Songs of Lorelei

 

 

 

 

 

The Songs Of Lorelei

 

 

Just beyond the dim at the edge of the woods

it waits...

pacing within the standing shadows

the beast seems to expand upon its own sense

growing stronger

more certain that it will prevail

not by rending limbs from torso

nor by consuming pathos -

it merely waits with stillness.

 

 

Lorelei’s mesmerizing arias

 augur fate

alluring the heart to its silencing end

while voices of chaos exude an ominous presence

that spreads through every cell and fiber

and thus, the beast becomes one with thought

as it draws away all reason and tilts balance

with irresistible dance steps towards oblivion

leaving only the wailings of an inharmonious fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

Belonging

 

 

 

 

 

Rasputin’s breath is at the door

As death stares through the window  

The floor’s planks creak out the secrets

Telling of a stair’s plight in the mid of night

A shaman paces up to the watchtower

And the faces of the children turn dour

For the bell clanks out – there is no belonging

In this - the blood moon season of longing;

Run scion of the shade for the fulcrum slips

Tilting the kinder waters into raging seas

That sever saner floors into coursing pleas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spider on the Wall

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting on the corner of nowhere and someplace

a poet spider spins webs across a bridging wall

these intended to enrapture with adhering enthrall

its spinneret a plume pen crafting a cob’s face

filled with silken lines; woven into intricate designs

so to define the fine filament’s purpose – ending lines

to be found in the spiral orbs where an unsuspecting word

might wonder by or perhaps, a passing thought caught in the absurd.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rainy Days

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rainy Days

 

 

Rainy days make him not right

 

clouded skies are opaqueness of light

 

the muddled mind is ceased and bemused

 

in languid waters where sinks the red canoes

 

into depths where writing has drowned - from sight;

 

the last few bubbles rising to the surface in verse

 

reflecting a presence of the obverse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Weathering Mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

Partly sunny with creeping clouds

 

and a disappearing sun afore the overcast

 

otherwise, no sunlight ‘til the foreseeable

 

future's face becomes one with aghast.

 

 

 

Take refuge under the covers before the darkness

 

as all black and white scenes will dissolve into gray

 

resist mirrors as they reflect faces - blank with madness

 

while screams of silence project that storms may stay.

 

 

 

 

Deteriorating conditions may bring about dysthymic moods

 

that pulse along the darkening horizon’s edge

 

expect possibilities of deep periods in oceans of depression;

 

watch for an albatross that sinks ships beyond all dredge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waltzing in the Sanctuary

There is nowhere to hide

 

There is no place to go

 

There is no one you can know

 

There is only the wrong side

 

Where prejudice and ignorance coincide

this place of darkness

 

It is not a sanctuary

this face of starkness

 

It is - the knot in the mortuary

that keeps eyes tied.

 

 “Lovely to see you my ruse” said prejudice 

“Do you want to dance again” replied ignorance

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dwindling Down the Slope

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dwindling Down the Slope

 

 

You do not scare me anymore

 

As I’ve seen you many times before

 

Passing through my bedroom walls

 

Sitting there in your shadowy palls

 

Along the edges of my lessened mind

 

Picking apart at the diaphanous blind

 

That keeps this trivial room hazy and without light

 

And the dwindling dark corners away from my sight.

 

 

 

I know not where I am in the endless night

 

Nor if or where I lost my shinning knight

 

If he were here tonight he certainly would say

 

Sweet darling - I am back now and here to stay

 

Hold my hand - I won’t leave you again until the temple crumbles

 

And so - we will be free again to jump and make tumbles

 

Down the long snowy mountain slopes to the endless paradise

 

We knew once when we both were very young to arise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Space Has a Place

