Monthly Archives: April 2018

In a Land by The Yard

In a land by the yard
by the yard of bones
is the truth a terrible
truth grinning beneath
the trees

A finger points up
and toward the Gods;
dying laughter screaming
‘they are all the children
without a hope’

and so it goes…

all across
the ruins the mighty ruins
of fallen minds
as sharp as sharp
as the edge of town

a horror in the day
in the light of day
tears of joy streamin’
as a fat man sings,
it’s the serial killer

called

“Pogo the Clown.”

:: 04-29-2018 ::


CITIZENRY OF LONGING HOPE

THE heart a country unbound
that few live to believe;
a citizenry of longing hope
to fill fallacious ground
where angels float
the soul weeps
above summer’s season
of hell & perverted
throats //–>
seeking reason
the convenient rest
bleed unto the ground.

:: 04-27-2018 ::


BENEATH PEACH-RED SKIES

The town buried her beneath peach-red skies:      less than several days ago.

All the while in the distance, gravel-filled               caws in the distance measured a
thickness of time; the casket lid, rained                  with tears, sank beneath Earth’s longest wave.

Everyone had dirt under their nails                     and a heavy weight of guilt. Then,
at night on the 1st of May she returned               to town on an errand so vital
that she had come                                                    unannounced and entered

into the cafe where she last had cried–              while holding the hand of her lover,
she sat down at the chair with red eyes              and again watched her fiancé bleed
from a wound within his head; his blue             sapphire eyes melting as their dying hearts.

THE gunman was wrestled to the ground
on top of a love poem she
had penned to her fiancé . In part it read:

“The town buried her beneath peach-red skies…”

:: 04-25-2018 ::


Thimble & Needle

Thimble and needle hear

my words

you’re too busy these days

to love

I’ve followed you through

and through

the toughest patches of life

and now my thread

has grown too thin

And we’ll never survive

never survive never survive

the stitching of our hearts

Paper, rock and scissors

needles, pins and threader

rulers of horror measure

the terror of my nightmare

as I watch the needle

of your busy work pierce

the tissue of my heart

I’ll never survive

never survive the sowing

of the madness

that’s your mind

:: 04-21-2018 ::


UNTIE YOUR LIPS MY LOVE

The swollen curves of nature have dressed
herself in burning colors
like last Spring’s echo:

A sincerity of majestic blue.
Untie your lips my love and plant them
all hyacinth and sweet upon my Soul!

Like nimble fingers upon ivory thought,
Like clasping arms as rolling waves,
As tender as tended seeds
in labored soil.
I feel your colors and taste
your fragrant beauty my love!
And March we dew through dreams
of April. And May our love
continue a bloom
far past June…

are the words I speak
to my tender flower!

:: 04-17-2018 ::


PEERIE-WINKIE

AND another day as the bones feel very pained        to carry the burden of sin.

ALL two hundred six of them don’t want it; alas it is just the way
it is.

The glob of gelatinous goo in the brain-pan knows it. The cat-sticks have
tried to run from the affliction but to no avail. We’re stuck here
utters the piece of flapping clapper as though ringing a bell.

We’re stuck here.

But time dimishes the skin; watch, see? All saggy and wrinkled.
But still, a small ember of fire remains; the errection of need
or the pounding throbbing kitty’s meow.
Sin daddles at the thought and dew-beaters forget while walking on Mother
Earth.

Now, hush. This is your Soul talking to you: drop the skin.

No need for that peerie-winkie.

:: 04-14-2018 ::


P  O   E    T RY – okay?

Only W H EN   i   am   Spiritually

inclined.  BUT so   many whispered

WORDS OF WISDOM have been revealed by

your hand; “But here i am, with my tears

of joy and arms and heart and even brain/

MIND; me, please.  Look at me — just look,

(Said your heart), But i cannot wake up

to the sounds of weeping from the churchyard

or miles into the City so sleep pretty

love and don’t cry //and when your chest

releases heaves i sing all lullabies

all within your tender ear // make

My Sunnyside up and let’s start Over/

Inside a new paradigm, ugh.

 

:: 12-27-2016 ::


TOWER OF A CASTLE

Within the tower of a castle
within the empire
of my existence

are all the lovely souls
are all the missed gifts
all within a lovely vassal

And if it all falls away
falls away in misunderstanding
there is hope there are some
there are some strong enough
to withstand and exist

And what useless,
foolish regrets
And what harmful,
regretful fears

And within the tower
of my castle
within the empire of
all existence

No room for sorrow
No room for tears
No room for fears

But a world of One Nation
And to hear the laudations
to hear the flatteries
of all the angels…

All within the towers
within the towers
of our castle!

:: 04-08-2018 ::


THERE’S NO ONE HERE

There’s no one here. But me. And that quiet
voice which is the beginning of a thing of
beauty. And today nature is agreeable with
my sentiment of a perfect life; her high
morning sea and cloudless sphere kiss my
tender heart and soul.

Today I have stopped. Thinking. And how when
beauty and love enters one’s life all the noise
stops. Confusion melts.

When nature touches you.

:: 04-08-2018 ::


THE SLEEPING PROSTITUTE OF TIME

Within the tapestry of life
goes the Mind:
the rest of flesh and bone
remain cat-like;
a sleeping prostitute
of time.

And within heaven all of the
interesting people are missing,
or so says Nietzsche.

But within hell most everyone
says the intersection of Canal
& Mott Streets in Manhattan are
a killer.

And a chorus of drunks fooled
by numbness and unencumbered

by care drown out the naked lunch
of fear and rejection.

That’s the mind singing, you
know.

So few sensuous souls and
so many meaty mannequins!

:: 04-07-2018 ::