It was confused and dark, dark, so dark,
dark like when Charlie got drunk for the first time, came back, and stumbled-open the door long after Sam had screamed at everyone to leave her the f--- alone.  

And Jesse is standing there, swaying slightly with the beer and the pounding music, and Charlene feels her ribcage shiver with each bass beat.  The pale light oozing off the stage silvers Jesse’s angled face like water, soaks the black shapes around her, pools in each eye as the constant ripple and shudder of the crowd shifts her hips.  Somehow her thin, bare shoulders speak her excitement, and in the dim shuffle of the audience she’s half drunk and lovely.  “You know that calc test is tomorrow,” Charlene screams over the straight roar of chaos. “Don’t remind me! God!” Lovely Jesse laughs and her hand sketches a lazy gun that jerks at her head -- don’t remind me, God don’t don’t don’t --  and Charlene clenches her eyes shut and still that flashes, dark dark dark, her loose-jointed fingers flicking up, twitching in sickening unison with her mocking head, again again again-- don’t remind me, God,
don’t remindmegoddon’t remind megod god oh God,
Sam loved drinking herself sick, stumbling home with her arm ‘round Charlie’s neck, slurring alcohol love and despair to her ‘bes’ fren, besh’ roomate evr, Charlene a.k.a. Charlie.  And “a.k.a.” as Sam loved to call her, was always there to pick Sam up and clean Sam up and sober Sam the **** up.  And every stupid drunk party night that semester she told Charlie over and over again: ‘listen, a.k.a., here’s a funny story: a girl went to buy her mother aspirin cause her mother had a terrible ******* headache and she bought some from her dear second cousin Kurt the cashier who was a trublueblooded Eagle scout mama’s boy back from college, that sonofabitch and she came home, but her momma didn’t have that headache anymore and gave her a mostly delicious popsicle and it was red strawberry, the end.’  And every stupid drunk party night that semester Charlie watched and listened as Sam made up new stories about aspirin (always ending with popsicles).
See, Charlie was always there. Charlie never drank.  And Charlie, she always listened to the stupid f---ing drunk-strawberry-popsicle story.  And Charlie never gave a **** about Sam, did she? She sure didn’t, no, Charlie didn’t.  

“I’m gonna go find the bathroom” Charlie screams into Jesse’s ear and plunges out into the sea of dark shadows circling her.  The door struggles open, then she’s crushing it shut, crushing splinters into her palms, she’s bending over the counter, both hands white-pressed onto its imitation marble, choking down these sharp sparks of nausea bursting like fireworks inside, and the music’s faded out, its just the thud of that ******* drum that pulses over and over and over --god stop it-- fills the room, rattles the stalls, over and over and Charlie’s convinced its a heartbeat, its Sam’s heartbeat, thud thud thud, god its going on and on and pounding, OH GOD, charlie screams, IT STOPPED, no no no no SAM no SAM SAM SAM OH GOD it stopped no no GOD
next song. drum starts again. and the room is inside of the drum, it is the inside, the taut air’s quivering with each beat, taut ribcage quivering with each beat. Charlie is inside a drum. beat beat beat drumbeat heartbeat thud, thud, thud,
god I look awful, Charlie’s looking at her face in the dim vibrating mirror: blue shadows under her dull eyes, pale, dead-tired, dead-drunk, and so f---ing dead-alive,
she goes back to Jesse, wriggling through the black lumps: lovers making out, heavy spellbound listeners, uneasy loners, angry drunks, drunk as-- drunk as Charlie’s first drunk night.

Sam was so ****** that night and Charlie dragged her home to their dorm, sick of Sam’s tangy alcohol breath and her sagging, skinny weight on her shoulder. “I’m sick of your breath, Sam.” sick of it, god Sam, just stop it, wish that breath would go away, I mean,
it was blowing all over my cheek Sam, cause your **** beautiful face was lying on my neck-- that’s why I said that, I didn’t mean that, Sam.
And then you said ‘well, all right Charlie, I’ll tell you a funny story Charlie,’ and I said ‘oh god Sam, not again,’ and you said ‘no, its different this time’ and you said ‘one day there was a little girl who went to the store to buy aspirin for her mom and the cashier took her into the back of the store and hurt her and she came home and told her mom and her mom slapped her and told her to stop talking ***** and shut the **** up and then that little girl’s throat sure did ache, Charlie, even after a popsicle it did. And Charlie, Charlie, a.k.a. Charlene, sure did hate her breath. see, that’s my story and isn’t it a funny story...”
you drop your drunk roommate on the gritty hallway carpet, give her the key say
‘’bye Samantha", goodbye samgoodbye, bye bye Sam, "I’m going to go get drunk don’t be too much of a ***** while I’m gone.’

