The stream (all workshops)
I would've electrified the air,
sparkled it with rust and lemons.
Ah, but there is not time for that!
Only time
for
aggravating
and troublesome demands
flooding like
paper chairs
in the water.
I would have dreamt of more solutions.
Left them littered like dandruff
on the pinnacle of creation.
Ah, but there is not time for that!
There's never time for impossibilities.
Too many
concrete diaper's
demanding to
be filled.
Cold is the grave
to which I go
leaving nothing
but an embers glow
Dark is the road
on which I'll travel
while world surrounding
begins to unravel
The beating of wings
is all I hear
the reason for being
becomes unclear
Listless trees
hung with blackened souls
line each side
like Centurians of old
Shattered bones litter
the unpaved roads
whispers echo the thoughts
untold
Within the apothecary
of my treasured past memories
each rubber stoppered bottle
contains at least a trace
of you
The Cutting Edge
Shredding night with razor dreams
that brutalize its sleep
a tortured soul suspends itself in time
ankle deep in foreign mud
beneath a weeping sky
without the love of metaphor or rhyme
Why did your ghost remind
me of what you looked like?
Why did it sneak up on me,
unwanted
(yet still honestly desired)
in the morning?
That was rude,
my friend who lingers
on the fringes
of my sanity.
It was unfair
for you to come
like rain unannounced,
to stir up a storm
of thoughts
that flock in rebellion
of my chosen occupation,
all the while singing your name
ad nauseam.
The dawn comes, another one goes
yet darkness grows.
No sun to rise
into my eyes.
Your absence dims the lofty sky;
its blue turns shy,
then muses fade
into the shade.
Aida’s Dinner Guests….
Suddenly it’s clear the glass has been wiped,
an age old custom had been strewn across
streets of perfect blue tar.
But the miles and inches ahead were not
mine, though I surely had travelled them
you could see that al the chemist had been
clever in his deceit of rudimental substance.
the eclipse
a cold wave
the lights come up
and a dawn surrounds
us at the distance
we are the dark blind
in the eye of the fear
fixing tourniquets
in little worlds
while the winds prepare
to whirl
we fix a word
and mouth our prayers
repairing the breaks
with floss and nail
polish
memorizing our loyaties
when we are swept apart
by tides of fear
ready for the forthcoming
year
Yahoo! Woohoo! Yeehaa!
The yobbo checks furtively,
to make sure everyone can see,
he is having fun.
Introspection fills my mind
on my walk from woods to home this eve
of all the loved ones left behind
leaving me alone to grieve.
Stars appear slowly one by one
I hunch my shoulders from the cold,
another day now come and gone
as both the year and I grow old.
I turn left when I reach the road
my staff resounds on asphalt street
on the final stretch to my abode,
a course I so often repeat.
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