The billowing clouds
Etch a pattern in the sky
But soon fade to black.
No sound heard tonight.
Silence dwarfs me, except for
My deafening heart.
When I furl into sheets slick with blood
the dream like an onion festers and seethes,
boiled yet sharpened and soured.
Inescapable, these nights peeling, and more bitter,
and more cruel that bodily I awake dried,
steam-pressed and wrapped sound
in bloodied gauze but brown
and dry and obscenely quiet.
The light of life is love and love transcends.
It is forever the keeper of my spirit, my soul.
My being; filling my heart's lonely hole
and tempting my mind to such unfathomable ends.
Breaking for unknown reasons but never bends
nor falls into its idealistic goal.
While the eternal pain in my heart is still taking its toll,
realizing hollowness and emptiness shall continue its trend.
But the great mysteriousness of life has taught my mind
not to cower or forget its enduring dream.
Hope and faith, a lasting belief in love
are awaiting havens I shall strive to find.
Amidst my subconscious' inquisitive, tranquil stream,
I know in my heart that love shall be sent from above.
slim green petiole,
soft snow blossoms opening
curving, reaching high
The love I bear is like a brilliant moon
Constantly, smoothly sliding through the sky
On a warm, pleasantly cool day in June.
It hides in the clouds; I wonder why?
This love unfolds, a young and soft pink rose.
Forever radiant, my heart begins to melt.
The comfort sensed can not be seen by foes
Although its prickling thorns are deeply felt.
And then the day of joyous celebration arrives
A mutually felt as a firmly clasped handshake.
This is the day for which every person strives.
The doubt lingers, the future is preciously at stake.
Decisions made in a split moment are forever
For love endures binding two together.
I remember: (wretched sorrow)
my father's Appalachian stomach (sunken to Sahara)
pillowing my infant (sweet seventeen, been kissed) crown
his magnified eyes crinkling up
(unfocused, sliding into is skull)
at me, laughing
shaking a universe
It seems that time and time again,
All these people are trying to turn ceilings into floors.
Sometimes no one knows the ins and outs of doors.
It is time for ideas to come in,
And for all the old lost ones to go out.
It is a time for progress not to go back,
A little more time that someone could lack.
It is a time for saving not to spend,
At every new beginning there is an old end.
Descent into madness,
To end all the pain and sadness,
With absolutely no strings attached,
Time is one thing that we have
None to waste.
Staring out into endless water
horizon teasing yet conforming
in its never ending game between sky and water.
The sharp waves slap the shore
these mystic midnight tunnels forming peacefully
breaking in a heroic crash
then pulled back into the machine.
The gritty sand between my toes
molding and shaping my feet
begging for me to stay....
I feel a seashell nudging my toe
this gift of the ocean genuinely made.
Gusts of wind whip my hair around
the powerful scene invoking me
senses opened entirely
overwhelming energy
the monotonous beat of the ocean
screaming, tearing, falling, rocking,
I listen, and smile.
Strong ivory tusks are trained to work hard,
to build empires, to set booby traps,
in Vietnam or Japan,
some islands in the east with palm trees and pristine beaches.
The tusk builders with baskets on their backs,
filled with princes, gold, and treasure and lost maps,
they build bridges over rivers
to prepare for a possible war
in some dark native place, in some paradise
where warm tropical weather rules
and nature takes its course.
Where elephants live
and where elephants die.
in breath
in dazed stupors
in hysterical rants
in sober suicidal fantasies
in stoned suicidal enactments
in the stink of icons slowly rotting
in pinstriped robots muttering dry lectures
in anarchy rages burning under lettermen's sweater
in homocidal graffiti scribbled across the bathroom walls
in retinas of gothic prophet shrieking the government's epitaph
in greasy commercial alleyways teeming with yesterday's torn poster boys
in sticky superficial smiles of suburban housewives wrapped in cookie dough aprons
the explosives lurk