ReflectionsFor centuries we lay together;Past upon layered past.But, fates are cruel in the present,Cleaving we two apart instead of together.I look at my own face in polished surfaces--Hoping to see your eyes reflected somehow in mine,Maybe you hope to see mine in yours?As our bodies and hands were once so very closeI think on how our hearts and souls still are;Still so inexplicably tangled together--And they always will be.No matter the distance to overcome.
ForestryYour frail twig-like frameAnd befuddled mind at peace;Committed to already hazy memory--A kindness in the saddening lossOf another fragment of a generation,And another branch hewn awayFrom the living family tree.
Erased.I half expect to findYour face gone.All faded awayVanished from the family albums,As we all faded from your mind and memoryAge, senility and dementia,We all became fragments--You to us and us to you.Its like you’re erased--rubbed outAnd the only things left to doAre close the casket and say a goodbye.
Paper PoppiesChildren’s fingers shed copper coinsExchanged for red paper poppiesNot fully understanding the symbolOr the sacrifices made by millions.
MineI am the black cloudFloating through the night;You are the flash of lightBright and destructive and proud.I am depression,Creeping along where you lay;You are the mischievous playSmirking without hesitation.I am doom and strife,What all pretend to not feel;You are passion, you are zeal-You are why I celebrate life.I am darkness and secretsWhich are best kept unknown;You are curiosity as it roamsWhere others would never step.I am the darkness,An ever gloomy ray of sorrow;Yet you only know to grow,The air in the lungs filling one's chest.I am lost-Am I worth the cost,You, my deliverer,To be made loved and sure?I am smallAnd can easily fall,But you are never far behind-That is what makes you mine.
Early November.The late songbirds lament the final passing of Summer;As the corpses of fireworks lingered here and there,Fallen into yards and streets with the leaves burningLike the still smouldering fires that lit up the nights before;A celebration of infamy with pyromania and explosives.
StoriesStoriesGreen pills, yellow pills, white pills. I wonder if they color code the pills to match the malady, green to soothe, yellow to wake, white to purify evil thoughts, black like ravens who peck and caw, Jezebel's bones, sodden red tulips, dogs lapping, tongues so black, black holes that like eating novas and girls like me that just happen to see the testifying of bricks. "Here someone was murdered", fickle neurons, scandalized hieroglyphs of blood, constellations of wolves such bloody tongued dogs."Open," the nurse says checking to see if I have swallowed her pills. I always do hoping such sacred behavior will loosen me of this place. If I promise to believe everything they say? But Nurse Mary is quite contrary, maiden's breath grows in her garden, clouds of crushed stems, pollen and powder. Maybe she sees the wolf. My flamingoes feel the unease of rhyming couplets and badly played croquet. What would Alice do? What would the Duchess do? What happened to Jack and Jill after they s
Lyrical FlowShe cut the wire,She broke the vein,She fanned the fire,Allowed the blood to stain the floor and warp the wood with a red crimson glow,She bit her lips with a lyrical flow,And how he wanted that.Wanted to see what the sun could not showIn the light painted pictures like broken glassRefracting light that did not mean anything more than the light that passed through it.With a verbal tongue and a broken tooth he created a planet that spanned time and her mind body and chest,Which rang out from her body like bells ringing for a lost cause that means nothing to him, nothing more than the sounds that echoed.The vents blew fire from her eyes ears and through her muddy tearsSmearing her make up.The same make up made for himCaked and battered to hide the spots, the marks, from where the fist hit the pavement.She sat with a lyrical flowJaws wired closed from broken bones.She is alone in a house with anotherShe is the last sinner casted with stones.Does your body hurt?Does it
Sonnet XVIIThis fault be mine, and I alone to blame'Neath the shadow of my nocturnal deed,I am sinfully yours, a prince of shame,O Themis, if you are truth, make me bleed!Yet, if my lapse in darker hues are foundSeal forth each gash with resin acrid wrap,My damnation no pain of flesh can wound,My devil no Christened reverend trap.I tell you dear friend, leave my soul to be;Your prayers, your curses shall fall to waste,From rancor, this satyr heart is free,Yet bitterness, this rimy tongue shall taste.Futile the frown or poor Atlas' grudge,Before heaven or hell; I, I will judge.