floormates told Charlie later that Sam screamed at everyone “hey, all you motherf---ers, leave me the f--- alone,” then laughed, slammed the door. and they did leave her alone.
Charlie came back *****-drunk, touched the doorknob and heard the shot, the door opens,
Sam’s falling and Charlie watches her beautiful, bony wrist flick back as she gets blood all over and ruins her face and Charlie sobers up really f---ing fast.  She always was good at that.
There's a note on the desk in Crayola washable marker (purple): "well, a.k.a., I guess I am being way too much of a ***** while you’re gone. you’re welcome. sorry for ******* it all up again as usual"
*Thanks for that Sam, thanks a lot Sam thanks thanks f--- you

a bilingual rensaku

       1

píosa eile coiréil
            caite i dtír:
                        bhog sé – portán sligreach



another piece of coral
            washed up on the beach:
                        it moves – hermit crab





            2

spéir gan teimheal –
            ar aghaidh leis arís
                        ag máirseáil, portán sligreach



cloudless sky –
            off again on his marches
                        hermit crab



            3

tost ... airgeadaíonn an ghealach
            an gaineamh faoina luíonn
                        na huibheacha turtar

silence ... the moon silvers
            the sand that hides
                        turtle eggs



          







            4

iompaíonn a lí
            ar an ré chródhearg
                        teitheann na réaltaí



a blood-red moon
            changes colour
                        putting all the stars to flight



            5

cruth an choiréil ******>            cruth réaltbhuíne
                                                            i gcéin



the shape of this coral
            shape of a distant
                                                            galaxy



            6

oileáin á nochtadh
            is ag leá
an mar seo a cruthaíodh an domhan?



islands coming
            and going
is this how the world was made?













            7

ní gá iarraidh orthu –
            seolann na crainn phailme
                        bríos chugainn



cooling breeze
            from palm trees –
                        without asking



            8

an féileacán fiú
            glacann scíth
                        san ámóg



even the butterfly
            takes a rest
                        in the hammock





            9

taoi foirfe, i ngach slí,
a mhuiscít; mar sin féin
fan amach uaim



you are perfect in every way
mosquito; nonetheless
buzz off







            10

spléachadh ar thurtar
            a shúile
is a bhfuil feicthe acu



glimpse of a turtle
            his eyes
and what they have seen



            11

lorg bídeach chosa an éin
            ag díriú de shíor
ar ghaineamh gan chríoch



faint imprint of a bird’s feet
            pointing                       pointing
towards infinite sands





            12

isteach i bpoll sa ghaineamh
            rud a bhí róthapaidh
                        le hainmniú



into a hole in the sand
            something  too quick
to be named





            13

níl faic ar na gaobhair
ach brostaíonn an chearc a hál
an cosán anonn





nothing in sight
yet the hen bustles her clutch
across the path





            14

féar mara
            itheann na turtair é
                        seachas sin, n’fheadar



sea grass
            turtles eat it
                        apart from that, who knows















            15

linnte geala
            domhainchiúnais
                                    a réaltaí, na himíg’!



bright pools
            of deep silence –
                        no, stars, don’t go!



            16

nach toilltach!
            ar luas an tsolais, nach mór,
                        scairt an choiligh



how penetrating!
            almost at the speed of light
                        **** crow





            17

an lá á ghlaoch
            chun beochta acu
                        coiligh nach bhfeictear



calling the day
            to life –
                        invisible cockerels









            18
          
domhan fo thoinn
            cruinniú gearr
                        leis an mballach Napoléon



underwave world
            short meeting
                        with the Napoleon wrasse





            19

guth dearg an choiligh
            dathaíonn spéir
                        na maidine



a ****’s red voice
            painting
                        the morning sky





            20

coiréal inchinne cnapánaí
            gealas na réaltaí-
                        gan smaointe



knobby brain coral
            starglow -
                        no thoughts





            21



coiligh ag freagairt dá chéile
            eatarthu leátar
                        an ré



***** echoing one another
            between them they dissolve
                        the moon





            22

cos léi amuigh –
            tá an chuileog rómhór
                        do bhéal an gheiceo





one leg hangs out –
            the fly is too big
                        for the gecko’s mouth



