Hands resting on the table
Faces locked with eyes
Seized in a moment flashed
with the quickness of flies
A bold and darting move
to test a grasping clasp
resulting in a gently broken flee
revealing what the eyes had sought
but not prepared to see
Awkward hands rescind in what a set mistook
A retreat lapsed from a gesture made,
Eyes not knowing where to look.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Sunday, February 14, 2016
The Game! The Game!
The Game! The Game!
What is there BUT the game?
The fields and courts house the eternal imbalance
where ambitions aggress
among lines, posts, and nets.
Where sighs express
the murmur of a tie
deflecting the tally mark
from the face of sudden death
like an ir regular heartbeat.
The Game! The Game!
What is there BUT the game,
where dreams are chased
holding only a thread
of that last endeavor as merit?
What is there BUT the game?
The fields and courts house the eternal imbalance
where ambitions aggress
among lines, posts, and nets.
Where sighs express
the murmur of a tie
deflecting the tally mark
from the face of sudden death
like an ir regular heartbeat.
The Game! The Game!
What is there BUT the game,
where dreams are chased
holding only a thread
of that last endeavor as merit?
Sunday, January 31, 2016
A Stone Unturned
No one is even glimpsing among the graveled chips of crust today. I don't know how long I've been cracked into this tiny piece; but obscured and unnoticed in the randomness of placement is better than being kicked around.
It is usually the case when your tarnished side is up, leaving you vulnerable. I've accepted that my lackluster doesn't have the appeal of the natural beauty in resplendent gems and sea shells The only hope lies in the never-ending winds and currents of perpetual browsing; otherwise you submit to erosion. So, you lay in wait like an orphan longing to be adopted. A linear fracture line might attract an artist's eye.
In the dream it happened.
This time two worlds didn't collide and neither one collapsed; they eclipsed. To rest in the hand of flesh was vibrant, and the release into a warm pocket was comforting. The encounter was more than remembered occasions of mindless elevations into thoughtless hand squeezes before being hurled into a different community, usually into a body of water if not striking a tree or landing into forlorn foliage.
The shock of hearing a voice speak to me was weird,but it was a new sensation. The lingering thumb on my gash made me feel as if I had a breath to draw, leaving me as surprised as a drunk prostitute's reaction to a brief smooch after a service rendered.
As any other element awakened by the sun's power to close dreams. I'm content to have remembered this one and hope that someday I might even become preserved in a Klimt mosaic.
It is usually the case when your tarnished side is up, leaving you vulnerable. I've accepted that my lackluster doesn't have the appeal of the natural beauty in resplendent gems and sea shells The only hope lies in the never-ending winds and currents of perpetual browsing; otherwise you submit to erosion. So, you lay in wait like an orphan longing to be adopted. A linear fracture line might attract an artist's eye.
In the dream it happened.
This time two worlds didn't collide and neither one collapsed; they eclipsed. To rest in the hand of flesh was vibrant, and the release into a warm pocket was comforting. The encounter was more than remembered occasions of mindless elevations into thoughtless hand squeezes before being hurled into a different community, usually into a body of water if not striking a tree or landing into forlorn foliage.
The shock of hearing a voice speak to me was weird,but it was a new sensation. The lingering thumb on my gash made me feel as if I had a breath to draw, leaving me as surprised as a drunk prostitute's reaction to a brief smooch after a service rendered.
As any other element awakened by the sun's power to close dreams. I'm content to have remembered this one and hope that someday I might even become preserved in a Klimt mosaic.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Death of Trust
Minutes chase the hour
The hours chase the day
Days of love await the hour
when trust will be betrayed.
Shredded on the wheel of time
wherein there's no reverse,
chopped in unforgotten pain,
unable to traverse
familiar paths
averting drops of rain.
Naked chunks strewn
atop a sacred ground
above the hallowed hideaways,
residue is burrowed,
never to be found.
Severed skin seeps drop of blood
to dry, to darken
into an endless night
of unforgotten pain
unable to traverse familiar paths
to avert the mourning rain.
The wheel of time keeps turning
for the slaughters that will come
after deception's wrecking ball
slams trust to be undone.
The hours chase the day
Days of love await the hour
when trust will be betrayed.
Shredded on the wheel of time
wherein there's no reverse,
chopped in unforgotten pain,
unable to traverse
familiar paths
averting drops of rain.
Naked chunks strewn
atop a sacred ground
above the hallowed hideaways,
residue is burrowed,
never to be found.
