Tag Archives: #poet

MY MOTHER AND OUR LOVE

MY MOTHER said she loved me
and bar tended drinks to keep
me clothed.

AND ONE NIGHT: she was raped
and I fought two brute men
and they destroyed mother
and me.

I wept. She wept.

The howl of despair ate
our Souls.

Then there we knew humanity
and all its pain within our
heart.

She died recently.

I died then. Many years ago.

:: 10.03.2021 ::


THE WATER’S TENDER SURFACE HIDES HORROR

DEAD are these fathom of times by change; lies
of not tongue but heart, nay, soul as dead coral made
as now ocean die and her pearls wilt and destroyed
by poison of mankind.
All fades by that terrible hand called Mankind.
As doth suffer the sea-change
uncoiled and spoiled by rich and strange.
 Sea-nymphs SCREAM in tumultuous toil
singing, “DING-DONG.
LISTEN!  HEAR WORLD — DEATH!”

:: 09.15.2021 ::


BUT NOT SORROW

But not sorrow to the bitter death of indigence, to which they are made to follow.

Without sacrifice to any deity.

But let us never underestimate that the more an occasion’s good will works, the more ruin is allayed.

Meanwhile, turn them out, then, by sea or land,–

that the servant of science might discover nothing.

What about other powerful vampire authors such as Daniel Defoe and Lord Byron, in addition to Shelley?

(At first sight, a good way to read the book of Revelation, was to think of their “visionaries” who took it to be a description of the original creation, with humans first emerging at the very beginning. It was not clear from the account of the Fall in 2 Peter, how it was even possible to have had the Fall at all.)

:: 08.31.2021 ::


ONE NEVER LOSES ALL THINGS

How i lost everything
and all for love of you
and now i am grieving
under moon shadow

and if i ever lose
my voice i speak love
and if i ever lose
my love i show my heart
and if i ever lose art
my hands move colors

deep within a green forest
i met a man with no legs
and he jumped and landed
within my mind and soul:

so if i lose my mind
these words are spoken
upon behalf of me.

:: 08.18.2021 ::


SPEAK WITH A QUIET MOUTH

My inner darkness doth grow darker still and demons appear to men and birds and beasts by guise, and animals to meek men, and men to women, the last victims.  Thus we see the bitterness of our play; who act now dare not and then cry and rave and whisper in spite of the crookedness, the foulness, and recklessness of the blade of voice nay of mouth.
When did love and joy ever last? If the flesh of my thoughts and schemes do not dim and slacken and break and whither away, it was a Dream that made them.  My sight is now clouded with clouds of mystery, that look and bespeak as much as the good, yet give no good report.

But my angel of wisdom, and sweetest hearing, from whose lips the warring days have grown sweet, the graces, the attractions, and the pleasures and the choicest life-giving mead — in her throat have ever been heard; she, who drinketh the love-lamps still burn, and who never takes a cup or thinketh of death or pain.  Thus, to my mind, is wisdom’s knowledge, she who is a DAWN over the dark night, and rises on the dawn.

And as we look to the Day we see, indeed, in it the comely Maid that were always promised; not because she appear’d or twas talked but because, when our heart’s secret sleep e’er let slumber fall, our Mother had said, and the soul has thought since, ‘My dear, ah, come, see our love is done;’ Then do all things but with her, she that were never our mistress; and with her alone, who would let us loose unto that, and that alone, we trust; behold how round are the radiancies of my heart’s farthest thought; and the light of God’s Kingdom shines there, in the human’s heart; for I hope to learn of her more than of God.

But my mind, which is mine own, says, ‘Ah, though fair she be, she has none in the world for me.  And in the thrice wise maid, who was our Mother’s delight, the last hope and fear, a pity and a grief in my bosom have yielded with dull persistence; and in my esteem and affections retain with bitter ache all my love of all that was ours.

:: 04.03.2021 ::


SLEEPERS IN THEIR GRAVES

That there were no Souls in the World – and no one there to blame – but Me.

That terrible sobs that took the time to lick a Heart that had forgotten how to sob,
or even how to whisper, were redoubled into shrieks, and they kept me from laughing.

O heart of Mine, why do you howl?

If Thou wouldst die, then in vengeance thy Redeemer of Whom, Whose Heart was my own,
and whose Whistle blew wild through the Rails, and who, at one moment when the Gate was open,
as he reached the top of the Jail, and searched the Valley of Doom.

To find my Prisoner there, and to know that his Out-cries had been so wretchedly contrived,
and, because they cried out so piteously, were not stopped at once!