            23



anáil chiúnaithe
            na cruinne: is ansin
                        scairt an choiligh





the stilled breath
            of the universe: then
                        cockcrow





            24

éisc ar crochadh
            faoin ngrian –
                        muir gan mhonabhar



fish hung out
            to dry
                        murmurless sea





            25

ina gceann is ina gceann
ciúnaíonn tonnta
                        roimh réaltaí



one by one
            waves become placid
                        for the stars





            26

scáil an turtair
            nó féar mara
                        b'fhéidir



turtle shadow
            or sea grass
                        maybe





            27

línte reatha -
an t-iasc séabrach
ag scríobh ar uisce



fleeting lines -
the zebra fish
writing on water











            28

hurlamaboc

            francach

                        in airde sa chrann cnó cócó



hullabaloo

            a rat

aloft in the coconut tree

Clasp of silvers twice as thin as each other
Both flat to end in its impact
Its echo does not repeat but lingers like static that makes you think of gold.
Drifting in an ascending melody that
Climbs the senses in your ears as much as your skin.

They lead us steadily
To the edge of the mountains and then stops abruptly.
Stopped incredibly as if it's afraid and timid.
Strings play so thinly as each are all skinny.
A miracle moving like smoke and gas welcomes her.

Slow dance in arpeggios, a glimpse of perfection for harmony, tip by tip
And in her quiver
She laments she'll wait forever.

Forever it may be til she is in the arms of the lover.
For the end of all thousand Decembers and Januarys
Undyingly and endlessly.
Anywhere you go
Seek the thunder you wander far and near, wide and narrow.

Until I hear you sigh
Until you stop holding your breath under the brim of our wishing well.

I
Go on, high ship, since now, upon the shore,
The snake has left its skin upon the floor.
Key West sank downward under massive clouds
And silvers and greens spread over the sea. The moon
Is at the mast-head and the past is dead.
Her mind will never speak to me again.
I am free. High above the mast the moon
Rides clear of her mind and the waves make a refrain
Of this: that the snake has shed its skin upon
The floor. Go on through the darkness. The waves. fly back

II
Her mind had bound me round. The palms were hot
As if I lived in ashen ground, as if
The leaves in which the wind kept up its sound
From my North of cold whistled in a sepulchral South,
Her South of pine and coral and coraline sea,
Her home, not mine, in the ever-freshened Keys,
Her days, her oceanic nights, calling
For music, for whisperings from the reefs.
How content I shall be in the North to which I sail
And to feel sure and to forget the bleaching sand ...

III
I hated the weathery yawl from which the pools
Disclosed the sea floor and the wilderness
Of waving weeds. I hated the vivid blooms
Curled over the shadowless hut, the rust and bones,
The trees likes bones and the leaves half sand, half sun.
To stand here on the deck in the dark and say
Farewell and to know that that land is forever gone
And that she will not follow in any word
Or look, nor ever again in thought, except
That I loved her once ... Farewell. Go on, high ship.

IV
My North is leafless and lies in a wintry slime
Both of men and clouds, a slime of men in crowds.
The men are moving as the water moves,
This darkened water cloven by sullen swells
Against your sides, then shoving and slithering,
The darkness shattered, turbulent with foam.
To be free again, to return to the violent mind
That is their mind, these men, and that will bind
Me round, carry me, misty deck, carry me
To the cold, go on, high ship, go on, plunge on.

the water filled our lungs
and bled through the cracks in our skin.

bubbling, brimming

the sea touched my eyes and you were white
with seafoam, curdling between lashes,
silvers pooling over stark blues
on fingertips.

sinuous, submissive.

the piercing cold mixed with the rough salt
over tide-smoothed shells.

we breathed out our mist to cry over crashes of thunder.

enigmatic, flowing.

you are an acrobat, my prideful tide.  

your steel waters wash the sand from my legs
and glassy waves cleanse, twisting and curling,
releasing through our ocean breeze.

you opened your eyes and all i saw was sea glass.

The night
is a torn tapestry
where celestial bodies
burn beautifully
incinerating
the cosmic stitching
that bind us,

quantum energy
unraveling
all of reality,
as I stare
stupidly enthralled
by the awesome
complexity.

Silvers spheres
of gaseous spirals
spew atomic fury.

Other poets
and painters
have presented it better,
such a sweet
starry starry night
made to delight
all of us,

but this time
I return
my reflections
with the love
and devotion
born of
a dreamer’s
dark predilection
to romanticize
every aspect
of our lives.

It’s not about the hand you were dealt with,
It’s about how you play the hand you were dealt with.

