memories

Raindrops pass through, unnoticed even as they ripple across still waters
until the root soaks up the best intentions re edifying long codified inventions
where cells are duplicated in the thirst
and plants spring forth from their forgotten grace
when the rain fell in places where waters run scarce;
where hearts penetrated each others ether until
the quickening in them erupted; now still.

Abrasions

like sandpaper those intimations sought to rhasp and wear me thin;
though I'd never let them win.
I'll survive through stifled screams, if just to dine on bartered dreams
and throw the yolk of their choke hold asunder
and revel in the resultant thunder, that storms through planes of indiscretion
hoping every blade of grass repents; although in softly flowing patterns, there is nothing it resents.

Time may do the same of this mortal human frame.
Life as well divines its interpretive hell.
where was divinity lifted to? where was it when it fell?
What imperfect pedestal; erected by less than perfect beings could make the less than godly sing?

I seek for less and more than I am, and remain a single being; ripped and torn through time and space,
forlorn of lost love and somehow found, in places and spaces where demons freely fornicate with angels on those fertile planes of sound, yet we swim through salacious salvation all around.

Touch these thoughts

Touch what these thoughts have done to all the other thoughts, 
sense what the unseen mind elates through the flavor of these words, 
for when those intimations fall silent, 
this world pauses at the dawn... 
tempests of pain brood beneath thunderous ringing; the pallid wind howling mercilessly upon opened dreams... 
until the soul becomes convinced...
that those wretched sounds are words. SMC 2011

Sadness blows in gusts

Words pierce the soul like knives,
when lies contaminate dreams.
trickling like warm red drops into streams,
they moisten the hopes of a heart
into the putty of a clay makers art.

Sunlight becomes the antithesis of salvation,
where shade makes love to the day.
sadness blows into every crevice, with the dust from the badlands,
where romance and youth were wasted away.

Art becomes itself in the moment the artist has long passed his day.

words

Ink, somnolence, ocean, time, rhythm, rhyme...
These are some of the words that stifle my voice in trying to describe what I've yet to elate.
Only a fool dare contemplate an ocean before he drowns of its obviousness.
only a poet cold hope to unlock the mystery of death to spare his breath,
where at last gasp his pent up penchant for lyric timing breaks free from pentameters grips
and slips and fits to mar the page where bards become shards in fits of rage at the realization that even the greats left misspellings and misquotes in-situe woven deeply into their wisdom's foolishness.
Parry the phrase that labels us hacks and beat down the moment it lacks
the naysayers always say nay at what they fail to comprehend, in the humblest beginnings of the end.

whispers

There are whispers in a motion that comes from deep within
where choices stifle voices that notion beside a sin
there is betrayal of the self that bides its heart of shelf
and bids its owner bitter as the mystic of an elf
There are lies and indisgressions that fail to teach their lessons
as judgment passed its vapid verdent verdict over life's concessions.
there is heartlessness and pain that bathes us in its rain
as we journey on a path that guides our souls in vane.

Recompense is nil

My love flows without question or request,
My words move freely, hate them or refuse to take them, they will always be what they are;
Droplets hidden in the pattern of rain on the rivers of time.
My words will always be briefly mine that I release into a universe of eternity shining like the stars on the far side of a horizon you'll never transect until you feel yourself swimming in these silent somnolent sentiments glimmering in the darkness and light of an ocean of my words. They will always be trickling over every one in my life with respect and admiration for your companionship friendship and love.

satelllites and sentiments

What somnolent recompense drives the sea to lie beneath a winds caress
driving ripples across these desert plains into distress
piercing the soul like a needles incision
injecting the inky loneliness until it flows into places I'd rather not know.

chasing sordid dreams, not mine, to behold
leaves me aching from tales that are yet to be told.

pretty vs beauty

Pretty was the thing that looked but rarely pondered
listed on the scenery while the beauty of a glorious mind had wandered
into places and spaces only demons and fairy's could stay
seeing clouds pass through hours till dusk diminished the day
where dreams are all around us becoming of our hearts
no brighter is the sun nor darker its shadows from these arts
where feelings and ambitions slay faulty superstitions
and angels dare love and then leave us with lucid visions.
It shown like the sun from within, its brilliance casting shadows off my soul
to divide these perceptions into merged recollections
and blend them together as whole.

on companionship and pet ownership

Companionship is a gift not to be taken lightly
for even the wildest hound chooses its keep in mind
where all actions are factions of choice and hope
the only difference is in what that hope implies
implicit or explicit matters not until this daydream dies
in the perception that there was nothing to purvey
but a lone ambition with nothing left to say.

Trust is sacrosanct and bound
to every interaction found,
T'is the same of every man and hound.

beginning in the end

There are times I want to see it burn
from sea to sky in turn
ending at that stained saltire
bearing more than your sincere desire
to reap what had been sewn
with proprietors in places where nothing can be owned.

It begins

In the beginning the end was implicit
in the living of the dream it became a thing of fear
that destruction was explicit and ever presently near
where all order is reduced to chaos for the reformation
of something quite unclear.