked
a leaf or two to sit and chew
and have their fill
of raw in state chlorophyll

now when man beams
from ear to profit dreams
the last tooth is blue from
time spent smoking the sky

no need for those teeth of
green, they have been wean
to sip on numerical words
and liquid earthen blood

and awaken their eyes
the rise from slumber
to a burning soul
in orange-glazed horizons




Saturday, July 12, 2014

Portrait of a Poppy








Knowing up from up

what keeps the water in the land
to hold its drops from dripping up
and raining down into the sky

for eyes of you or even mine
are looking up into the blue
yet looking down from another view

our magnet soles cling to the land
when into the nightly abyss our
gaze pours down into the sky

for lies anew or even of old
are spilled into the cosmos
and retold for every directional cue






Saturday, July 5, 2014

Canvasing

timid hairs rise on the arm
on the extended hand
of the brush laced with thickened hue
pouring pain and pleasure both
in each and every stroke

that strokes the tightened skin
stretched to never move again

but move it does
in twisted calico contours
that tunnel through a neighbor's brain
in stark chilling structures
seeded in tearful black rain

rain that spatters
and tatters purest of white
the naked flesh of the mirror
flashing pieces of soul...

whole, diced, sewn up and spliced

mindful blind eyes look
into the twin,
the skin enveloping the frame
the same of a different name
whose will will never tame

for wild throats scream
across the spectrum of light
screams that resonate colors
of the passing moonlit night
echoing in fractured streams
in blended realistic dreams

where moths are released from the heart
then explode before us to impart
in a new creation, in something called art




Sunday, June 29, 2014

Woven

will has woven blades of grass
and white aloft in astral fields
what surrender has puddled
from shattered slicing notions

the woven lines once
stood in distant island groves
where within boyhood ponders
lurked among the misty morns

yet rises sol in solar planes
and morns weep for death of night
in dewy tears that ascend
to white aloft in astral fields

those standing lines bowed
for surrender of soul to scythe
the cutting blade releasing
time stored in youthful fears

and rooted lines laid low
to gather for life's bundled shock
in rootless pursuits of the
now fruitless distant island groves

woven what will has tailored to
pooling surrender from a vein or few
the past portions gobbled up from view
what could have been ensues




Sunday, June 22, 2014

In earth

what makes the earth
what earth has built and sown
and fed and named its own

for feeding threads
who have weaved the past
atop their grandfathers' fields
who have weaved the past
what their history yields

and wields the earth
a scythe and gnashing teeth
to reap and eat the old
in chasms deep beneath

so floats the former
in effervescent seltzer seas
where gummy worms meld
in bird-built grassy bowls
congeals the felled

in stone and trunks
that wandered green grass hills
the dead put them in their place
when an empty grave fills

thus earth is made
when sacrificed are the things
that succumb to their dreams




Saturday, May 24, 2014

Wet dry pact

tempest tears
ten blessed dreary days

my cracked skin
dry fracked thinning maze
a web of veiny raise
a bowl for rainy days

days to dance in wet
praise for dewy debt

in supple falling splash
down-pouring thrash

lap and lick your groove
in cool clear liquid move


wind dressed years
thin pressed eerie haze

high stacked sin
sky-tract spinning phase
of burning heat release
of fire and of grease

days drawn to turn
nights linger and burn

bodies fall and wilt
in time to form the silt

crushed, scattered, thrown
in the stars their sown


Saturday, May 17, 2014

Jargon jaunting: part forest

A forest tour it is, and a tourist you may be
but have ever you thought about what is a tree?

for there are many many kinds
and still more many many finds
to what makes up a genuine.....tree

for N-stance, if you found a trunk
and heard its bark rather eloquently
words beginning with letter fourteen
theN for sure you found an N-tree

touche I say, out on the flat plains
where very few things grow, you see
you can feel its presence, often cold
what do you expect from a blowing Win-tree

yet here in the kitchen cupboard or
there hanging upon the red chimney
is it a copper bottom shrub or a
cast iron bush? No, it's simply a Pan-tree

this one here can walk about
whether it moves too fast or slowly
nonetheless it likes baked goods
yep, you guessed it, it's a Pace-tree

many times this one is confused
with one whose bark is quite spicy
though this one is the same
from the middle, behold the Symme-tree

a very tempting tree is this
synonymous with a western city
however it stands guard of its
assigned charge being that it's a Sen-tree

this one's a lush, no doubting it
from the goofy grin and acting silly
indeed it was to be well bred and
uppity, but alas it's just a Gen-tree

these two are, if trees can be twins
the older known as an Ancien-tree
and from roots to hopefully forking
branches, the younger one is an Ances-tree

don't mind the squawking balk or
constant talk from this last one, finally
for little is known of the feathered
fiend 'cept for its name, a Pull-tree

so at the tour's end, I hope you see my friend
though I may linguistically condescend
beyond the bark and leaves there's much more to see
Huh? Why no, I didn't even want to mention this Poa-tree





Thursday, May 15, 2014

lingers Luna

she hung in the western sky
a remnant of her former glory
in pale array and bleached
when faced with her ignition

very nearly a mirage out
on the hemisphere where
what's old wanders off to

she too had wandered there
in the time when lights pass
between wake and sleep and
rusty skies and cracked open eyes

in the receding silence and
pooling hum of morning
she sank into her enormity

moments left to catch the
eyes of early risers and
dreams for delayed slumber
of others and of herself

dreams of nightly reign as
goddess aglow still brighter
across the glitter of snow

clinging to memories of
revelries danced beneath
her beaming arc, the wishes,
the hope, the light in the dark