static sands intense
brought to thirst in tired knees
most humid morrows
lemonade stands children plan
rum punch; melon seeds find tongues
powder bursts of blue
sky lit by moonlight, by night
sleeping bags to lay
rainbows and angels collide
insects sleep through the Fall wind
rakes and moods compete
axe to cut for wood to warm
blue dew paused in frost
scarecrows climb their wooden hold
small souls jump in rouge and jade
old descending star
no skirts in Fall, hide the doll
flow in with the brisk
tourists pack away hurried
quilts unfold themselves from chests
hot chocolate stirs
school the mind in pumpkin pie
charm her pretty eyes
Salem presents witchcraft haunts
blackened hats with painted pouts
soup beats out ice cream
suitor and flame cuddle up
holidays are near
turkey accents great ardor
bikinis are memories
bestow gifts of love
sea foam licks frosted breakers
frozen flake concerts
ears, primed and raw, sting a breeze
greying skies blanket cities
Winter solstice, bleak
incensed timber sparks to flame
Auld Lang Syne chimes in
Super Bowl crowns their hero
angels produced in snow drifts
taped Yule cards still swing
trees exposed with brittle sticks
all glistens and dies
fog conceals the hands from view
yellow snow is a no no!
Jack Frost waves goodbye
spiked eggnog still coats the tongue
Good morning glory!
Winter coats now tossed aside
bees dive-bomb flowers, thrill ride!
Covered in sweat,
hairs a mess,
lying between the curb and the pavement,
spewing out the alphabet in cursive
saying things you'll regret in the morning
making crowns out of cardboard beer boxes
because you think you're the fucking king,
you're just another kid to everyone else
you're not special
you're not any better than anyone else
because you can hold down your liquor longer
than the girl in the ripped white jeans
or the college boy who's been doing this since he was sixteen.
you're no better than anyone else
because you stay up until five in the morning,
forgetting how you got from one place to the other,
but oh wait sorry
I forgot we're young and this is what makes you you
I forgot that this was what you gave me up to do.
So I hope this makes you feel important,
I hope it replaces all the warmth I thought I was giving you
I hope it was worth hurting me for,
I hope it was worth trashing all that belief I put in you,
when you used to be my king
I hope the sweat sticks, the concrete cracks, you break your own heart
and I hope you wear your crown like the king you are.
What a sorry sight we are
Our faces are pale
Hair is dirty and matted
The "clothes" we wear are rags sewn together
We eat what the rats leave
The scars on our arms are memories
Of what we left for this
We were scorned and persecuted
Because we were wrapped in light
Now we can't escape darkness
Our smiles were slapped off of our faces
The best we can do is paint them back on
They replaced our crowns with thorns
And we let them!
We were mocked for respecting our Father
So we ran away from home
We were fearless
But now we cower from our own shadows
We kill our dreams and devour their wings
We're monsters who once were knights
And yet our Father still holds His arms wide open
He wants us to come home
But our own thoughts hold us back
It's not our tormentors' fault anymore
They can't stop us from leaving
But we think they can
So we grit our teeth
As the b;ade greets us
Crimson tears blur our vision
Of our loving Father
I remember your face reflected onto the window's glass
The sun had never shone so brightly
It highlighted every move on your face
The way you smiled crookedly
The spark in your deep brown eyes
How lovely your pink cheeks looked
It was a sight to behold
It made me want to write an anthology about you
To capture how in the summer time we ran through the backyard, and into the forest
To get lost to the sounds of nature
The warm breeze dancing between the trees, between your hair
The flutter of birds, mixed with their singing
To spent hours in a meadow wich only we knew its location
Wrapped, tangled in each other
I sang you songs and you made me beautiful flower crowns
You are my equinox
Must not give up
must not give in
must not fail to start living.
If mantra's work and I'm assured they do
I'm sure that this may see me through
when all is bleak
when I am weak
and all I want is to streak away
but like the fastenings of the night to day
I know that I must stay
to see in words that mimic me and mock at my endeavour
if only then to free my thoughts and
whether they would rise or fail
would sink or sail
I could not know but have to be free to go and find this truth
or pull it out and inspect it like some rotting tooth
black and pungent smelling
like some telling of a nursery rhyme back when in the time
of wolves and spells
and trolls in dells
the truth was not so clear to see .