How dare thou, thou Death, laugh? If Thou didst laugh at this, and the world now knows
the Death that has come to me, in consequence of the Puny Strength with which Thine own weakness left Me.

Let the judgment of all come in, and they make the old curse true and then i should not be sad.
For those mourners, the unquiet were they – how the Sleepers in the Grave would cry:
“Those poor Souls!

Is there one Death, for another?”

But though all sleep sound those that dream are always sad. i had a Brother, i knew,
who went for a Passenger, and his Friend had brought him, and held his hand when we left.
The Station – and in the Coach the Friend held up his Heart.

“Poor Brother, my Friend, have you never had Love?”
And his Friend said, “I don’t know that I ever had.”

Then they were gone.

And in my Brain, with a Funeral, i cried, “My Brother has gone!”

When my Brother and his Friend were lost 0i knew, in my Brain, that I should not die –
yet they had gone from me for ever and for ever.

All the Earth is a city of Death – the Sun that has shone bright and cast up its golden rays
must fade into Night, and the air shall turn cold, and the day will vanish like the evening:
when the Sun goes down, and it is Dark upon the Mountain.

Even the Stars, when the Sun is hot fade, and there are not as many as there once were.

The very Earth which gave brightness to the Branches of the Tree shall wither and die and fade,
and the Blue of the sky will dissolve, and the Earth Will shake and fall into the Sea.

The City of Death in which we live is like a great Prison under the Earth.

The Clouds that surround us and Sooth our Sorrows are but Cloths that cover the Dome
of the Pitiless Heaven – the Void where such Rulers as are but Planets, like our own
shall reign.

We have no Ruler who rules by Love, no View from Heaven, no Vision from the Stars,
no One to give us a Joy that would pass all our cares when we are set upon a Mountain,
sighing over the Valley of Sorrow, weither our Heartbeats cease.

Luna can but smile when She sees we have passed the Point
Where the Blue West gives the Shade of Night, and the Tree is pierced with Cold –
and the Night of Light does not come but the Winter wanes.

And all mankind is contained in the Castle of Death.

There is no Labor which an Angel can give, there is no Beauty, there is no Joy,
there is no Heaven.

So for us there is the Earth, and the Flock that bares all whose Flying
is but Death and Murder, and Death’s distant Call, and it is Death, of all things,
that gives us all:

That Taste of Beauty.

While we fly on the Wings of Love, and with our Tears water the Earth
with our Love, our Wings go, and with our Corpse Land to fall upon the Earth.

With the Time comes the Age
When Love is heard
And no ear
has ever heard it,
with the Age comes the Age
when Men look up,
and no eye has ever gazed upon
no Green Earth – when the Tree is cut down
the Earth is bare.

From Blame to Blame
From Sorrow to Sorrow
From Darkness to Darkness
And Death lies on Earth –
The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – like the Wings of Love
The Kingdom of the Earth Is a Prison
Under the Earth.

When will We see our Land?
When will We fly away?
When will we light the Nights?
When will we light the Nights?
So my Song is very solemn,
But I hope in it one Hour

When we shall find our Land.
When the Day of Retribution
Is ended, and the sky is blue
and the Sun shines, and all that was buried
in the Dark of Night, shall come to Life.

The Earth shall be green,
The Trees shall yield fruit,
The Green of their Leaves shall radiate
all over the Earth.

We shall catch our Breath,
wnd thank God,
whose Love brought us together,
and made us Wings
for his Flock,

To fly away – the Wings of love.

My Story:

‘His Love is the Light that
shone in the World, 0when the Sun of Love
and the Golden Child was born in the Cave of Life.

And then the Angels said,
“Fetch the Child, bring him forth,
that he may be king of his Kingdom
but let it be done, in the Cave of Life –
therein he may reign

as Father and Son, for the King of Men
must not reign alone.”

They called the Child and said to him,
“Arise, Unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love
where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

The Angels called again the King of Love
and said to him, “Arise, unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

And the King of Love Speak!”

“If you will not come with me
then fly away!
Fly away!
Fly away!
Let me be alone!”
And the King of Love left the cave of Life
And went up to the Heavens, and came down
and placed upon the Earth

all the Things that Matter.

:: 01.25.2021 ::


STRIKING IMAGE AND RHYME

THIS THING called Tourette’s
where I sometimes stop breathing.

TONITE, HOW I AM I…
Good morning, my children. This day shall soon be
filled with wet wind, droplets of rain,
birds beginning their morning call,
snatches of birdsong from nearby trees.
Rain, our god, provides for the earth
With its rhythms. And yet this
drenched car park, unshod and
mucousy, here I stand. We are
all here on a rock. We will always
be here on a rock, as we continue
to flow, endlessly, into the ocean.

