The stream (all workshops)
.
resplendence dances before sleep
as does the north side of night
a wind
blowing backward
a ruby in my shoe
boggled eyes patently dismiss
for rocks are hard, water wet
and yet,
a tumbleweed mumbles
a ruby in my shoe
have no doubt
it can be as such
prove otherwise
I'll tell you "not true"
yes, It's better
not to remember
but so much sadder
...a ruby in my shoe
“Blood on the Snow”
Remember
The lingering sorrow.
Gun blue eyes
Locked
In a moment
When time dared not breathe,
There
Just blossoming,
Love lies bleeding
Ever steady
Softly cocked,
I am felled.
*Love Lies Bleeding is also a flower also know as: Amaranths
watch how you walk
last chords of sermon on the mount
echo on playing field
no one paying attention
again
as fans leave the stadium
stubbing their toes on rusty rocks
cursing the world of matter
speaker shakes his head,
spits, and walks away
point is -- doesn't seem
to matter
what masters say to masses
gathered --
be it truth or no --
people need to stop
stubbing their toes.
vcp
5 December 2010
Ere!
Ere tis too late
Meet me
At the place,
Where the day meets
The darkness of night
But ere
Meet me at the sunset
And
The sunrise meet
Yes ere
Meet me when lust
And
Love conjoin
Ok ere.
Meet me when the
Sperm and ovum greet
Yeah, ere
But do meet me some where
No one can see us together
Perhaps
That’s nowhere!
Carnal grin , a sensuality
that makes me sin.
Out of control
A one to one connection
As I crave the warmth of your skin
Melt down.
Two bodies melding,
pulsating, undulating
as one.
Sample and savour,
I long to drink you in,
for a physical reaction.
`
The masks we wear, to us are given,
assigned to us before our cue.
The choice is ours to reveal or hide-
A grand charade with many a clue.
Would you be this or be you that;
Is it surfaced or is it hidden?
Not all secrets are lies or deceit,
Our view of others we must widen.
The genuine heart will itself reveal
Its spots or stripes are where they're at.
The lot of what we think we see,
provide but circumstantial caveat.
Hurrying to dress for work
I grabbed my gray t-shirt
lying on your vanity's plush chair
beside our bed,
put it on beneath my shirt
and scurried out the door
On my way way to work
in heavy traffic
faint aroma of gardenias
tickled at my senses
At work, at my desk
I wondered where
the perfume came from
and in the warehouse
I could not shake
the faint traces
of that sweetness
I’m tired
and have no poetry left;
so says Mary and me.
Meanwhile,
Mike and Chris tell me
it’s only a matter of time.
And Toby bleats
“ya gotta start somewhere.”
When I dropped the artistry,
I dropped the philosophy;
the fact is
I don’t even want to hear my own philosophy.
I’m ducking under snowballs
that occasionally shatter in the air
because it is too cold and dry
for them to be formed.
Every now and then
an expert bully packs one,
takes aim
and wallops me in the face.
The morning's cold as long lost love
as I sit here in these winter woods
surrounded by a snow white frost
mind haunted by the shoulds and coulds.
A last star freezes from the sky
as dawn turns slowly into day.
Worries rage no matter how I try,
I start to leave... decide to stay.
The only motion in this frozen world
is my fogging and then freezing breath
which writhes like some pale flag unfurled
surrendering to autumn's death.
Fresh crimson runs down my chest.
Lacerations you made
using my own words
turning them towards me,
using them like weapons
sharp as serrated steel.
I can find no way to recover,
you keep slicing into me
over and over again
inverting my emotions,
assigning me
as my own worst enemy.
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