If I were me and I'm sure I'm not
I'd find a little spot hidden far away in some place where I could call and say this here is mine and I would stay
secluded from the rush of people pushing past and I at last could start to cogitate upon this state of who I am
well that's the plan
but of course another pipe bursts into smoke and I can't even smoke the joke of dreams that fire the sky above
and If I love then who,
who could fathom all the deep that I myself can only sleep above,
it's a battle to keep my head afloat or keep a coat on
go on to see and what is left but me and another me in mimicry.
If in all of this,
in all of this life I could but only be a copy replicant not free but locked into technology
and who could not but fail to see a form of ideology or idolatry
a branch of yet another tree that grew out of necessity
and that is yet another faking of the free chained into some solitary cell
encouraged to scream and fekin hell
streaming curses intervexed and supertexted them into the padded wall where swear words fell but I being on the ball and mindful of recycling picked them up and sang them,rang them out again until I myself was wrung out dry.
Why Is it then that I should feel that being peeled like a ripened plum and waiting for 'Jack' to come and stick his thumb into my eye
why is it written in the fables that poor men wait on rich men's tables and drink porter watered down while those that sit with crowns upon their head would in any case be better off if I were dead
just a thought to think and in the blinking of the middle eye it joins its brothers in the sky where all thought congregate to die
another why and another after that and flat out,shout out,can't read enough about or write the words to set me free
one more branch
one more tree
one more me
one more me
ideas of being free
immortal in mortality and death to all banality
I see nothing really
except the cornflake box
a pair of sweaty socks and my life whistling down the plug hole.
The eyes behind a head inclined reflect a universe
Of shanty towns and kings in crowns and parties in a hearse,
Of heaping mounds of coffee grounds and pennies in a purse,
Of heart attacks in shoddy shacks, of motion in reverse,
Of reasons why pale kids must die, quite trite and curtly terse,
Of puppet people at the steeple, kneeling down averse,
Of tinkle tones and megaphones with empty words and worse,
Of life’s begin’ in utter sin and other things perverse,
Of lewd taboos and residues contained within the Curse,
While poets blind, in gallows’ rind, carve epitaphs in verse.
Quiet and uneasy.
The voiceless breeze at my back was thickly draped with irregular design.
There I was... staring at my warped reflection in the remoteness ahead of me.
A revelation violated my over crowded mind and before I could even fathom my displacement,
the moon started melting.
As if calling out to werewolves, the hypnotizing moon started dripping moonlight.
Glowing moon drops crashed to the ground and I found myself surrounded by the dreams of a thousand kings.
Beyond the limitations of clockwork, I found myself surrounded and under siege by the visions of a thousand visionaries.
There I was.
A captive to crowns of light.
A hostage to a deserted kaleidoscope of angelic halos...
So many blinding halos, all riddled with hidden wisdom and rare moon drop truth.
Halos infected with unfound secrets handed over to the chosen...
Secrets handed over by the masters of celestial emptiness themselves.
Like euphoric dreams within our nightmares...
the same nightmares found within our lost dreams...
The same lost and misunderstood dreams that dwell within a moon drops angelic halo.
Rare truth and untouched wisdom were just too pure for reality.
It would take the hallucinations of a thousand truth serums for us to conceive thier virtue.
A drug supposedly able to induce a state in which a person cannot lie.
© June 2013 E. Little
Dripping petals capture bugs in bubbles
letting them decide to bathe or drown.
Bees may hold crowns but don’t have thumbs.
Flies have many eyes but not a clever tongue.
Our mountains think they touch God
but their arrogance is too ugly;
If I tried as hard as them
my lungs would freeze.
Instead of a molted core
is a burning man spinning us on our axis.
He is natural but no Sun.
He is deceptive so much so
I may not smell his flesh
when it sticks to the hairs
of my nostril.
You are pure truth
with no need to conceal beauty
sepals and petals, you shine
open to the world
With crowns of flowers to adorn
yellow bees, gather fragrantly
adrift in dancing colors
No storm can truly shatter
your windy petals scattered
wet with seeds, planted
One so wild, reinventing life
bursting through the soil
Once upon a time
There were two giants
on our Island.
They were tall
and steely strong,
these twin giants.
They stood firm
on the ground
and their crowns
touched the clouds.
Then, on a crisp, clear
The world changed
And the giants were no more.