But
Imagine that the hand you were given
attached to fingers
with blistered pads and splintered prints
that wound in swirls of blood soaked skin.
Imagine, that the nails of each finger
crucified you to stars
willing you to brighten the night
for children who fear the dark
regardless of your burns.
Imagine, that your palms
were crumpled pieces of paper
stuffed into the back of a trash bin
on fire,
the burning smell of garbage and secrets
indistinguishable from one another.

See
Some people,
they are given hands lined with rings;
diamonds, silvers, and golds
not a single callous and well-manicured.
Some people,
they are given boneless pieces of plastic
that fail to do so much
as curl and unfurl themselves:
hands that are growing desperate to feel
the things they touch.
Some people,
they are given scabbed knuckles
that shake so bad
they can only find comfort
in scratching themselves henna tattooed scars;
digging six feet into their skin,
creating burial sites out of their own bodies.

Tell them anyway,
It’s about how you play the hand you were dealt with.
It may never make a winner out of them
But it will keep them from leaving the game entirely.

It is true darkness that congregated in the corners of my room that night
And I could not recognize it, only knowing its cousin
Who hovers by streetlights and candles

Deep down, I've always known that the fae dance across my face and talk about me as I fell asleep
I knew what this was, though I did not know enough to fear the messenger
I knew this was a summons
A summons to the moonlight world that shadows the world we know and love

Suddenly, we are far beyond my bedroom
Traipsing through an electric, thorn-filled jungle
My stomach begs loudly of hunger, but it barely registers
With the amount of static sounding in the air
We walk on pathways stripped from the northern lights, pinks and greens, without solid footing
Magnetized forward faster and faster
To destiny

My feet bleed and the true darkness closes behind me, devouring the evidence of my red-stained path

A mist that I had never noticed dissipates
And I see the mushrooms
They glow ghost-white, towering tall as trees
Standing sentinel in a circle, the guardians of such laughter and music as you could never describe-
The music!
It is shattering crystal, raging rivers, and the death song of birds all at once
The darkness pushes me into the circle, and I whirl and twirl to its sound
The erratic beat taking over my heart ryhthm
I throb with its energy, my hands begin emitting their own glow
And the fae begin to take more form around me, in silvers and golds

The music screeches and my heart skips a beat
The circle begins to rumble
Mortal girl comes the echo
My skin feels the kiss of acid rain
You should not have come here
This place is not for the likes of you
A fae with a wreath of thorns adorning its head steps forward
Darkness burning in the sockets where once there may have been eyes

I cannot speak, its stare melting my lips into my face
You have seen too much, you have danced with us
Tell me why I should not hold you here
I look away, desperately trying to gather my thoughts and my voice
The fae would not care about my family, my friends
It would not care about my dreams
The true darkness caresses my hair and I hear its sharp laughter

"I-" I begin

The laughter cuts away, the static dies and my voice hangs in the vaccuum
"I was brought here, by you I presume"
I dare to look the dark fae in the eyes
"I was a dreamer enough to follow"
"You wish to challenge us humans, your endless source of amusement"
"Our torture is your game"
The fae concedes with a thoughtful nod
"But there is no greater torture than to know this place and never come back" I finish
The fae chuckles, as I bite my lip

Clever mortal it mocks
Indeed, go home. I banish you from my lands
May you suffer it adds with a smile

And I am cold
I fall from my bed in a tangle of blankets
In my ear, I hear the wriggling of music
It never quite goes away
The darkness smirks at me from the corners
And I cry softly
For who has ever willingly given up on the fae?
But I hear my sister waking up and I start to smile, despite my sacrifice
For how very few have met the fae and lived?

the silvers of the moon
sing their song of winter,
exhilarating above the black
rock and distant trees, her
fire lights the night like a
street lamp, the shadows
thrown back, muted,
echoing the near-teary darks
of the clouds. i sit on the
window sill, look out,
breathe deep the midnight sky
built of love and winter rose.

