You told me about a radio show you hosted, once a week.
I found myself listening to a pod cast, your free spirit transcending through the airwaves.
It became a pleasure, a joy to hear you.
The lilt in your voice, enthusiasm and laughter you can't fake.
Rolling off recommendations, free events and advice.
I saw your passion come alive.
Cynicism and anxiety melting away.
We met in a hot pit of pressure, anxiety and nerves the order of the day.
Happiness cannot show its face in every environment.
I know that all too well.
I felt I might listen again, were I not to see you for a while
your presence in some abstract way makes me feel safe
keeps my demons at bay.
Tasting like a new spring day
So soft and moist with dew
A small lift, a tilting smile
Promises all dreams do come true
One small sip is never enough
One soft word demands one more
One light kiss from your whispering lips
Is to drift away from shore
Sometimes the mask will crack
I see what there is to hide
Your whispering lips are still so soft
Gentle words still lilt on the tide
But there is now a bitter after taste
From your softly whispering lips
Demanding words are spoken
Poison glinting on their tips
I willingly kept drinking your words
Poison flowing through my veins
Such ghastly death I might of deserved
Where your words are all that remain
The ultimate shocking betrayal
That also became my demise
Did not spill for your whispering lips
But bled from your lying eyes.
A hippie hocked a louie on Sammy
when he landed in San Francisco.
Sammy didn't respond;
he just wanted to make
his connecting flight home.
Sammy wasn't proud about
some of things he did in the war;
so he figured he probably
deserved the garlands of disdain
an ungrateful nation bestows
upon itself in fits of self contempt.
Sammy shut down and tuned out,
soon his heart was as dead
as a tombstone until he visited
He would often recall the story
that as he approached the darkened
wall he could sense ghosts loosening
themselves from the black granite.
Sammy swore that Jimmy Lynch
who went MIA on the final week of his tour
gave him a bear hug and told him
as long as the beer stays cold
and he don’t lose the church key,
everything's groovy and he’s
hanging tough until the rest
of the guys show up.
Jimmy pointed to the Lincoln Memorial
at one end of the mall and to the
Washington Monument at the other,
emphatically stating that our monument
was forever linked with the greatest Americans.
Yeah meeting up with Jimmy
helped Sammy to start shaken
off some real bad stuff.
Mazie knew her husband for a
month before they got married.
A week later Freddie was off to Vietnam.
Freddie was KIA during the Tet Offensive
and his repatriated remains are peacefully
at rest in the red clay of Georgia.
An always faithful Mazie
came to the monument
a few years after it was dedicated.
She was struck by all the keepsakes
people left at the base of the wall;
Zippos, baby pictures, a copy of
The Catcher in the Rye, a fifth
of Makers Mark, Pink Teddy Bears,
votive lights, a red 57 Chevy model,
a left handed catchers mitt, and
a pack of Lucky Strikes.
She palmed rosaries and
crucifixes that salved sore
running wounds and David’s
interlaced Star sounding a Shofar
pleading a case for peace.
Mazie is most moved by the names.
Rows and rows of names. The scroll
begins in a modest manner and
as the wall climbs the names
of a country's vigilant sons and
daughters tower over her head.
So much living history; spoken
in the unique accent of a country’s
diverse plethora of luminous tongues.
The stories written into the black granite
tell a tale from every state; claiming
the ears, heart and mind of every citizen.
Each chiseled letter captures every bit
of sun and deep creeping shadow
inching across a great nation.
“I’m 71” says Mazie. “When I look
upon the wall I see my 21 year old
Freddie as he looked on the finest
day of his life. He will never look
any other way to me.”
“I didn't want to go to see it,” Franny said,
“a cold piece of stone won’t bring my son back.”
Franny did finally go...
When it rains the wall weeps.
The wall wept all day,
the first time Franny went.
Many were rubbing
the impressions of
dearly departed names.
Franny too, kneels to the
presence of her son’s name.
With a mother's
she touches the wall's
damp surface; wiping
the drizzle from her
child's sodden face.
Kneeling before his semblance,
she rubs his etched edges
onto tiny bits of paper.
She sees him,
made manifest in the stone.
As if through a glass darkly,
a found son looks back,
onto the face of a caring mother.
Franny hangs onto the quiet
memory of his voice,
shimmering in the soft lilt
of a warm dark stone.
This deep core Vulcan gneiss,
at last emerged from the hardest stuff,
sculpts a perfect likeness of a tear stained nation.
The Harmonizing Four: Rock of Ages
In Honor of
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial
The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest kill—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.
Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.
Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.
Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.
Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his loin,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.
Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.
An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures orgasmic, mantled in adolescent torpor.
Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.
Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.
Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The facial weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.
Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble breasts flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.
Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.
Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.
Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.
© 2013 W. S. Warner
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation
In deep sleep, her anguished voice rings a bell in my brain,
hear the screams of a woman in my blood stream,
hallucination, I loved to believe, but then it became more frequent
at night, she whispers, her intimate secrets, without shame
in to my ears, in a seductive voice.Do I like it? she snickers
I got used to it's persuasive lilt, sometimes it sounds like a complaint.
If I turn a deaf ear, she knows how to make me listen
Then I am all ears; become her single, faithful, captive listener.
She questions me sometimes"Tell me what you know about PMS?"
I go and learn the fundas on the female of the spices, in detail, pass the test,
wonder, how little I know about her as a person. Isn't she my counterpart?
She talks about the curtain of ignorance, that still segregates her from him
and chides me "Will you be complete, if I didn't wake you up"
she splatters verse
like paint into her poetry
and i am hypnotized by
the ebb and flow of
swinging in and out
of rhyme or reason
each line a brush
stroke of her mind
and i swear that she is
built entirely of words
her bones, her skin
an ink stained canvas
and that if i listen close
i can even hear
as they slowly spill out
with each sigh and
each exhale, bound together
as a completed document
and i watch in awe as they
dance behind her in
the cool night air and
follow her back home
and i am slowly learning
the vocabulary of her body
of the hidden stories
like random notes
flesh and bones
and i am slowly learning
that her heart is
an ancient epitaph
that holds more value
than even she could know
and once i heard
the lilt of her laughter
nothing else ever mattered
and i knew that between
her creased pages lies her soul
and that, that is the only
place i have ever wanted to go
When my body turns to dust,
I want the earth to know it.
My knees will filter sunlight,
sparkling shards of broken glass
to feed the turned, fallen leaves.
From my hands will rise a steam,
lost from ghosts of wilted dahlias
and pulling beads from snail shells.
Softening footsteps in numbing silence,
my scalp will take root in boulders:
a lichen stretched anew.
The crunch of my nails will lilt,
a filling sound which bleeds the heart.
My heart, itself, a rotten composition
(spoiled as tender and cloying fruits)
will slip through Her fingers,
drench Her purpose in richness,
and swallow my searing in depth.
My skin, taken first as appetizer,
breeds microcosms of tiny dancers
and will never forget that feeling.
Collapsed and empty, one lung and the other
will cease to feed themselves,
twisting from entrepreneur to altruist.
Other sundry organs, bones, hair and ligaments:
a donation of retribution,
payment for what was stolen,
recompense for an unforgivable abuse.
It is all I have, and it will be everything.
lilt green trickles
flutters on crisp air
splashing gentle blankets
anointing dew crowned ground
I see your cadence
and your lilt.
I see you--
and swinging butterfly
legs that can't sit still.
I see your lips
with my eyes closed.
I see you--
only I know
and wrapping serpent
arms that hiss our secrets.