Sonnets

The clouds curl over mountains cold and blue
and rains hiss whispers back to thunder's speak;
so all is mist and green and gray of hue
and in this land a child would wonder seek.
Cowichan coat warms her in its magic
with knitted forms of mystic dancing deer.
That she's alone might seem all too tragic,
but in her mind all that she dreams is here.
She holds an abalone , pearlescent grey
And wonders at the colours caught inside.
She lifts it inside out up to the day
and wishes every heartfelt dream applied.
The abalone then vanished all aglow
and in its place appeared the bright rainbow.

Strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives,
across the chasmed centuries gone past,
he calls her name; it never quite arrives
to fall upon her ear.  Just at the last,
she leaves the hall, or shutters windows closed.
The fading echoes rebound, fall, despair
upon the careless earth, alone who knows
how many times he's haunted up her stairs
and stood before her door, unwilling hand
hung limply at his side. The heavy years
passed by them both again; he hadn't planned
that they would not meet. This chance disappears  
to speak the truth he knows she knows as well;
two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell.

Two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell,
a karmic double-helix twists through time.
They spiral 'round, attracted and repelled
by cosmic force, the space between defined
as two arms' lengths apart. Their fingertips
will brush by chance; the spark that generates
ignites the kindling lust, the heated lips
which speak the wildfire words of love. The fates
dictate the places, times where their paths cross;
circumstances, consequences feed
the choices made.  They've chosen fire, the loss
of reason, stoking starving naked need,
dance with abandon, passion, without pride;
they trip light-years fantastic side by side.

They trip light-years fantastic side by side.
The pas de deux began in ancient court
of some small city-state.  He is a knight
sent by his Queen, a diplomatic sort
of mission.  At a dinner hosted by
the local King, the knight, while taking in
who might be helpful or a hindrance spies
a shaken mane of gold, blue eyes within
her stunning face, struck slack with ennui
until she meets his eyes.  An eyebrow lifts,
a corner of her mouth curls up, unseen
by all save the old man beside.  He shifts,
and stands to pound his staff. The hall is still;
bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell

Bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell:
"Your burning gaze, Sir Knight...your smile, milass;
returned. You want each other?  Very well!
So mote it be; I'll have it come to pass.
She will be linked to you, eternally
yours, to have, to hold and never love;
to consummate and quench your lust will be
your death. And you shall lust, by Jove above!
I hereby mate your everlasting souls;
condemn you with a love like Hades' fires,
passion's heat incinerates you whole.
You'll take him, child, and kill him with desire.
You'll die for her; she'll bring you to her knees
across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas."

Across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas
uncounted years of wandering, he seeks
asylum from the memory of her eyes.
The softest skin, most gently blushing cheeks,
wildest fingers raking skin from back,
ever-changing hips which thrust and thrash;
the tavern wench, the courtesan, all lack
whatever power it would take to smash
his crushing need.  An aching pilgrimage,
life spent in shameless chase to slake the lust
imposed by jealous wizard in his rage.
Now weak and old, he walks alone through dust
and sandstorm, seeking solace, final rest
in desert's scalding carborundum breath

In desert's scalding carborundum breath
she oversees construction of her tomb.
Her father started it; upon his death,
she left the mage to build the solemn room
of memory. The waves of slaves pour sweat
in rivers onto stones, their muscles scream
and ripple in the undulating heat.
Mirage becomes a staggering man, unseen
by all but her. She mounts and rides to bring
some water, some relief.  When their eyes meet,
their souls enmesh, their spirits start to sing,
his failing body falls about her feet.
They're found again, and still there's no release;
not even end of life can bring surcease.

Not even end of life can bring surcease;
she lived another twenty years beyond.
His final glance of longing gave no peace,
but chained her in the everlasting bond
of arcane condemnation. Her damned heart
is pierced by passing seconds, every one
a blunted needle, mildly poisoned dart
not strong enough to stop her pulse's run.
The mage's gift to her: the agony
of life remembering her lover's kiss,
then a death too short to set her free.
It sends her toward another fatal tryst,
spun round again the universe's width;
their love a measured minuet with death.