Two souls alone so far between only nights are calling
Shinning stars pointing the way an affection so enthralling
Shimmers over tranquil pools the crescent moonlights falling
Meetings of two lovers hearts before the mornings dawning

The anguish of a waiting heart the flutter of a wing
Beauties small enchanted voice hearing the Fairy sing
Dreams of love's compulsion, her song the wolf will bring
Within two hearts both shall meet on silvers entwined ring

A curse that's placed is broken a drink of pure tranquillity
The Spirit of the Wolf is called upon a test of his nobility
Flight of the fairy's soft élan her grace and her gentility
Brake the curse before the dawn the tranquil pools ability

Moonlight shines through the night sky a twinkle in a star
Sparkles touch the waters edge those loves that leave a scar
Both must drink before the light love's lost forever far
Glimmers of hope a small sip Wolf's howl at what they are

Transformations will occur love will always intervene
Magical flickers catch the light and wherever it is seen
Once a fairy fluttering now she's a proud Wolf queen
Wolf's are always calling where tranquil pools have been

The souls of two true lovers, will never be apart
Differences are overcome, from Loves intervening heart
Tranquil pools compulsive dreams, those feelings from the start
When two hearts are intertwined, that's true loves unique art

Behind a person's success is a sacrifice;
Would you love to know the tale behind?

Actors and actresses preparing their act,
But behind the curtains there's a hidden fact.
Heels and shoes are filled with shards of glass;
Behind dress and tuxedo's there's a hidden blast
— Withal on the lights, they genuinely smile.

Let's move on and see the richest person alive:
They lurk abaft the gallanting suits and tie;
No day their feet cannot step on bars of silvers and gold,
Constantly crediting the humanity's sliver of hope
— Supported by government for the economy's growth.

Do you know someone born to be Einstein's child?
—A person whose thought process is unbelievably wide,
“What are emotions?” They frequently asked;
“Are those things related to a logical fact?”
Feelings are hindrance towards a brighter side.

We all know the people whom we proclaimed as leaders—
Behind the tall, wide walls they silently titters:
“Citizens are corrupted with money and blind rights;
This nation will never survive in a war nor in childish fights.”
Some politicians bought their roles, drinking leisure on their seats.

And there's someone like me— a bit higher, on the top—
Words are magical, making an astonishing plot;
Thy pen bleeds thread, weaving a wondrous craft—
Who knows they withhold theirs and other people's life art,
They'll keep going as long as the threadmill continues to spin.

Their tales are narrated a bit later, a bit little;
But that was a telltale with lots of missing details,
Are you willing to share the secrets found in the middle?

I.

Moonlight silvers the tops of trees,
Moonlight whitens the lilac shadowed wall
And through the evening fall,
Clearly, as if through enchanted seas,
Footsteps passing, an infinite distance away,
In another world and another day.
Moonlight turns the purple lilacs blue,
Moonlight leaves the fountain **** and old,
And the boughs of elms grow green and cold,
Our footsteps echo on gleaming stones,
The leaves are stirred to a jargon of muted tones.
This is the night we have kept, you say:
This is the moonlit night that will never die.
Through the grey streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.

II.

Mist goes up from the river to dim the stars,
The river is black and cold; so let us dance
To flare of horns, and clang of cymbals and drums;
And strew the glimmering floor with roses,
And remember, while the rich music yawns and closes,
With a luxury of pain, how silence comes.
Yes, we loved each other, long ago;
We moved like wind to a music's ebb and flow.
At a phrase from violins you closed your eyes,
And smiled, and let me lead you how young we were!
Your hair, upon that music, seemed to stir.
Let us return there, let us return, you and I;
Through changeless streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.

III.

Mist goes up from the rain steeped earth, and clings
Ghostly with lamplight among drenched maple trees.
We walk in silence and see how the lamplight flings
Fans of shadow upon it the music's mournful pleas
Die out behind us, the door is closed at last,
A net of silver silence is softly cast
Over our thought slowly we walk,
Quietly with delicious pause, we talk,
Of foolish trivial things; of life and death,
Time, and forgetfulness, and dust and truth;
Lilacs and youth.
You laugh, I hear the after taken breath,
You darken your eyes and turn away your head
At something I have said
Some intuition that flew too deep,
And struck a plageant chord.
Tonight, tonight you will remember it as you fall asleep,
Your dream will suddenly blossom with sharp delight,
Goodnight! You say.
The leaves of the lilac dip and sway;
The purple spikes of bloom
Nod their sweetness upon us, lift again,
Your white face turns, I am cought with pain
And silence descends, and dripping of dew from eaves,
And jeweled points of leaves.  

IV.

