Blue, pale sky. What did I miss? The sale price? The halfway line? Brick by bloody brick, They desalt mines. Did you just move away, Get killed, then live again, Just to shiver in place, Wither and die? Were you better off hunting diamonds? Forgive my writing, And erotic sins, For which upon this wit I build. Always right, Above, they fly, Always white, Always wine. Blue cranes from blueprints, Selfish, and high.
What changes with age? Cambridge, Yale, Navy. But today it rained, So blue wins the day. Head nod, hand wave. Stop, playing games, take aim, Place weights upon my grave, Nothing will change my fate. Head nod, hand wave. What changes with age? Space, royals and babies, Softness of brains, What is mundane? The third day on the front page, Shame, shame, shame, Change, change, change. Wait, wait wait, But away they sailed, So blue wins the day. Head nod, hand wave.
Dichromatic concepts, Gods, and Goddesses, Blood, clotted, The colors bother him. Colors like blue-red, like proverbs. Worship Brahma, trust in process, Like an animal, acquire knowledge. Marvel, at an impossible profit, Money like orange, hyperbolic, Muscle farmhands, prophet. You are the colors you ponder, You aren't young much longer, You, are an actual darkness, A lack of color. Worship gospels, dungeon crawlers, To you, a monster is a monster, Nonsense you might make up, Forget what murdered daughters, Sons and brothers, like insects. Those little boxes you invented, Then force upon a general public.
Hair falls, past shoulder, Down halls into the hedge moss. Rapunzel, was it tulips you wanted? Yellow, and the part lips? Yellow, pears and olives, Yellow, stinking cartlidge. Snow yellow upon a sill at home. Allegro forms enforced, Yellow, fitted sundress. Rapunzel, was it tulips you wanted? Is that why your closet, is a garden? Yellow, fear of darkness, Yellow, pears and olives, Yellow, and their offspring, Though yellow, sit at home, Concerto forms enforced, Yellow, freedom destroyed. Yellow, what was it again you wanted? A garden? Why not hide in the closet? Yellow, barrelled shotguns.
Vermilions, Amber, Vermin, red, in anger. Verily, yellow dances, Keep dancing, he says, And slaps her. Verify me a fact, liar, Orange becomes vermillion, So what will yellow become, Tallow or cum on the skin? Life, wears thin, and dives. I think upon green, yellow presides, Beyond the goddess worship, lies, Anger. I think a lot about their side. I think they lie about their sides, I think a little red should suffice. Vermillion, yellow, a bit of pride, Call me coward, feed those ideas, A million bits, red and canvas mine.
In Her Dreams Everyday she grew more cynical, Forewarned in the way he spoke. 'What makes trees grow? Speaking indignantly? Lazy, form english is what bees know. Maybe there is more, maybe not. Leaves, and lace upon her form, Leers and mistakes on a forum, Leaves and paces about a home. Lady Clare, is this what you wish for? Mais oui, upon meeting, she says, but may we not once she sees him again. She begs, making peace, but, maybe not. What is under the stars, outside of the bar, Yet above us all? In her mind, her. But, actually, God. And he sees her like I see her: Alone by herself, just of her mom. Lo, girl, grate your feet, arms to nothing, Cognizant, you can see what's coming. So, use a word to cut deeper, I mean, Maybe there is more, maybe not... Say please, and release the lions... If a cognate speaks of alm, as always, Bet a fool falls, autumn again, as always, Winter follows. Bees, on their belly, in a playful sense. Wallows about woods and streams. Striped appearance, demeanor, feelings, He exits the scene with grace and dignity. Asking the same, but bees scream, race, As always, it's just the way things be. Swallow a mouth full of eggs, and honey, Forward, fundamentally things are different. Not just you and me, for everyone that sees us. The courts just take up space, mostly useless, And friends never show up to court you, bee, They treat you differently. You are less than me, because you are less than nothing, She says, and places her hands to the sun. Youth burning away at her bloodied stumps, Speaking in fear of a beast that runs, jumps, Eating the bunnies she dreams about...
Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Like gawkers, ponders what they saw... 'Would you describe me, inside of a bar?' 'Must again, you make things be so hard?' 'Wasp, like I bumble about the pollen, Following a humble belief seems wanton, When you believe in things so violent and wrong.' Bird, quickly describes in simple songs, Big cities, things it saw in the puddle, Colors of war, bees that talk. Freedom, it sings, is also simple, One really needs not drift apart. The big screen, another big scene, It was mostly a facade... Balk, talk is talk, feeling in the dark, But most of what a bird said, lived on, Proper relief is upon the soul after all... So they write less of evil on the walls, In the sky, on maps or village carts. Against nothing, see the days beyond... I suppose those concepts are behind us. Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Is the city like a swallow, or like to swallow, and will he be the next one gone? Cause for alarm, make calls upon, Anything, but you lost the one. You love... Like a dog watching another sun set, More talk, another sun will rise again, Life for this bird is but more dogs. So like a coward, survives the storm, Shivering as they make their calls. Inevitably, to face the power lines alone.
In his future he sees tired coughing, The seer mundane usually finds nothing, Only peering back upon seared meat, Apparently to be, or feel something. In his mind, he wishes to be someone, See his sums upped, feel unusual. He is detached, however, like Buddha, But he has an even broader usage. Once again he peers into the ether, He sees himself equal and decent, Sears at the breathing creature, Fears his lack of freedom. "Coward", he screams, "Coward", he casts his disease. Pulls from inside himself, meaning. He sees his reflection again in the mirror, Breathing heavily into the air, at first, But eventually he cried with realization.
Phalanx, already made plans with Ahab. Enemies, whales , their emails: 'save as'. Eventually their money exchanges hands, A ribcage cracks, a heart swells so thick. Revenge, already made plans, rain dance, Polearms for the bad man, stained glass. Both man and animal inevitably acquiesce, The old barn will fall upon the sand.
She cried too late, she surmises, Where the water hits the sky she relates, Relating further as the distance gains, Relationships were never her game. Decisions in haste are still decisions made, Whether the bars bend makes no difference, You still lived in a cage. She is indivisible from a man, She decides in a rage, This divides her, divided in half, her life changes. Her children are the product of mistakes. She cried too late, she surmises. Famine, she decides. Pestilence, plague, flames, Venom from the viper's fang, Which she places upon the lambs that wail. Take me away, she whispers to nobody there. Take me away, she formally dresses, playing, Addressing her former self, she was taken away, Far from the pain that she feels everyday
ceaseless, i wait here in my hall of stone. my continuous, meditative, monotonous vigil only broken by the sound of a camera shutter or the scratch of charcoal over rough paper. my silence never ends, since my marble knees do not know the hour when they will straighten and carry me away, nor my spine knows when to crack and unfurl my body tall, higher than the skylight under which i am displayed, nor my dainty dress knows when to settle itself more comfortably over my shoulders. so here i remain, forever more statue than woman. one evening, out of the blue twilight the night guard saunters in, bold and butch and self-assured (her footfalls give her away) without warning, she leans in close, shining her beam in my placid face, and i cannot blink away the yellow light (and never would, just to glimpse once more upon her lovely face) hastily she whispers in my ear, instantly transforming my marble to rose quartz and slowly then, she kisses me, soft and earnest and fleeting and suddenly i am more woman than statue.
Atlas reaches, Earth teeters, Who cares who stares beneath. Apples, peaches, pears, kiwis: Tree, what are seed to thee? Tree, what are seeds to be? Blue, what does it mean, to be Green? Views beyond what one has seen. Speed, a pace, to place them at the peak, Then recede, what decides its meaning? Perhaps at the roots, the soil is gleaning, But at the root, a house teeters, Tepid falling upon the cedar greens, Of course, Of no fault to me, I feel. Accepted outcomes of little dreams, Confused with death, drift out to sea.
