Elegy to Lazer Princess

Elegy to Lazer Princess

Who am I

What am I

Why am I

Who was I

My words were of no use

Different is the label

I wore

Yet, I was the same

To myself

You expected change

When change was already

In front of you

You could not

You would not

See me -

See the unicorn

That I always had been

I choose to walk away

To find another way

To be just me

Now all unicorns whisper

Look who has arrived

A prince who is a princess-

A princess who is a prince-

Does not really matter...

http://lazer-princess.tumblr.com/

Noise of Silence

Tell me what thing

is the untruth

so that I might know

which question is true

is the blue in the sky

and a single sun

a way to measure presence

or is the infinite blackness

of the night

with countless stars

whispering their secrets

of an origin

the way of an eternal mind

is the heat of the moment

merely a burst

of creation

or is the boundless cold

of infinity

the one and only meaning

is the noise

of the senses

“the experience”

and “the purpose”

or does silence

own the only say

in the end

if one should be not there

today nor tomorrow

will then one exist

forever in the past tense

if you remember

my eyes today

will we see each other

in the tomorrow

is gain or loss

the only reason

are life and death

the only state

or is there some other way

of being

is truth in the dark

different then the truth

in the light

if, one cannot see.

Glint of Perceptions

Glint of Perceptions

out in the deep spaces

exists vast oceans

of nothingness

where she rules her realm

of darkness

with a cold dispassion

while her sun,

positioned in a gravitational

point of context,

redeems presence of mind

with a glint of light

that transcends perception

Losing Days

Losing Days

In the late of December, when days fall short and cede their fragile hold of the blue in the sky, waits the long hard winter as her pressing gowns of clouds surround the fleeting moments that feed

into the night making for beautiful silhouettes of darkness...

En El Río de la Música

En El Río de la Música

Flying chevrons position across the broadening sky;

Scattered markings center and circle

Gathering to pursue warmer horizons

As the day’s length relents its place

And a sentimental heart steadies for the long farewell

The waves of uncertainty cannot foretell

Whether the ships of fortune might sink or rise

Above the whims of misfortune

One can hear only the songs of the rivers

Playing upon seas of time and on the long good bye.

En el río de la música no hay forma

Breezes of Nuance

Breezes of Nuance

There were whispers calling at the edge

Asking questions about the moment

That was disappearing unto the walls.

What is there to say to a room that calls

Away the light of reason into a torment

And urges to step closer to the ledge

Where the spaces between past and present wedge

Upon the mind’s natural flow

Appalling the eyes to see unfamiliar stays;

Believing that windows and doors are ways

From where memories move to and fro

Like breezes of nuance moving across the field’s sedge

And with each empty grasp the heart sighs

At the glooming of the light;

Seeking the peaceful touch of night.

For tomorrow blue skies

Will stand in solemn expanse and height

As the line of black birds fly away from sight.

What moved me away to the edge -

Will I understand what it meant

To come to be where a sinner falls.

Run Climb and Fall

The fire ambers wasted away in the darkness

Of the punishing room  - emptying the night’s mares

Out the window in a chase for a new day fluoresce

The mountain’s brawn forming stairs

To run and run seeking the morning’s cool caress.

There’s something magical in the air

When the old night sheds away the covers of blindness

And dawn’s naked vagaries hint of bare

Silhouettes, with the flowing hair,

Fleeing across to the distant kindness.

Eyes are closed in fear however, they can see

The end at the long edge of time

And heaven from a mountain’s climb

     One must eventually fall unto the sea

Where air and water chime as internal rhyme.

  

For Emily - Rose Stones

Rose Stones

These rose stones

to keep near your heart

hold them close for their tones

are in strands of healing art

as the vows that we’d never be apart.

“These thirty-four years

have been lovely and deep

we made our promises to keep

and we have many more

days to go before we sleep ..."***

***lines

Robert Frost "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"

Breathe

Breathe

Holding your breath

While at the ledge

Where there is doubt

The questions grow ponderous

Like fantastical gargoyles

With heavy and immotile wings

Sitting in flightless posture

Peering down into the nothingness

Seeking the grounded notions of where

Waiting time’s slice of when

While the immenseness of the open air

Offers answers in the friction of flight

Where stone wings will turn into feathers

Una escala para cada ala’

Now,  breathe and let fly...

Outside the Window Inside

Outside the window there is fury;

The oaks torturing at their root

While their flailing branches brush strokes across the sky

Into a miasma of grays, blacks, yellows and reds -

The wind's low murmur interrupted by thunderous drum rolls

While white flashes illuminate the fear that blinds

The virtuous and the sinful alike.

Inside the window there is all to see

And yet, the blind brute

Stumbles around groping at the why

Of his naked sense that covets the cloth threads-

He doesn't understand the audience of souls

Who are witnessing the fuse of external and internal winds

Of a mind that blinks open and close with each strike.