I walk in a pleasure of sorrow along the street
And try to remember you; slow drops patter;
Water upon the lilacs has made them sweet;
I brush them with my sleeve, the cool drops scatter;
And suddenly I laugh and stand and listen
As if another had laughed a gust
Rustles the leaves, the wet spikes glisten;
And it seems as though it were you who had shaken the bough,
And spilled the fragrance I pursue your face again,
It grows more vague and lovely, it eludes me now.
I remember that you are gone, and drown in pain.
Something there was I said to you I recall,
Something just as the music seemed to fall
That made you laugh, and burns me still with pleasure.
What were those words the words like dripping fire?
I remember them now, and in sweet leisure
Rehearse the scene, more exquisite than before,
And you more beautiful, and I more wise.
Lilacs and spring, and night, and your clear eyes,
And you, in white, by the darkness of a door:
These things, like voices weaving to richest music,
Flow and fall in the cool night of my mind,
I pursue your ghost among green leaves that are ghostly,
I pursue you, but cannot find.
And suddenly, with a pang that is sweetest of all,
I become aware that I cannot remember you;
The ghost I knew
Has silently plunged in shadows, shadows that stream and fall.

V.

Let us go in and dance once more
On the dream's glimmering floor,
Beneath the balcony festooned with roses.
Let us go in and dance once more.
The door behind us closes
Against an evening purple with stars and mist.
Let us go in and keep our tryst
With music and white roses, and spin around
In swirls of sound.
Do you forsee me, married and grown old?
And you, who smile about you at this room,
Is it foretold
That you must step from tumult into gloom,
Forget me, love another?
No, you are Cleopatra, fiercely young,
Laughing upon the topmost stair of night;
Roses upon the desert must be flung;
Above us, light by light,
Weaves the delirious darkness, petal fall,
And music breaks in waves on the pillared wall;
And you are Cleopatra, and do not care.
And so, in memory, you will always be
Young and foolish, a thing of dream and mist;
And so, perhaps when all is disillusioned,
And eternal spring returns once more,
Bringing a ghost of lovelier springs remembered,
You will remember me.  

VI.  

Yet when we meet we seem in silence to say,
Pretending serene forgetfulness of our youth,
"Do you remember but then why should you remember!
Do you remember a certain day,
Or evening rather, spring evening long ago,
We talked of death, and love, and time, and truth,
And said such wise things, things that amused us so
How foolish we were, who thought ourselves so wise!"
And then we laugh, with shadows in our eyes.

i read like a thermostat
i feel cold shrill of eyes
hot blisters of souls

i’ve seen aplenty

fully literate to the hunger
inside denim of men
with twenty tongues

pulling their weight
like untrained dogs

they lick my face to a swell

heating and cooling
my metals expand
silvers contracting

but I can very much tell

who is ready
who is not

some do
some talk

if you'd like
to open me wide like a mouth,
be mean with your smile

to get my thaws down to feet,
**** fire to the wind

with the door
wide open

let
it
all
hang

i’m very keen on intense
i salute a heavy gut
and the confidence of a mutt

an appetite

and if I’m truly your win,
jackhammer
the thermostat
out of the wall

get the wires all bent
and with violence
cement

the
type
of
love
that
knocks
me
dead

completely illiterate
i don’t want to think

(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
  They let out their runners
Here where summer says to the lilies:
  "Wish and be wistful,
Circle this wind-hunted, wind-sung water."
  
Come along always, come along now.
You for me, kiss me, pull me by the ear.
Push me along with the wind push.
Sing like the whinnying wind.
Sing like the hustling obstreperous wind.
  
Have you ever seen deeper purple ...
  this in my wild wind fingers?
Could you have more fun with a pony or a goat?
Have you seen such flicking heels before,
Silver jig heels on the purple sky rim?
  Come along always, come along now.

The milk man died last week.  I didn't
know him well, just enough to know his favorite
chew and how much he hated Fritos.

I knew his lover and her worn-out
windbreaker, her frizzled hair as gold
as her Marlboros.  I sold her a pack of silvers

once and she nearly snapped my neck.
They take (took?) their tobacco dead
seriously.  She hasn't come back

to work yet, though her five allotted
days of grief are over.  The empty
milk crates just aren't empty anymore.

Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.