Together, my children, let us remember
the former days. The days when our words
were ragged and unsavory, language was crude
and violent, full of striking image and rhyme.

O, yes. Today we shall honour our words, as
we pick through the words. They have so hurt us,
and we leave them sodden in the rain.

–>FIRST MY OWN VOICE ::::::
It seems the air i breathe and touch, when walking
alone in the city has given me a disease
like Tourette’s.

I’m beginning to turn red or green, or blue,
sometimes not even my face has become a fault.

Lately, my head seems to be filled with ocean tides,
titian squid, clams, mussels, sand, ice;
specks of some faultless fish.

And here we stand, wet and lost, looking into the garden.

O, only the garden.
O, only the garden
–>SOME HEROES

The stars were dying in the night
when I woke to find my brother dead,
from being driven by a steamroller,
into the ocean.

I miss him.

They were here, on the island, back when the skies
were blue and the seas breathed their contented
voices.

(Oh this hillside, what color is it with my words?
O, only blue.)

:: 12.10.2020 ::


SUMMER SKIES

IT’S not the reason  why we cry together
not the reason       we hold onto each other
not the reason       how you smile or make hair
(if you remember;  not why i want to spend the
reason of life with you)
not the makeup or how you  dance/ it’s more how you
cry at night alone\ when those figures came
to us last week from their ships and hurt us.

it’s how humans feel  and how strangeness feels
it’s not how you lost eggs or  how i gave semen
and sperm.  

you lost your mind lost my mind so divine
seemed so real, like a real thing…
in between i find what’s in between is a peach
of mind and how i lost reality…

so fine, my sweet love
lost spring
small beings from the sky
makes everything fine
with their large eyes
i lost my mind

and now i find i’m suicide
oooh yeah, oooh yeah,
oooh yeah

what’s the matter, love?  LAST SUMMER
we lost our minds /  oooh oh oooh oh
oooh oh love you .

how they rule humanity.

:: 11.10.2020 ::


Racing the hesitating sun

Racing the hesitating sun

They leave it in the dust when i am a dirty lost boy. Uprising cumulonimbus towers
Clearly indicating showers to drown all the growing flowers aAnd flood the ground
with their power winds blowing from the east
Cold and warm air mingling Like ghosts dueling with the living the air feels fuzzy
and strange Something evil is coming
Curling leaves and swelling wood ..The trees can feel it too \It’s in their roots
and in my blood Quickly pushing its way through This is not good
A storm is beginning to stew Rain announces its arrival
On pitter patter stomp stomp feet Whispering gently from the sky
Before knocking loudly at the window
Begging to come in, OH WON’T YOU LET ME IN
Flooding my doorstep with darkness Eyes open

Lightning volleys down from the sky Searing my eyes with its image
It scrapes its long fingers down my window What is light and what is dark?
My lungs are being crushed from the inside I am falling I am falling
Let the currents take me Eyes shut Silence
Beautiful unknowing No harsh flashing
The clouds are receding trees not reaching for me
No more water between my fingertips
No more wondering what I might lose
Welcoming the cool shiver and soft echoing ripples
I drift back into dreamland into darkness into night Sweet peace.
Gates of Eden