Severed skin seeps drop of blood
to dry, to darken
into an endless night
of unforgotten pain
unable to traverse familiar paths
to avert the mourning rain.
The wheel of time keeps turning
for the slaughters that will come
after deception's wrecking ball
slams trust to be undone.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Aldous Pause
As I walked through the State of Mind,
I came upon a spot where I knew
Aldous Huxley had been.
In a place without writing on a wall,
pause reverently bestowed its will.
The past's incessant nudging pressed
against my back with the weakened force
of a hall of self reflective mirrors.
I had danced the square dance,
but never the minuet;
I had jazzlessly jitterbugged
through war's intermissions.
Aldous might have paused here too,
scoffing at unknowing the unknown;
but knowing whose hands would manage
the next impregnated motherload of postwar hope,
as they always know when to seize command.
My mother never danced the minuet,
but taught me the jitterbug in a world of our own.
The frenzy of rhythmic swirls, twirls, dips, and spins
enshrouded her innocence and naivety's
trust that life would be better for me
in the wake of what came to be
just another war to end all wars.
Nudged as I am, I nudge forward too, lightly
pressing against the backs of youngsters
scoffing at unknowing the unknown;
but knowing whose hands would manage them
as they always know when to coat the wheels
of caissons with the song that rolls along.
I came upon a spot where I knew
Aldous Huxley had been.
In a place without writing on a wall,
pause reverently bestowed its will.
The past's incessant nudging pressed
against my back with the weakened force
of a hall of self reflective mirrors.
I had danced the square dance,
but never the minuet;
I had jazzlessly jitterbugged
through war's intermissions.
Aldous might have paused here too,
scoffing at unknowing the unknown;
but knowing whose hands would manage
the next impregnated motherload of postwar hope,
as they always know when to seize command.
My mother never danced the minuet,
but taught me the jitterbug in a world of our own.
The frenzy of rhythmic swirls, twirls, dips, and spins
enshrouded her innocence and naivety's
trust that life would be better for me
in the wake of what came to be
just another war to end all wars.
Nudged as I am, I nudge forward too, lightly
pressing against the backs of youngsters
scoffing at unknowing the unknown;
but knowing whose hands would manage them
as they always know when to coat the wheels
of caissons with the song that rolls along.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Outlier
Realizing someone must extend
across the divide, I slipped off
my comfortable coat
and stepped out on the bridge.
Coldness and isolation beset me
as I cautiously tread on
each of the footing ropes.
I had become an outlier.
Wondering if this was sacrifice,
I glanced back to note my missing coat
among the stirring and anguished crowd
and felt no less lonely.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Dogs Don't Bark at Parked Cars
He surrendered his life like a well worn lease
through the narrow eyes of the law,
having sloshed through puddles of spiritual darkness,
feeling fearfully delectable to the variety in animal tastes.
He took his last breath.
We call it death, the absence of life;
but his energy's complexity paid homage to his gratitude
for all those who strove to make his world a better place.
Coldness sat in like the relevance of his humanity,
escorting him into the abyss before morphing into fractals
condensed in voluminous clouds of statistics.
Data reigns and showers all who shelter, cup, or drown.
Some drenched in pools of spiritual darkness
like those dropping the floor from under him face down;
Some like him, sacrificed as dead weight under
a constellation of cacophonous pitter-patter tweeter chatter.
Left to float like shining oil on broken pavement,
evaporating senselessly from lidless bell jars,
oblivious to the dog whistles of credulity and self-delusion,
yet knowing that dogs don't bark at the parked cars.
through the narrow eyes of the law,
having sloshed through puddles of spiritual darkness,
feeling fearfully delectable to the variety in animal tastes.
He took his last breath.
We call it death, the absence of life;
but his energy's complexity paid homage to his gratitude
for all those who strove to make his world a better place.
Coldness sat in like the relevance of his humanity,
escorting him into the abyss before morphing into fractals
condensed in voluminous clouds of statistics.
Data reigns and showers all who shelter, cup, or drown.
Some drenched in pools of spiritual darkness
like those dropping the floor from under him face down;
Some like him, sacrificed as dead weight under
a constellation of cacophonous pitter-patter tweeter chatter.
Left to float like shining oil on broken pavement,
evaporating senselessly from lidless bell jars,
oblivious to the dog whistles of credulity and self-delusion,
yet knowing that dogs don't bark at the parked cars.
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