Sally

Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Part 1
My third car broke down
All that metal
It will outlive me

I’ve been jogging to work
Taking the back ways of a neighborhood
I barely know

Yesterday morning
I took pictures
A modern day romantic

A pack of camels followed by
A pack of Marlboro silvers
The cellophane glittered with dew
It will outlive me

A sunset behind a church
Sunsets will outlive me

A shopping cart next to the church sign
The grocery store is very far from here
I imagine it belonged to a homeless man
He found this spot and was saved
The art of being saved will outlive me

Broken glass
I want to touch it
Leave my blood upon it
I want to glue each piece
To form a ball
And hang it from a nearby tree
So that it may own the morning sunlight
Reflect it like small miracles
Some parts red
That glass will outlive me

A dead rabbit
Mostly bone now
That rabbit did not outlive me
I feel good about that

There was also a woman walking her dog
We passed by a tree at the same time
She and the dog were old
She would not let me take her picture
So I took one of the tree
She and the dog will not outlive me
I don’t feel good about that
Part2
This facebook status will outlive me
And I feel like a caveman
Scrawling poetry on cave walls
In an attempt to be remembered forever

I want to place my hand upon your belly
And bite my lips
So I can spit blood
Like a human can of spraypaint
The outline
So you cannot forget what my own touch looked like

You
May not outlive me
And I may not outlive you
All we have is now

All we have is now

Wear your beliefs
Like a half-cross set irrevocably
On the tip of your tongue
Thirty silvers in sum

You hold doctrine
Like a sinner postcoital
Of an ecstasy
Wane and fleeting

summer has burned up,
blown past, the thermometer
sinks stone-like, its silvers
dulled in metal tombs
no longer spiking red.

the wet leaf hangs lower
on the twig, the bird balances
on the branch, the day
fragments, its grey clouds
flowing under swiftly
closed doors.

Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.

Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.

Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.

Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.

Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.

Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.

Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3

We're all mad here.

Surviving dead
Blood thirsty creatures
Silvers and golds
Notes and cards.
Screeching screams in the night
Wolves silenced by the frowning moon
Yelling children
Drunken fathers
Thieves of innocence
Food that cannot be eaten
Metal to metal
Guns n' gangs
Hunger
Poverty
******
Rage.
Creeping
Stalking
Taking
killing
Creatures locked in prison cells
Creatures lurk, disguised in disguise
Turf wars
Wolf in wolf's fur that fails to fit
Fits
Slits
Titbits
Pistol whips and
Quick tips
Trenchtowns
Slums
Poor millionaire
Plural.
Misoverstandings;
Understandings, we'll call them.
Look down
Sit down
Shut down
Lay down
Sign out.
Credit checks and barcodes
Exploitation
Infusion
Confusion
Institutions
Misuse
Abus­e
Abstruse
Man's soul misplaced
And
His eyes
His hands
His heart
His love
His peace
His life
Alike.

Ibiyinka, Ibiyinka Alao
Comes from Nigeria with a name like drums
Comes from Africa with the sun behind his back.
Ibiyinka, Ibiyinka Alao,
Mr. Ibiyinka with a smile in his hands,
Mr. Ibiyinka with a girl's shoulders in his hands
Life, he says, she is alive
She dances.

Ibiyinka, Ibiyinka Alao
Paints like the sun gilds hills and fields
Paints like the moon silvers water and thatched roofs.
Ibiyinka, Ibiyinka Alao
Freezes music into colors that dance
Freezes drums in a quilt of art from every place.
Frozen, he says, like water
Like a heartbeat.

Djembe, Conga, Bongo
Coming from Africa with the skins of goats
Coming from the fields and the homes and the dirt roads
Medium, large, and small
Speaking every language.
Ibiyinka, Ibiyinka Alao -
Djembe, Conga, Bongo.

What a thrill to chase
Little bubbles everywhere.
Acrid shiny silvers –
They are drops of mirrors.

Look there: it is me!
It is my reflection I see,
Blazing sunlight and glee:

My volatile moods,
Etched with smiles and deadly fumes,
On my ever-changing moons.

An eternal river,
I gurgle with promise
In the soil, the air, the water –
Breathtaking and flawless.

My shiny surface
Draws you in closer.
I’m your road to gold,
the gods’ messenger.

But my scalding skin
You cannot touch
You greedy treasure scavenger.

You’re too avid and bitter
With your truths and reason –
Your reality addiction!

In the gaping darkness
I will eat you whole
Like a death trap –
A black hole.

I’m liquid metal,
Quicksilver.
I will melt your brain,
Destroy your swollen liver.

Only the mad can dip their toes
In these pools of chaos and clatter.
I’ll be the gloss on your top hat

If you’ll be my mad hatter.

The sky shoots its myriad blue eye
into a pavane of reds and silvers.
A farrago of ****** tastes signal second dawn at noon.
An indescribable sound pierces the eardrum
from the inside as it rushes ******,
humanly,
inhumanely outward.

