The stream (all workshops)
I walked today,
without the laughter,
of the children.
I felt empty and so alone,
the world may have ended
Please tell me I am wrong,
I cannot see!
There seems to be an empty space
in front of me.
Yesterday they were here,
I heard them so
Please tell me what,
has made them go.
I cannot see
it’s hard for me
to listen to emptiness.
Just tell me
I am wrong
and it won’t be long.
Before the children return
Gallop
down fields of conception
enraptured fence lines woven
night
this rippling shinning running
might
Caught struggling with dreams
I heard your approach
and found the stillborn seam
where moonlight spill
will turn your leg
a lucky break
the screams
against the dunes
where gulls shall
wake
the thimble weight
darning socks
fishermen run
with lantern
iron and stock
THE MARK OF CAIN
You are darkness
the serpent’s kiss
the voice that lies
and the look that shames.
You are hell’s enchantment
and you kill the light
in me.
owe allegiance to no one
nothing
no dogma, doctrine,
nor desperation's dare
from the silly to the savage,
all concoctions
slither through the sieve of truth
spreading toxic puddles of delusion
and despair
shallow encounters
deceive
immersion, soul suicide
abscond
walk alone the remaining miles
breathe, taste, shiver the excitement of fresh airs
return home
newborn
empty
I drove them through the mountains
the winding roads
in clouds washed screens
could hardly see the road ahead
so watched the rear view mirror clean
they were entwined
like a serpent and a bottle of wine..
corked up then their hands,
drove
it was slightly cold I switched on the heat
they warmed up smiled
so it seemed...
thank you
could he have heard through the darkened glass
such awakening and in my nerves a striking lightening
ABOUT CURSES: 1882 , Calabrian hills
She bared her breasts
untouched by love’s caress
or infant’s kiss
to the winter moon
pale and full
demon clouds riding
a cold north wind
passing through.
In unholy Gregorian
she murmured
times three
and three more
an incantation
upon each generation
of the House of Red
she lay a curse on six plus one
beyond seven none.
.
deadfall
the windmill shadow
like a sorrowed hush of dusk
Decline we the
singular mulitude
swirling round the mind hive
axis
Fouette
infirmary
round clockwork
turns
while the sky whimpers
and souls burn
I spied a Rainbow Grande one time
I could've hit it with a stone,
the sun opened wide the way her morning does
so I watched the twin rainbow, alone.
Serendipity's grande gesture sent glowing rays
flooding my eyes with awed radiance,
it was too much to see by myself,
but I absorbed it's entire brilliance!
Humbled am l as l try to say words
that accurately tells all that it brings;
this private Twin "bow" Supreme showed colors to me
with a vibrancy that taught me to make wings;
Autumnal Ball
sun dappled shadows gambol on the ground
swaying branches ablaze with muted colors
Gaia laughs
shimmering translucent mirth
she shakes her head tossing her hair
as leaves tumble in a madcap freefall
cavorting gaily in the swirling gusts of wind!
length and strength
to my mind come two vitally important dimensions length and the power we all call strength .Both are equally important in all walks of life not only in the matter which some think out of this life but in every survey of imagination take a stride length means in poetry not being epicurial and the strength implies the power of conviction in your own diction of what one wants to convey direct and straight
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.