Wednesday, September 30, 2009

An Eppiphany

It was an offering of Agnus Die,
a love of lamb gone to laughter.

The sharing of a last supper,
a rabbit who held the fast
of a petting, in stoic silhouette
under the table.

The light of a feign shone
clear as a candle,
waxen point of an alchemist boil-
disseminating gentle bubbles of hubris.

A symbol shone bright as a shield
of remembrance, diamonds gleamed shyly
from eternity.... eight up-righted
from a bottle of broken glass ... green
as the color of healing demise.

Two bubbles teetered from a prism of light,
a curtain of orange sarcophagus liquid
of a laid to rest Psyche. Cupid slinging arrows
to the partaking of body and blood...
and the wafting of apple-nut muffin...
Aphrodite was lost upon a sea of reign.

He beats his rose colored window
in a tantrum of arrogance,
as she in bucolic fragrance
of milk and manure feeds her lambs,
while his sword protrudes cold and hard
from clarent waters to a stone hearted lair.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Falling Softly

In the chilled blanket of an ever darkening night
still cricketed with pale murmurs of pleading chirp,
a swarm of rustling lives beyond the misty leave
of a wispy ghostly breath... I listen stilly
to the eerie sound of an unseen screech-,
owl wooing and trilling into a falling kiss.

Leaves by day tipped in colors, grave and orange,
of jams, preserves, and marmalades
now settle for slumber at an early dusk.

The drowsy colors of imagination
are asleep and drifting skyward
into the black, and white, and gray
of a nightly settle.

The Moon, in golden yellow,
her pesky arc is the lamplight,
shedding her gauzy mercy
upon the sleeping calamity of colorful lids-

just before they're dying.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Flower Girl

The frosty memory of an opaque invitation,
the bars from a moot paned past
sang in strangled cords
leading to a webbed site seek-

the park, the rain, and other things-

words not found in a memory's title search,
but recognized as true, from the words of import
surrounding bovine images of aging glances.

The sharing of a fragrant puff of past
delivered as gently as the passing of food
from a mother bird's mouth
to the sigh of an open kiss,
tasting of moss from a darkened cellar.

And then the thought of O'Briens,
the ramshackle tavern visitation
where pig tails, and hopscotch
and cotton mouthed briefs
were readily tainted
from the stained glass window
of a lip glossed swallow.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Victorious is a Feminine Word

They swill, and spit, and run
for bravado,
to the heights of acclaim
of everyone's desire...
a kicked ball of father,
mother, community, and
the voyeuristic world
of a televised match.

Simmer on a playing field
of pinny, too demure
for a tackle, we were
taught to succumb,
and a Succubus was born.

In the afternoon math
of the locker room chatter,
a slut became the victor...

as the showered men of soap
wore rope, as their greatest rage.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Tuna Sandwich

She nervously nibbled a crust
of the whitefish mountain of
diner sandwich,
as he looked on
with a sultan's glower
over her innocence,
and a bit of lettuce in her teeth.
The napkin became her fan,
as her eyes lowered.

Fast forward 35 years...

Alone after the sultry glow
of his innocent eyes,
she devoured her whitefish sub,
licking fingers,
catching fragments in her palm
and then popping them
into her mouth.

Only when she felt
the dripping juice
of milky nectar,
did she wipe her mouth clean...
a coquette's fan was not essential.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Swimming in Seaweed

The ocean beckoned
in rolling wave
of rippled tongue,
foaming at the mouth
to the parch
of a hungry shore.

"Too cold," he said,
from the mouth of Jersey,
"not fit for swimming...
those oceans of the Pacific."

Hah.. I thought, while
stepping into my
shrunken shadow,
as the curling nip
of a dappled lick
lapped my toes.

A cool, clear stride into
the shallow, with the
burnish of orange plaited
bamboo, and nippled puck
of green flapping appendage
lurked as a scrimshaw
pattern etched on bone.

I plucked the vilified tangles
of eww, and waved the slimy
waxen fronds overhead
to a voo-doo beat
of the drums
of sacred drone.

Then gliding as a feckless
and freckled purpose,
kicking in twisted
dance, waves frolicked...
then lifted me to
greater heights of jump
than could be
rendered on the grainy patch
of a sun kissed beach.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

I Have Seen Mountains

They stand in sloping mounds and points,
undaunted by the floating of clouds, mists,
flocks, and darkened torrents...

Whitened and glistening of sugar, coated
twinkles in the honey kissed shade of the sun,
or dark and loamy lurking across a desolate landscape,
the majestic mystique of barons and baronesses
watching sheep graze scrub on the fragmented
land of ancient peasants and listless fairies.

Gliding down a blue ridge of brontosaurus back
under a darkening skyline with a setting sun
as a spotlight on a fading day of yesterdays dream.
They rise illuminated and unfettered by the wily jumping
of creatures of the night below or the creeping of headlights
under their incline of caution, the descent of terror
rides with the pump of the pedal.

And Oh how the sun sets on table tops in the distance
redden unashamed by the lowering and hiding of the sun...

Another world away, over the dusty scrub of prickly cacti
who scatter before the mounding of boulders awash
and bleached white by a noon day sun, cordoned behind
the barb of a wire fence, a tawdry necklace for the mighty ones.

At the end of a land, the friendly smile of guards on the border
greet the passing presence of those who belong...
Among the salty sand of towering peaks and grainy beach
an arid question is begged... what is there to gain here? Really.

And though I've seen these beauteous beings who make me feel small,
and mock at how far I think I have come... I keep searching the world,
my oyster, for the pearl of wisdom I lost somewhere.

Friday, September 11, 2009

The Launchpad

Raining tears as a cleansing goodbye,
farewell from dusted sills
and lacy languid curtains
that whispered the secret...
it's time to go... somewhere... West.

In a packed caravan with baggage,
and boxes, and pictures of places already seen
in memory of the many hangings.
A catapult to the future, stretching
the canvas of imagination and intrigue.

Two men sat in syncopated rhythm
of their shared lifetime, in uniforms
of their generational divide.
Only the eyes foretold their
shared conspiracy, as a woman
of chance was comforted by
their sidelong glances of dimpled delight.

She sat musing in quiet song
amongst the cargoed stuffing
of a one-way trip and the return duffle...
her reptilian travel bag relegated to the back.

The drops fell cool in the pelting
of the vessel of launch,
as the once proud house with a
For Sale sign bid farewell
to this final launch...
the last refuge at a point of no return...

The launch completed with the release
of a brake pedal
laid down towards a western sky.