Rosemary was resting quietly in her bed when she was awakened by the most wonderful sound she could ever imagine, her mother’s laughter.
The sound cut through the night like a ray of sunlight, bathing everything in radiant warmth.
Her eyes sprung open and she turned to look at her mother as she bustled around the room.
She was giggling and bouncing her hips as she prepared breakfast for the family.
“I’m fixing sausage gravy and biscuits, Mom!
Is there anything else you need?”
Rosemary rubbed her eyes and yawned.
She wondered what could have possibly woken her so early.
She had only opened her eyes an instant before.
“Actually, there is.” Her mom replied and then popped a piece of sausage in her mouth.
“We have company.” She winked at Rosemary and continued, “They’re coming right now.”
Rosemary slowly sat up in bed.
Her heart was beating rapidly, almost out of control, but she tried to remain calm.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, her voice beginning to rise in panic.
“I hope so.
I hope so.” Her mom responded as she brought the frying pan of sausage gravy and biscuits over to the table and set it down.
“Pour me a cup of coffee, will ya?”
Rosemary quickly found the coffee can and poured her mom a cup before bringing the pot back to her.
“Here ya go, Ma.
Drink up.
I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, Rosemary, I’m so excited.
I haven’t seen her in so long!” She said as she sipped on her coffee.
Rosemary’s heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest.
She was jumping around, unable to hold her tears in.
She could not believe her mom’s reaction.
She was jumping and wiggling and squealing and hugging her mother.
“Mom, she said her name was Rosemary.” She sobbed and clung to her mom for dear life.
Her mom looked at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She said softly.
Rosemary looked into her mother’s eyes, the tears still flowing down her cheeks.
“Do you remember my friend?
She used to live here?”
Her mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hands in hers.
“Yes, Rosemary, I remember her very well.
We’ve been friends a long time.
What is this all about?
Is she OK?”
Rosemary nodded her head.
“I’m sure she is.
She was here the day your daddy and I got married, you know.
She came to the church.
She said she wanted to come and meet the young man I was going to marry.
Isn’t that strange?”
“That she would remember that far back and the fact that she came to meet him, well, that’s something else all together.” She agreed.
Rosemary let go of her mother’s hands and began walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table.
She began to wiggle her hips and bounce her shoulders.
“She was here, Mom.
Her name was Rosemary.
She and I used to play together. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.
She has been living with her Aunt and Uncle.
They moved to Louisiana a few years back.
She had no one here, so we thought it best for her to come and stay with us.
It was so sad to see her so upset.
She has a beautiful red wagon that your daddy made for her.
You loved that wagon, didn’t you Rosemary?”
“We used to have so much fun playing on it.
We used to pretend we were in an old western movie.
We would sit on it and have tea parties.

You’d bring us cake and cookies and we’d just pretend.
Remember, Mom?”
“I can’t believe you remembered.
I’ve tried to forget.”
“Well, I know you have, but I remember.
I remember all the fun we had.” Rosemary’s face was bright red from embarrassment.

“But, she was here, Ma, I know she was.
I saw her.
She was in the garden, Mama, and she looked just like me.”
Her mother closed her eyes, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Rosemary, honey, she’s gone.
You know she is.”

“Oh, she’s dead, isn’t she?
Just like Pa, she died in the war,” Rosemary said, chocking back a sob.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She sat down and put her arm around Rosemary and held her for several minutes.
Finally she pulled her daughter close to her and held her tightly.

“Rosemary, we need to tell you about this.

Now, I want you to put your arms around your daddy and tell him all this.”
Rosemary began to sob as she hugged her daddy.
Her mother turned her head and kissed him on the cheek.
“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you, Daddy.
I know this must be very difficult for you to share with our Rosemary.”
“Rosemary, listen to me, you must remember what this wonderful woman looked like.
Can you remember?”
“She was old, Mama, very old.
I was sad to see her go, but I know she is at peace now.”
“It is very hard for a child to understand that, but I think she was able to die with as much peace as you could wish for.
She died the same way as your Pa, without any pain.”
“No, not like Pa. He was in pain and he died with some of that pain.”

“Daddy, she wasn’t sick.
She was just old.
She was the grandother I’ve always loved.”
“What is your Grandma Rosemary’s name?”
“My grandmother?
My mother’s mother?
Rosemary Johnson is her name.”
“Yes, that’s it, but what is her real name?”
“Her name was Lydia.
I guess I forgot.
You know Grandma Rosemary never told us, but Lydia never told us, either.”

“Are you sure she never told you?

Perhaps it’s something you wish to remember.”

“I just thought she told us because we are named after her.

She never really told us anything.

We never really knew her.

It was always just about my mother.

She talked all the time about Grandma Rosemary and how much she loved her and all.”

“You know, Lydia could be right.

You should be able to remember more about her.

You need to know what kind of woman she was.

Do you remember any stories about her?”

Rosemary’s face turned red and she buried her head in her daddy’s chest.

“No, I don’t remember any stories.”

“Well, remember she had a rose garden in her back yard.

We lived on a farm and had several gardens.

It was her flowers she loved.”

“Yes, I remember the roses.

She always had beautiful roses.”

“That’s because she loved you very much.

She was a wonderful person and I’m so sorry she died.”

“It’s hard to forget how much she loved me.”

“Lydia was a special woman and she loved you very much, Rosemary.

She would be so proud to know you remember her


BRASS BAND

the carnival-like brass band
performing songbird miracles

of you, worn within my heart
all life; never quitting
until dead

sunrises as torn muscles
amorous and petting a cat
that adores thoughts

through the crack of heaven
i slid toward burning hell
all my thoughts —

and now fate kisses me and
we love each other is called
Life.

:: 08.17.2020