Their love a measured minuet with death,
a dance with destiny.  They wake again
to unfamiliar bodies, unknown paths
meandering across the haunted plain
of time.  A muddy pasture, half a million
blissful stoners join in raucous song:
"...and you make it hard". Among the hills run
junkie lovers who can do no wrong,
all sharing bodies, needles 'til the smack
runs out. Her shaking arms strapped 'cross his chest;
he huddles close, awaiting the next stack
of Methadone. He shivers; breathes his last.
She cries and rocks his body, they will spoon
throughout the summer's thundered afternoon.

Throughout the summer's thundered afternoon
as heavy clouds erupt on thirsty soil,
cooler air meets skin on fire, a boon
to Magdalene and lover.  The sweet oil
washes off, the rain obscures the sound
of marching feet.  Centurions approach
and snatch him from her side. "So now you're found
beside this one, whose last ride gave us such
an evil time.  We strung him up, but now
his body's gone, and you were seen beside
the tomb. You'll die just as he did, and how."
She watched another man be crucified.
Supported by her love, he passed in peace
suspended in expectant spring's embrace.

Suspended in expectant spring's embrace,
the royal courtyard at Versailles in bloom
is laid out for the party.  Every face
is rouged, each powdered wig precisely groomed.
The hundred soldiers stand down, raise a toast,
Vive le roi!  One teasing courtier
seduces a queen's guard to leave his post.
Behind a hedge, they make love unaware
of peasants, women milling through the gate
in search of bread and royal blood, not cake.
He runs to save the Queen, and seals his fate;
the mob will kill for revolution's sake.
The oaks a silent witness to his doom
in autumn colors, reds and golds festooned.

In autumn colors, reds and golds festooned,
the twin moons rise and set, reflecting sun
upon the biodomes.  Earth shines down, ruined
by man's neglect, what could not be undone.
The population by law zero sum;
resource conservation held above
the joy of new life.  Parents here must come
to know the anguish of requited love.
She bears his child; they knew too well the chance
they took.  The court will force a choice be made:
the father or the child. A tear, a glance
as he's locked out. She watches as he fades
in cryogenic punishment, life lashed
to winter's icy shackles holding fast.

To winter's icy shackles holding fast
her soul, she proffers prayer, slogs through the sleet
toward her cloistered cell.  One chilling blast
wraps habit 'round her, knocks her off her feet.
The heavy, sodden cloth, the wind prevents
her gaining purchase on the frozen ground.
From monastery cot, the monk could sense
distress.  In thin burnoose he dashed and found
her, cold as stone, yet breathing; swept her up
and rushed her to the hearth.  His warm embrace
brings on familiar heat.  Their pasts stirred up,
relived, decision made within a trace:
"'Tis best this time we live, and never start."
Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart.

Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart;
the aching need grows stronger day by day.
He tends her failing health without regard
to duty, vows.  Her weak voice strains to say,
"I will be gone before you this time. Hear
me out; this may be what we need to break
our curse.  Stay with me as my time grows near;
and love me as the Reaper comes to take
my soul, and finish with me after I
have left.  God will forgive sins we'll commit
for man alone has damned us.  We must try
or curse ourselves, continue to submit
to endless pain, remain just as we are:
connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart."

Connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart,
they cling to every moment here and now;
the priceless beating of her failing heart,
his passions roil out in unending flow.
He gazes deep in her eternal eyes
as they glaze over, looking past his face
into the hollow stare of death.  She lies
suspended between life and time and space,
to hear an old, familiar voice sound in
her ears.  "To dance with death before him
as you rut...how clever!  Most astounding
that you'd carry out this futile whim.
He dies; you'll live, just as the curse defines;
strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives."

Strolling, wistful, through a thousand lives
Two ancient souls in broken bodies dwell.
They trip light-years fantastic side by side
Bound by an angered mage's curs'ed spell.
Across uncharted lands, bedragoned seas,
In desert's scalding carborundum breath
Not even end of life can bring surcease;
Their love a measured minuet with death.
Throughout the summer's thundered afternoon,
Suspended in expectant spring's embrace,
In autumn colors, reds and golds festooned,
To winter's icy shackles holding fast;
Their minds attuned, yet cleft by broken heart:
Connected, blessed, and doomed to be apart.