What place in there in my space

is there a space where I can leave a place

 

come over to my place

and I’ll give you some space

 

once one exits the known atmosphere

does gravity keep back all the unknown fear

 

since space is mostly of no thing

then if one enters there - will then one become nothing

 

if these thoughts were placed tightly together in a bookcase

then would there still be a way to allow for more space

 

if space is a singular face to bear

then does that make it a place where all is bare

 

if words can never be in delete

then how is it that nothingness - is absolutely complete

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Virginia’s Lover

Virginia’s eyes searched the horizon’s darkening line

As she walked along the shore’s silvery edge

Stepping along carefully - methodically as if at life’s ledge

While the ocean’s thunderous waves pounded out time’s keep

And she synched each her breath to mother’s metronome;

Virginia recited Poe’s Annabel Lee poem

 

The moon darting in and out behind the brigantines; leaving her in the dark alone

To ponder the coldness of the waters below - down deep

Where her lungs fill with the sea’s blood and she tastes the brine

While imagining the dimming lights above in a magnificent view

As Virginia is slowly embraced by a lover she knew

Would keep her secrets without fault or rue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken

 

 

 

Billy is broken more than one can see

with nine sides – each cut into faceless

opposites contorted into lines that entwined

the oddities and the natures of each in a misaligned

narcissistic relationship and with voices of contradicting plea

 

There is Billie, the banshee, whose wailings warn that death nears;

Wiley, the fabricator, has the imagination of Aesop

And tells stories that are necessary to veil the illusionary family;

Willy’s vanity consoles the torments of anomie;

Willis, the abnegator, denies the chimera’s many fears;

 

Wills, the politician, construes the rules of empathy;

Wilson, the eldest of them absorbs all their sins;

while Willie, the youngest, is the sentimental mind

and then, there is William - treacherously unkind

with severe eyes that burn away any sympathy

 

The nine odd lines transect  at the center of the self circle

In entangled trapeze bars sitting at feigned projection points

With each pair of the nine parallel chains consigned to strain at rage

Against each other and yet, each is compromised to exist in one cage

Entrapped by the mirror of Narcissus and the spectre of Virgil.

 

 

“For trust not him that hath once broken faith” -William Shakespeare

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Desolation Served at Seven

 

 

 

 

 

Desolation Served at Seven

 

It is always in the eyes - that is the tell;

there is the callow innocence expressing joy

or the stale darkened blank stare from hell

perhaps, averting eyes darting between purposeful ploy

then again, there are eyes that are desirous and cunning

tracking and playing off a heart that is coveting

 

Harry, had neither of these looks today as he waited

in a languished posture by the exit of his tortured life

as patrons of the house with course of seven sated

brushed by him without noticing he was rife

with remorse and weighted by mental exhaustion

given that his soul was listed on the menu as “done in Faustian”

 

The moniker, Harry, was perfect for such was he - a common man;

that he once owned the streets of the dancing double crosses

where truth was merely a matter of setting a profit plan

was of little note now that the gold leaf buildings were total losses

consumed by the greed and avarice that poured like fine wine

to fill the stemmed glasses with wantonness and to toast the lusted shrine

 

“Hello Harry, it is good to see you after all these years

where have you been – what happened to you – why”

There could have been many reasons with stories full of tears

but, Harry never did explain his turn in place nor did he cry

only that he now lived where desolation was served at seven

and drinks followed into the night before the closing of heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divergence

Waking from the stupor of a primordial mind

the formless non-identifying self winced in pain

for a pregnant thought was forming in a creature’s brain

 thus, nature would cease to reign

for the self was becoming a presence of a kind

 

These thoughts would exponentially expand

into a matrix of ideas that burst into sounds

of meaningless squeaks and grunts like pigs and hounds

faces contorted by the strange new fears and astounds

as voices arose from their throats to speak opinions of new land

 

Where the self is like and the unlike is not oneself

and divergence takes a different course

from that of the conforms in holy books and doctrines enforce

used by priests, lords and politicians to claim divine source

over the kingdom of flora, fauna, giant beast and lowly elf

 

There is an oddity to behold and a strangeness in the air

words flocking into thoughts that speak of a different way

a growth by separation, distinction from the masses stay;

a convergence back into universal silence - ingress to the formless day

where music and poetry shall return, not in death, but in silent prayer.