Sunday, December 29, 2013

Addicted to Pain


The tattered sign read: VACANT.

A dirty light grasped at the diming rays of intention

And emptiness invited the vagrant

Thoughts of hope & despair to commiserate

 

Upon the loss of worldly enterprise;

Of wealth, of riches and of material possession

For instead, escaping into the flight of blank eyes

Feathered by dullness and veils of  inebriate.

 

 

 The  women in the room are not;

The men in the place can be either; or neither

 A flame that yearns to flee beyond all vanities.

For this sick and ill time leaves its stain and blot.

 

Look at the garish faces peering out the windowed frames-

Their bodies are based on abusing and failing

Of all norms and expectations lost to the endless nights

When reason and sanity take on oddly strange names.

 

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Synecdoche


Bring me the waters that hath me drown

In the seas for all depths

Fly me through the heavens

I fall Out of...    the sky for all heights

 

Come sleep that so alludes me

For nothing...    shall hold me a wake.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Empty Chairs


Empty Chairs



The glimmers of light

filtered in


Through the wooden keepers  

Of the dark shade


While the room’s sense

Grew into lonely cast


And the sturdy chairs skewed

Themselves around the darken floor,


Where once flirty gaiety danced

With the quiet feelings of romance


That is..

Until the music stilled


Bringing the party affair

to end.

  

Laudina and Kurt

November's winds may strain;
The skies may bring rain...

Only on this day we wed
and in the moment we said:

We do - we vowed at sun set
That each new day be met

Joining each dusk unto a dawn
So that our song is an endless refrain.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Skin Deep


The tattoos –

Strange; dark art

to hide scars of necessity

 

The stripes applied

to keep true eyes awake

and pure ears listening

to the room

when the light

is switched to off

 

so that worms

can crawl

into the brain

 

screeching out to the demons

that the fears are real -

only skin deep.
 
 
 
 

 

Monday, October 28, 2013

Emily’s Room


Emily’s Room

 

 
The white garment of length

And feminine genteelness

Was an essence of eeriness

That poised across

The empty room

Then lingered at the paned window

With the pouring white light

The washed upon the casket floor

In cleansing meanings.

 

A white dress that told nothing

Of the secrets held within

Yet, expressed all

In confounding simplicity

Hidden within the opaque frames

Of lines and tense

That propose a solitary heart

To know a lonely presence

And to view its place outside the eye.
 
 
 
 

 

Sunday, October 27, 2013

A Painting of Violence and Virtue

A gentle tension weighed,
in a sharp heaviness,
upon the sword’s blade
severing the ligatures
of domination;
Cutting cleanly
through the ligaments
of exclusion
as the titular reign
falls - beheaded;
the flowing blood
the color of poetic justice.
Stressing less the violence of reason
While heightening the key passions of virtue.






Sunday, October 13, 2013

In Context of Alone


In Context of Alone
 
I alone
Sit by self
To find myself
Alone
In context-
 
To believe or not
To allow ego
Neither face
Or a name
Nor a reason
To be me
Or him
Or subtler mask
Of her-
 
Being a thing
Or a place
Or a time
Unparalleled in space-
 
To understand
To digress
To fluoresce
Into the solitary
Of standing alone-
 
Next to the starry night
Next to the wary fright
Next to the very edge-
 
Where the dark
Is a singular sense
Where the silence
Is company
Where the cadence
Of lone
Man
Pulses with infradian
Circles of poetry
And crossings
Of disarray-
 
Next to the fence
That shields
And exposes
Solitude-
 
As both natural
And abnormal
Position
Of being
Uniquely out
of context.
 
 
 

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Gentle Breeze

 
 
Gentle Breeze
 
 
‘Tis  a clear fall day when the bright sun light
 
Exists without the heat of summer’s lumens
 
And a gentle northern cool breeze
 
Plays upon the aging sense of numens
 
Eulogizing the colors of autumn’s plight
 
While the blades of grasses quiver with ease
 
 
 
Doth this not define mother’s touch to please?
 
 
 

Friday, October 4, 2013

When the Madness Is Poetic

 
 
At the midnight hour
 
When the moon light’s shower
 
Sparks the dreaded cunnings from within the dark illness
 
Lenore’s visage is wrested away from the face of oddness
 
As Prince Prospero feigns a giddiness
 
While the pernicious host lingers to wait upon Fortunato
 
To torment him with his fatal amour to the casted Amontillado
 
Alas! a ghastly evil eye has entered the room in flaunt
 
Appearance of Monsieur Dupin’s and Usher’s time in cursed haunt
 
And devastation upon both innocence and evilness
 
As both live as one face within the poet’s madness.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Homage to Edgar Allan Poe

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Devouring at a Perfect Fifth

 
 
Her scent permeated the air with a heavy musk fragrance

She wore her feelings with fimbriated tension

Youth’s blessings had turned into rags of memories

And misfortune fit upon her frail shoulders as a heavy coat

With patches and re-sewing to repair failings

 

Her outer wears made of old silken scarves

Strung together and tied into knots to hide sensibilities-

The once radiantly bright  deep colors long forgotten

And now hues faded into a collage of grey-

Her slender feet as bare as the trees of winter

 

A thin and wiry figure belied her generous mind;

Her smooth and creamy skin cast with an alabaster color

Her physical beauty had once been invincible and infinite

Though now, more a frozen renaissance painting-

Beautiful but Inaccessible, unattainable and remote

 

She murmured in a husky voice, with a whispered manner-

Her throat tones hinted the timbre of a rich cello

As she breathed each sound out deliberately

And musically in perfect fifth intervals

Slowly; inexorably she mesmerized her prey

 

She devoured the flesh ever so carefully

Not too leave any fiber undigested

Her elongated tongue lapped clean each wound

Her tentacle proboscis absorbed the ruddiness

Thus, leaving nothing but the scent of her presence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Trees of Transitions

Trees live
to explain the nature of falling:
capitulating to nature’s beacon-
succumbing to the colder days-
surrendering to the romance...
 
As change reveals its hidden spectrums
consisting of the warmth, that now is hastened away
from the sun’s summer face.   And in  irony, the cool of the green,
transitions into the warm colors of autumn: red, orange, amber, gold-
 
This, a brief window into spectacular panoramas - Leaving breath in nostalgic cease
 
Before comes the grey skies of November - That bring the soul to a point of purpose
and then, to a remission into the quietness of a long winter
 
While nature restores intention - And prepares for a transition that will bring a new beginning.

 

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Distinctions of Tense



Is it fact

that this came to be

Matter not

if perceived right

 

Is it not

that yesterday entitles history

And that it is a realm

in the tense of past

 

If then a thought finds action now

Its consequence

will be the tense of future

 

And whether it is grotesqueness

or it is elegance

 

Its tense will be relegated to be held in critical judgment

After the fact

 

While the creative motions

Will regain an eternal new expression

Each and every moment

it finds presence In the intentional mind

where creative impulse is given fresh focus

 

And in distinction...

Is it fact that this came to be

Matter not if perceived right