A treasure full of dreams A future wrapped in gold What our indecisions bring Within each box that life will hold Hidden in the square Amongst the corrugated seams Is more than just thin air And the light from distant beams There are memories we have known Within the box that cannot part Like the flowers that have grown Just to touch a gentle heart Upon these feathers within a box I shall sleep on them tonight And to the ticking of the clock I shall dance the angel’s flight Says the label dressed in red, “Never touch what’s in the box” So many thoughts run through my head Of all the moments we have lost Michael 8/5/2021
The creaking of the pines elicits icy shivers, like steel fingers raked upon a naked spine, pine needles quivering like jagged splinters jabbed into desperate thirsty veins Slivers of pain, slices of sorrow, glimpsed through the gaping cracks between the bark, as stark winds whisper then wail weaving twisted tales of ennui and despair Oh, the horrors they have seen while the sun giggles and gleams from her corner of the forest peering from her perch amid the heavens, her cackles seep into the earth to settle among the dirt and the decay As the emerald canopy leads the lost souls astray through the labyrinth of decomposing leaves, corpses cast off from the trees, disrobing before the fastidious eyes of their maker, undertakers laying out their palls for the weak and broken to bear
I hear your voice upon the wind. It calls me, to come to you I follow the sound unable to resist like a Siren call to sailors at sea. Your eyes meet mine. The eyes of a lioness who wishes to devour me You pounce upon me and bring me to the ground onto your bed of lilac and lavender I am helpless in your jaws about my neck. Your fangs pierce deep into my flesh. Your jaws crush my last resistance. Your golden flaxlike mane falls upon me like waves of soft sea mist In my mouth and in my eyes, I look through the golden net which binds me Your lips find mine. Your tongue darts into my mouth and upon my face with the kisses of my submission. Your kisses go down my chest with your golden hair softly following behind. Your kisses rise back to my face with your hair all about me forming the net of my capture. Two breasts land upon my body like twin fawns playing in a meadow. They move and glide up and down my body. I reach to grab them, so smooth and soft You are upon me now and our bodies move like the sway of the trees in the wind. I am in you. You have devoured me. There is no more me, only you my Calypso.
Rise oh sun oh immortal flame to wake the soul to play again. To run and dance and jump for joy and warm the hearts of girl and boy. Beam down your rays of healing light confirming natures pure delight and bringing forth more glee than blight no winter yet in this souls sight. May brilliant joy and exaltation be your gift and coronation leading toward the beach of plenty makes one feel like being twenty. Wish upon dream upon starry starry night. Let your spirit take its flight to one you’ll hold extremely tight. Embrace your dream with passion free exposing all intentional glee for daylight breaks and dawn reveals lovers heart… eternally.
Open lies, a world full, Ocean tides, border known, Mapped upon a mobile phone, Burning eyes, wait in line, A door, for more control; Face comes first, defines, Then maybe later stones. Which would be more alone? Sitting German in Lederhosen, Burning all my former clothes, Formal close, cutting ties; Or a heart of glass, love inside, Which fights a world, nothing like?
Poetry Satirized What is this thing they call poetry? It’s mostly “pretty words” you see Ok, maybe there’s a bit more to it... I’ll see if I can walk ya through it. We rap similes and metaphors, Figurative language whores Plays on words And turns of phrase Emotional squalor And issues for days Lovers lost And sadness deep Words that when trapped Keep us from sleep “Racing to the finish” Or dragging our feet And not to compete or attempt to defeat But simply To complicatedly complete Alleviate or desecrate All depends upon the date Or what kind of day we had Pissed off, celebratory, sad Or in poetic terminology, Raging, blessed, melancholy We personify and mystify “Let them see it through our eyes” We rhyme and reason Or sometimes we don’t It’s not that we can’t It’s more likely we won’t Abstract or concrete Or both all at once Painting deeeeeep pictures... But sometimes only of confusion Poetic delusions 😉 Words made in illusions Or maybe allusions? No wonder we can’t always reach a conclusion... So “pretty words” though they may often be, There is a bit more to this thing... Poetry.