Abandoned by Youth to Silence

There are those with whom
We are only meant to share
Silence.
He, a single bead of dew,
Aged well, yet threadbare.

Clung to the cat tongue edge of a
Green blade of grass.
She, a daughter among the olive trees
The olive in her palm
cured by the bottom of his glass.

We are all to become done
And what’s done
Is done, but
its purpose
has not passed.

Each a hair
Fell from the head
’tis silence falling
that wakes one from dreams,
instead.

These men “gone missing
From lost souls
Kissing”
Have been found
By authorities,

Beckoned from behind the veil
So they came along
Quietly, quietly
Love thirsting, flesh
and frail.

“Your soul is but a diamonds shine”
Smiled the sage,
“Abandoned by youth,
lost in dunes
And found
In the sands by age.”

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Posted in Poems Beyond Their Words, poetry | 1 Comment

Come Hither

Silence blossoms
While mere words wither
In empty spaces, echoes,
Calling,
“beloved, come hither”

A flower knows not
for whom its petals shown
Yet its fragrance
seems so personal
As if meant for me alone.

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Trifles Past Lips

Banter is but trifle…as anything less
than the sound of wind through wings;
all else is just breath past lips
to raise nothing more than a fading voice
to a wanting ear.

 

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We Are

candle1
We are the flame that consumes the wick,
we are the wick that burns down the column of wax,
we are the encasement of wax that melts from around the wick…
all these we are,
thus giving the “candle of being”
it’s cadence, it’s heat, and it’s brilliance,
from struck match to flame out to last drift of smoke…
beyond that,
is more than what we are.

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Bed bound and solitudinous

Bed bound and solitudenous
Out beyond the edge of reason,
beyond where my senses can claim
I cannot sleep or wake…
nor dream.
A state of insouciant stillness.
Bereft of unnecessary memories.
I am not loved,
I do not love
in ways I can any longer understand.
Stark states of stalemate,
Melpomene and Thalia
hunched over game pieces,
of a drunken heart
lamenting all a sober mind must reason.
When liquid gold and golden light
take to loving,
we as humans, are no match.
Either of these elixirs
in their limpidness,
Bronzes our throat,
smothers our breath,
consumes our vision.
Lingering on the last
still drift of sulphur, struck…
My flickering writhe
is a lambent match flame
Leaning in
to kiss a wild bonfire.

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The Romance of Artist and Muse

She is a tress of hair out of place,
combed in slow sweeps from my forehead.
I thought her an enigma to perchance unravel
by the press of well-paired lips
or by a mind besotted with moon glow
and Grenache wine;
one wicked with wisdom.

Saccharine words stirred into woody coffee,
I, Whitman, imagine her
the chill of Robert Frost
clung like sugar grains to my Leaves of Grass.

Almandine eyes of the nine Mousai
revved up by unbridled inventiveness…
I twinge too much to hold it inside,
she triumphs beyond the rim of her vessel,
so our ache and exultation
steal past the musing sentinel of apprehension;
and leap from once dormant imagination
into spirit shadows and splendid motifs.

She is a stranger to all,
but to those whom she whispers as lover.
We, two strangers of sun and moon,
curl nubile into night
to take our nuptials at dawn.

One hundred million miles and
one earth between us;
now bound as one, we pull the tides
into an unexpected tempest in my heart;
a tender act of indiscretion
undoing a tame, near tepid, bearing.

Thus muse and artist
feast upon the provender of providence
and all delectable in between them.

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Posted in love poems, poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

My Magnificent Morning Malaise

I pour the wine, while you raise your cup
until our bodies have had enough,
that our spirit’s twist, wrung out dry,
sexed and sated; shyly truth seeps outside
of careless vessels, free once more –
unable to collide, despite this ardor.

Our thoughts clashed clandestine,
while our demeanors docile.
Your scowl, the bone beneath a smile
our rose skin kisses, turning hostile.
The quaff of a tongue, the taunting touch.
Skin chenille, beneath blankets blush.

Suddenly sensitive to the sounds of dawn,
a trash truck groans, someone mows a lawn.
Last nights dream bent around a now that’s gone.
Time has stopped, but it still goes on and on.
I’m up, you’re naked;
Every morning maunders, over-medicated.

Every house a story, every window, perspective
my window is dark, theirs, a beverage,
to fill a voyeurs empty cup with scornful slake,
set to brew when strangers wake;
having gone to bed not knowing each other,
in the morning, woken as broken lovers.