I take a breath of the cool morning air.
The sky is gray with after-dawn.
My lips taste of dew and salt,
Bare toes on a damp dock tap now in count.
One. Two. Three. Leap.
I plunge into an endless bubble whirl,
As simultaneously delicate and strong
As the vermilion tendrils that wave at me from the sea floor.
My feet kick, brushing one.
Shy fish bat at my toes and then retreat into the kelp
As I open my eyes
Blinking out into the brine.
It stings, creating a fog that I have to shake
With focus on my oscillating feet.
When my vision clears, it is like waking into a dream.
A world of possibilities is born as I take in all the life.
Living things are displayed before me
In a beautiful vital rainbow
Of silvers and blues,
Grays and greens,
And I am instantaneously in love with it.
Only stopping to rub my eyes once,
I dolphin kick my way to the floor below.
The sand is a soothing loam between my toes.
A hermit crab scuttles across my foot.
I swear, he grinned at me, just ask him.
Oops. He’s gone.
As I turn my gaze upward and take in the rippling sky,
I feel my lungs shall burst.
Though if not for my anatomy,
I think I could stay here forever.
Paddling out my goodbyes, I am now on the rise,
Escorted by what seems like millions of cascading tiny fish.
Higher and higher I climb,
Heading a parade I know only I shall finish,
As one by one they peel off, and once more I am alone.
Eyes shut tight, I break the surface.
Pulling myself back up onto the small wooden dock.
My skin shines bright with the dampness
Now rolling in small beads down my thighs.
I hug my knees to my chest and stare at the vastness before me.
The air is cool, still morning.
I’ve never felt more alive.

I make a point of wearing silver instead of gold when I can
Because gold is first place
Everyone wants to be golden
So many poets agree sunset and dawn
Are the most beautiful times of day
Both of which are golden
But I disagree
Nighttime has its own peculiar but enchanting charm
With its crowning jewel, the silver moon.
To me, it is agony like no other that surpasses not placing at all
To be placed second
To have come so close
Yet fall just one place short
And watch as the Golden one
Outshines you, the Silver.
As a tribute to the unspoken grievers
The Silvers with their quiet beauty like the darkness
Just before dawn, yet unloved for they fell short
I wear silver.
For the Silver Seconds.

Please repost if you are a Silver too
Comment please! I love to read interpretations of my work.

Welcome Governments one and all.
Watch the little people stumble and fall.
Step right up and see the wonders big and bold.
Watch the endless mysteries flip and unfold.

The thieving men who steal your lives,
Trade you away like simple knives.
What Governments do, what Governments do.
The deep reality has never been so true.

Endless pits of tainted money,
Has never been so ridiculously funny.
The powers in the towers so tall,
Have never been seen by the people, to be so incredibly small.

With peoples hearts starting to cry,
They watch their life goals fly.
Trapped by Governments plans of money grabbing schemes,
Watch them living in their never-ending dreams.

Inflation down to its biggest low.
Watch the governments say the word of “No!”
Comfy chairs and second homes,
Listen to them speak into their up-to-date phones.

The working-class fail to survive,
The governments start to thrive.
Fancy cars and tight business suits,
Walking into gardens and stealing the precious fruits.

Conservative, Liberals and Labour all want to make the rules,
To make us seem like half-wit fools.
The shining silvers and glory golds they wish to find.
Makes them turn sickly blind.

The show will never be over,
And the constant greed builds like a giant super-nova.
Welcomed one and all, to show that never ceases to end.
Allow this message to clearly send.

At night rise, to the buzz of my son’s blood,
I wake and blow aboriginal dust from my lungs,
Get up and take a turn around the house.

The place has gotten cold.
This ****-eyed family – good God, they are helpless.
I tried to help by leaving things behind,
Like this prayer on the wall
About the timelessness of beauty.
And did you find the poem
About Freud and mountain climbing?
All they do is wail privately
And try to pass it off as singing.

My son sleeps like a chessmaster,
Shocked into resignation.
He dreams about me,
And his dreams are riddled with light
And longing for the past.
Such nocturnal naiveté.

But he knows the stars
And because, like the ancient Greeks,
He can follow them home,
He will leave this place before it leaves him.

This house gets smaller all the time.
Still, the furniture breathes quietly,
And the dancers in the tapestry sway
Though faded by the sun.

The dust from my breath settles down in layers.
Pale light silvers the living room mirror.
My steps leave footprints before each foot falls.
The footprints lead back to my door.

It is time to lie down.
Soon my son will wake up,
And shake off the ashes of sleep.
I don't live here any more.
My death will begin again.