Crossing Paths at the Twenty Line

Crossing Paths at the Twenty Line

She held the white tea cup up close

so to treasure the warmth of the moment

as cleansing wisps of steam

gathered around her youthful face

featuring the prospects of promise

and framing passions of anticipation.

It was a cold day in November

Waiting at the twenty line

And holding on to remember.

His uncertain hands grasped at fate and froze

at winter’s turbulent call of torment

as both curses and prayers are in a scream;

his weathered face strained and lined with grace

his eyes seeing calmness

the way here; the way there; the unknown a linear equation.

It was a cold day in November

Waiting at the twenty line

And holding on to remember.

Crossing paths at the twenty line

Number nine - number nine – number nine

Blink

Blink

The blinks alerted that there is extreme

Storms abounding the surface of Uranus

The image a very puzzling dream

And this is certain to become ruinous.

The currents moved life along the rivers

The depths are a murky mirror

Mad ideas pierced the mind breaking into slivers

And equanimity certain to become less nearer.

The twinkling moments across the walls

Come and pass as the days; circles in turn

Whether thoughts are lucid appalls

As even the sane universe is in churn.

Arriving in November to Leave

The skies have long taken on a sad grayness

hence, the colours of autumn have turned to a drabness

and, the crisp air brings a chill that provokes the skin

awake to a heightened level of awareness.

One must walk the paths away and within

with more expedient steps as the candlelight flickers.

Noting that a sense of containment may forgo all past sin

one must still account for all that is and that may have been.

Whilst the bear may sleep away in the cave’s wickers

the sparrows nonetheless must work with a quicken beat

as winter’s grip will neither forgive nor forget the frail and the sicker;

stoke up the cinders and log the fireplace so to warm the cider liquor

For if, thy name is called, be it to a heaven’s seat

Or be it to an eternal torment laid upon an inferno’s bed,

One must relinquish to a sense of being; a celebration in total replete

As November’s melancholies are driven ghosts chased in retreat.

Marines

Marines are gathering in formation

uniforms as crisp as the morning air

eyes focused with absolute resolve

squared shoulders are broad to carry a country

yet,  gentle enough to hold an infant’s hand.

They march as one and stand alone

and with military snap – a salute

as the bugle calls back the souls

at the perimeters of threat

standing their diligent watch

on the line

on edge

on the ledge

because there is the 239

years of pledge:

“Semper Fi”.

Bluer Than...

Somehow, the skies seem bluer than blue

in these short long days

I am not certain how this can be true -

Wrestling with thoughts that plunge into infinite stays

then again, the horizons seem greyer than grey.

In this time of free falling

while waiting the night’s wrawling

to cease echoing in the ear’s hollows

until precious sleep slowly swallows

all reality and churns it over into a hole of insane dreams;

turning and turning while the caged bird screams

Awake all of heaven into a rage

somehow, the old acquaintance

seems to want to take a younger age -

Of a youth I can barely paint into words that make any rhyme

nor think about any longer - without losing even more time.  

Beside the Hollow

A lilting voice rhymed an augury in a message:

“This train will soon depart unto the edge

what you bring - is what will save you in this final passage”.

And thus, I left behind all that was beside

myself; the point in truth’s dredge

for even with blessing’s light I may fall over the ledge -

As time’s face faded into the darkness; vanishing

unto the hollows of the presage.

Beside the Point

The train cars were full yet the benches were hollow

 all eyes could be seen yet again they had become blind

and at the station stop the only sign read: FOLLOW.

Outside all references pointed to vanishing

minds of sentiment, that once twined

together into the lives of a kind –

The sixtieth second fell upon a dead reckoning

Seeking the origin fires that will swallow.

Beside Myself

The train was late by fifty nine seconds

however, the commuters arrived at same time

as the old clock tower’s hands beckon

me to find a seat beside myself;

the route ahead will be deranged in rhyme

with a destiny that sinks and climbs -

though there is quiet waiting

at next the station stop of RECKON.

Waiting Motion

Waiting Motion

If there is no beginnings to remember

And, if there is no endings to cherish

Is there then a waiting in motion -

If dreams linger on to a long perish

Then the ticket one holds is paid for with emotion

As the train’s cars move on in locomotion

Past, present and future cars traveling in terms of relative

While the waiting motion anticipates movement

To a begin or to an end;  there is no real difference

The carousel specters stare into their circular torment

As the poignancy of the moment

Ceases to contain the revolving impermanence

No hay color en esperando

Acción es negro o es blanco

Live the spectrum at the brink; hold still the moment; wait for tilting point

And then, leap unto the nothingness where dark offers spark of light

As the unknowns may become fateful or may become a delight

Wait for it; wait for it; wait for it.... dazzling.