 

 

Writers Note:
No doubt this poem creates discomfort; but for those who know me.  I’m quite ecstatic – a poem seldom reflects the pure-essence of the poet.  It’s often a veil.  But not to digress.  We over-medicate ourselves too often on both the lightness and darkness of what is simply “being-ness.”  Not good my friends – too much sour can taste “sweet,” too much sweet can taste “sour.”  Discomfort is a beloved friend of those seeking comfort – what is more encouraging to a sweet remedy than once in a while allowing ourselves to feel pain, anguish, doubt, fear.  These are symptoms of the incurable malady of living, not dying.  Poetry, as it goes in life, is sometimes prosaic… let it be.  Let yourself be cold and wrap yourself in the blanket of melancholy… there is warmth in the torpor. 

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Posted in character sketch, love poems, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Earth Bound Elements in Repose

THE LINKED HEADSTONES OF HET OUDE KERKHOF

THE LINKED HEADSTONES OF HET OUDE KERKHOF

Of earthbound lovers in repose
darkness awakens dreams for those

who in their arrogance sleep so well
with their sinuous curves that writhe in hell

fleeting words leap to a tragic death
off the end of a sentence’ precipice

spoken by guardians of empty spaces
who’s wings are clipped by periphrasis

writing ghazals that shadows recite
to ghosts whom gather to find respite

yet these mortal instruments of a souls confession
are sung to the Beloved for intercession

still enlightened fools, in darkness will part
with the keys to unlock another’s heart

Spires of ice from obsidian skies
land and melt in the warmth of their eyes,

drowning their captains in waves of emotion,
so two continents drift and collide in the ocean

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I will forever see you soon

I thought all morning
about his life coming to an end
During the oddly undaunted progress of day
I thought of how I might say goodbye to him
Imagining a reply in traces of dry breath
Surrendered by a swollen heart,
Words over a parched and blistered tongue,
Whistled through the cracked lips,
of a parted languid smile…
My grandfather says,
”I love you darling boy.”

Standing bedside,
feeling lost and small in the foreground
of an infinitely large and still burgeoning moment,
words cower in a shadowy and uncertain corner of my mind
A place of forbidden goodbyes
A place where I dare not go

I wait for thoughts to congeal
A thousand fleeting plans of what to say…
But no words pass between us
Instead he lies there alone despite my company,
Listless, except for a few shudders,
Flinching at white memory flashes of sporadic brain activity
Trying to free himself from the clutches of death,
or life.
Perhaps he’s watching movies of his life behind closed eyes
where it’s me who is dying and not him

Then his eyelids quiver apart
and with whatever will remains,
he begins to slowly mouth inaudible words of love
Blossoms pushing through gnarled weeds
in a 96 year old garden.

His eyes are a glaucous sky, but
I swear I catch a glimpse of blue heaven in them,
with resplendent pinwheels of sun scintillating on the horizon
And in that moment, I am gifted the promise he’d assured me
all those years of youthful angst…

…Brown and black age spots on his wrinkled skin,
effervesce into glistening pebbles
emerging in a rippling stream
His sores and scabs diffuse
into strewn velveteen rose petals,
His gray and brittle waves of hair,
turn to a dusting of sunlit snow powder
blowing from soaring peaks,
His shaking limbs unfold
and sway lithely in a spring breeze
And from a slack mouth, floats notes on melodies
gently lifting the curled trestles of cherubs

His body levitates, like a white linen sail
softly catching an offshore breeze
and snapping to full –
He is beauty rising,
drawing up the lanyards of life
that tether all of us on earth,
forever to his new found heaven.

I revel in the thought that he did it!
He took the putrescent blackness of death
and created a saccharine symphony,
a jubilant celebration to which everyone he ever touched
is invited.

As I walk down the outside steps of that hospital,
away from the Good Samaritan,
I am reunited with the undaunted progress of day
highlighted by the morning sun
glinting on the wind rippled intercoastal waters
We walk on, my family and I,
joyous and tall under this wondrous canopy
cast by this small crooked man;
one who came into this life to change the world
and left accomplishing just that

His perpetual legacy of hope
joins the endless river of time.
Farewell beloved sojourner –
I will forever see you soon.

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Posted in character sketch, vignette | 3 Comments

Wordness

I read.
I listened.
I composed
what might resemble a word.

And then realized,
that the innermost attribute of a word
is wordless
wrapped in word-ness.

All I could think to say,
is all I could feel in silence…
just
I. I. I.

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