Social Media and Literary Dalliance

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Words.
Those damned words.
They pour through me like
grains of sand
from the womb of the writers mind
to the readers heart…
and the hourglass
is turned again.
Another hour passes
With the passing hand.
Wee hours spent in the safe place
Of our own unconsciousness
But then I read, you write
to a stranger at night
and linger somewhere
along the spectrum of danger
of voyeur to vicarious empath.
I’m no deviant,
but there is something safe,
serenely satisfying,
in creative written exchanges
of anonymity between we sages.
We learn to hold so deeply
that people are how we imagine them to be,
that we find anything beyond that futility.
It’s absurd to share a soliloquy
but I just did.

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story of you (auto-writing on the tracks)

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

 

The story of you is mentioned in
A polished mirror
My story is the collision of what I say and what you hear
My expanding wasteline is filled with regrets
And fallen rose petals

I am just words. Poorly wrapped
with a brain as a bow. It falls off

as my story smears behind me
In blood stains from open wounds

from many of life’s steel shaft arrows
And ricochet of plans gone awry.

Dragged, a jumping bean, I’m peeled
On a string tied to the back of banana seat

Life stays two paces ahead of me
And I followed close on it’s diamond heels

A zero sum game
With wins and loss of the same

It took two fools to end a courtship,
A barrister or a softer pair of lips

From each window of the M1 northbound
Life’s pageantry of dreams from the incubus

Passing by, stop by stop
Wondering, Which one’s mine
where do I get off
when does this sentence end.

When does life stop taking tiny sips

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The Phoenix

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com
I remember being so madly in love.
I look into the images of the past and I realize
that we can never go back.
Loving someone so deeply – dislodges and slips away
into heaven by the divine inhale.
We turn love from copper
to fiery blinding gold and then –
it is to be returned.
Love is God’s alchemy; a consuming fire
delivered to lovers in the illuminated mist of Gods breath.
And from this,
we are rendered to ashes which
dissipate into the breezes of remembrance.In my years, what’s left of me eddies in the dust devils
which dance at dusk. I admire
the pressed lips of sea and land on these soft, swelled sand dunes…
envious of their kiss –
which hers and mine once rivaled.

Our days are one of precious memories…and
bits of drama in the making…
sewn seeds of tenderness. There is a self-disclosure here,
that once we love the human out of each other,
what remains is pure spirit.
We become bone dry and quenched all the same.

Oh lament, the sun settles
from golden gaiety to smoke gray.
And all creatures seen dormant…repose.

Then in a gesture of compassion,
curious with the darkness,
morning slowly peaks over the horizon
with its thin arc of clarity.

So stirs the dawn. The quest
is to blow gently into the ashes,
to see what ember within you still glows…
therein lies your Phoenix.
Your fire bird.

Look into your own ruins
for your true love.

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Protected: Please Listen My Erudite Heart

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

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Flipping back through pages of my life

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Flipping back through pages of my life
To reminisce over the events from which I’m forged
I fill with bittersweet melancholy.
For a familiar, yet distant place.

Cradled in recollecting hands
A compendium of still flowing tear-laced memories,
distant sounds of laughter
the warmth of gentle smiles.

In such lightness I wonder
What’s become of my days
And 
the fleeting moments
which moved the hands of time.

What purpose have I fulfilled
Through the 
lives have I touched?

Other times my strength withers
Under the dense weight of my anthology.
I toil with the content of lessons,
though at times daunting and unbearable.

The pages of our lives can turn like lead
And we struggle through the stories told
Rather than the scripts of pages to come.

The once molten lava of catastrophe and coincidence
Have solidified into obsidian
with sharp serrated edges and conchoidal fractures.

Page by page, we climb over them,
under them, 
through them…
Page by page they tear at our flesh,
But the story remains the same

With the ballast of the past tied to our feet,
We swim to shore
Sinking more deeply the closer we get
Before drowning below of the surface
Of that last page of darkness.

Let it burn, let all those pages
Burn and be blown on as
Wind swept ashes of the past.

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Entered a Dervish

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

alone.pgHer hearts smoke rose
from doused flames of love
wisps entwined with her obsidian tresses
interwoven with gray and a long journey’s dust

From the door she entered, went
A whirling dervish whose time was spent
Amidst a rose whose petals red
Was just her reflection iridescent

Two lovers met at karmic juncture
their purpose remained unknown to the other
At the peak of their love, these beloved friends
were called home by their Master,
and whirled to their end.

 

 

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Where my Beloved Waits

Posted on June 5, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

scuffersOh you pavement scuffers, ceiling crawlers
Why not walls of wheat and woodland?
Jump the railcar wayfarers…
What of floors of flower and dirt.
You’re plodding through the pate
When you should be dancing through dharma,
reveling from the root.
There’s a gypsy who never slumbers
Even when she sleeps.
There’s a field walker, a vagabond,
who fills his rusty tin cup with rasa
sprung from the fountain that flows in her dreams.
They drink an amber world, and wipe flames
From their lips…
The wheat is razed to the soil line, and below
I’ve wandered into oblivion,
Where my beloved waits.
Fanaa. Fanaa. Fanaa.

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Abandon Everything

Posted on May 28, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

My angels,
dark and light,
come out by dawn or dusk,
under cover of night.

Carrying torches when the body’s cold,
palm leaves for shade
In the hearts abode
not a brick is laid…

to reinforce high walls
where I’ve torn them down
who ascends from earth to empyrean
trading his burden pound for pound?

Abandon everything
that belongs below ground
My love has no handles
Your love has no hands
Raise your voice,
without making a sound.

The chill behind you
That shudders your chest
Is but the air that you breathe
So why not take a breath.

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Dreamt you wrote a poem

Posted on May 28, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

is-she-real

I dreamt you wrote a poem
and I read it in my sleep;
I woke in low light to find it true,
it shone my eyes, every word of you
My arms too, have become my wings.

You do this to me,
I do this to you…
We are twinning spirals helix
Birds in flight, we two

Once a heart is unlocked from it’s belief
That it was ever in a cage,
it sees the cage a doorless home
and can forever fly away…
it can soar in dreams by night
and return to perch by day.

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25wtT (part 2)

Posted on May 2, 2015 by skipavm@gmail.com

Out to the continents edge, expecting
answers by journey’s end…
we stand on wave-washed driftwood, perplexed…
and the mind lets go where the heart begins.

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