Were you to pass a thousand years drifting
In memories doubly drenched in sorrow,
You would find me pacing the shore waiting
To welcome you home, life's new tomorrow.

Within this land of love's patient slumber,
I will cradle your tender, worried heart
'Til time allows you to disremember
The burdens of grief which set you apart.

Then bring your ship sailing straight home to me;
I am forever your warm water port.
I've sent sweet scented streams out to your sea,
Now awaken to my gentle escort.

  My love is a current, steady and true
  I am your safe harbor;  I wait for you.

The roadside weeds that clutter my hometown,
tangled skinny stems and yellow flowers.
Sing oh reverence, glory come down
to us, they sing, in daylight’s fading hours.

I cannot stomp them out, I cannot press them
in between the pages of my books.
Flower after flower, stem by stem
grow ugly. I can barely stand to look.

The preacher, he had called the place salvation
when telling us to where the high road led.
But the stars all seem to spell damnation,
and the moon, an eyeless, bloodless head.

Tonight the roadside weeds sing mercy, mercy
come for a homeward soul in need of thee.

o splendid child most whOlly pure and sweet (
angelic, come to claim your worldly place)
de
    scend
              ing, born to mother of the street
Leda to some (on the                  
                                   down-low) Zeus
effervescent incandescent  eYe  s
illuminating darkened cornered souls
of passers-                                                  
                  >snappingsnarlingstomping< 
                                                             ­       by                 
with savior's grace found now(here)
                                                             perfect whole
unearthly beauty neon ((halo)) glows
               mirrored
                               on her palest golden hair
from reddest lights and bar signs
                                                         Her steps float
above the concrete-footed walks and stairs
to which we're tied.
                                 Just child's play (yet it seems
that in her wake a cityblock's
                                                  )redeemed

Sow my way through this black market, gun-dry; face bold
as blackest soot; frozen by talk of a crisp moon-
beam in a siren cult of breeders bearing fruit:
the angels of this hour are little what they seem.

I wander through its open stalls in half-a-dream
picking ‘cross aisles, a wetted sepulchre. Writhing
up the bottled alleys where cold eyes arrest me
and tempt me from my reverie; small, plush and dying.

The hour is late and would be called witching I say
if it were mottled hags who lined my green as gay
as their evil is long; but this coven is still.

Blinding the night with their indifference, I marvel
at the stony-faced beauty of the pack; carved in
rock as faces round a ouija - “Whose? Whose time shall I
                                                             ­                                   kill?”

My mother's waters gave me birth
and wrinkled, I came to her arms.
So, wrinkled, will I leave this earth;
beyond its sorrows and its charms.
How sorrowful and soon, the dusk
will not be held back by our cries
and I within this worn out husk
lie down again, and hope to rise.
I dream of other waters now;
where joy and love and comfort are.
Where, to pain I need never bow,
beyond some bright but distant star.
Such afterlife I'll never know,
unless I slip this earth -and go.

Supposing that you had to find
One tear-drop in a golden mine,
Would you sit and blankly stare
About my cave, lit by a flare,
For a rush of inspiration frankly got,
to show you the way like white-blood cells clot,
for a glint of something not metal or cold?
Could you presume to be so bold?
Or would you rather first commit
To examine each glossy gold stone pit
Over, under, below and around?
For only carefully can treasure be found,
And mine, although not simply revealed,
Is purer every second that it is concealed.

Our liquid souls collide in liquid lips.
No words are needed for tongues to entertain
Each other, slick as flickering fingertips,
Blistering with the passion of the insane.

We share our plasma while there's something to burn.
Brand your name within my irises.
Eyes memorize as much as they can learn,
Like a computer scanning for viruses.

I rise like heat when clothing melts away
And now our tongues can fulfill their destinies.
No more thinking; it is time to play.
In slightly less than seventy ways we please.

The climax is slithering and slakes while nearing
Exploding in ecstasy-- sensational searing