(Lyn) Charlatan
Dedicated To: Lyn Waters Ratzberg
(anger poem for workshop)

It seems I have given birth to a bastard child:
poetry...

I draw no conclusions make no comparisons, there is no
exit, no escape
from words that usher in the sublimity of the empty page.

I must be a magician, I must have cracked the Da Vinci code,
I am the virgin without the announcement and with no Lord
and Master, a Ronin warrior, I break open your seed with the precision
of a surgeon conducting an autopsy on herself, the pain is a useless
circumcision on a phantom appendage,

My breakfast coffee tastes like drying mud.
I sip and choke and cough, my eyes all tears.
Last night was fun, I wish I could recall
Just what the hell I drank; sure wasn't beers!

Baby Biff Maverick
lives up to his last name,

he's quite the wiley rascal
and, may be difficult to tame.

He's determined, and relentless
to win every game he plays,

using the element of surprise
against cats, set in their ways.

That's how it is with my other boys
two neutered, full-grown, males;

they nearly jump right out of their coats
when he pounces, on their tails!

He's a little ball of thunder
truly exuberant, in all he does;

Elongated shadows cast
An ice cold chill
upon me is cast

Night birds cry
Foot Falls in the distance
Making the earth
Tremble and quake

Glowing eyes from every tree
Voices whisper
They're following me

As I trod histories ground
There is no shelter
To be found

From these haunted woods
Sanctuary I seek
In answer to my prayers
I hear a shriek

hold the ache
in slim fingers
like a swimmer
streaming arcs
the brittle surf
the bird lark caught
in the net of clouds

these sandy shoals
of bitter lacerations
racing reason
tracing rhymne

and the forest sighs
while the eye of moon
shutters through the
dark limbed limbo

and in the kelp

the great swaying forest
you bury your treasure
my wayward heart
Its yours forever
till the years grow dark

1
Sons of Abraham,
Upon the vanished roads
of world demised
when other watery ways were found
around the cape
discovered by wind from western shores,

Those dusted traveled ties
that carried thoughts
as well as things
on sandy blowing idea routes,
in words whose fair exchange and trade
brought light,
like those of Ibn Rushd
returning golden flames
of Aristotle’s, Plato’s spark to life
Cordoban pages to ignite new thoughts again
from sleep
to be a renaissance begun.

blue mountains and rose petals
fall to earth
and the earth swallows everything
but love

love is all there is
but for the magnitude of reflection,
an ocean we leave behind
beside our mortal coil

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mUmdR69nbM This Mortal Coil ~ Cocteau Twins

between here and there,
there is just this,
and the justice that is just this,
we walk on angry feet sometimes
throw another skeleton into the closet
and kick the teeth of gratitude
with the spare change of our pockets
and this is the way we pass through
the needle of our eye,

and this is the way we spin ourselves
like spiders inside webs dangling
from end to end

the morning dew not yet dropping, the
sun not yet glistening.

Malicious
for emotions workshop

(Hate poem)