His garb was not spectacular,his shoes were grey and worn;
his hair was longer than a mere crewcut.
His nails were very *****
his veins were free of needles-
and his face shone bright red
in the misty sunlight.
He greeted the sky with a wail of delight,
and the hearts of passers began to throb.
Summer and autumn were remarried in an embrace of generous hope,
throbbing airwaves,tapping feet,delighted smiles.
And then along came a citizen,politically correct;
oh so relevant,barely tolerant ,emancipator.
With a fuzz of of ***** gray
a salloween expressive nosegay-
A mission to expunge the infiltrator!
He was busy with his flute;
he could not practise,he said
"I only live two hundred yards away.
You must cease and leave this place
you do not fit here in this race-
ABANDON this ridiculous idea!"
So,the stopwatch was set;
the 'half hour rule' began to reign:
And the police turned up
after merely twenty minutes!
Nelson's watch saved the day
"take another twenty"They did say
and our liberator slunk away
unfairly treated.
Though earth on heel and
sky on neck:Lovers'
authentic myth
outshining heaven:
a piper
on a bridge
unsheathed
across
the Ij
A klted
magpie.
unswathed
the lay
fairly
greeted
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC
When we awake from the mist
I am in shadow,
the perambulance of
grief revisited,
till the lengthening toombstone
dwarfs hyperion-
a sculptors cast ,my shell my heart
The gestapo of faith revisited
that others may from my net
Dream sweet prision free-
psychedelic arrest eclipsing
aeons lost fears.
The secret of the hate filled chamber
green gas ,green light &
mercy all,
cracking under boot
ribs target
sheltering from a fathers love.
Were you or I to slumber
nor stir in walking shade
what nets of love entomb us
lest we rise-
the shining ,the living yet are gone
earth's first wake
Yet quickened beyond eyes recognition
The silver sash my silence brings;
a field soughed deep and empty
a fitting palace
for a king
The denseless hollows of my tears
or yet unvapoured from the ground
the shadow of the sky appears
enshrined
in rainbow's fallen glass.
If a child is not a fallen god
- why so unquiet and shallow the grave
that holds the brave emancipator
in such a gentle grasp .
Till in death we meet asunder
apart can never live
a blossom as in winter hangs its head
so a laurel wreath astutely made our measure
must be cast...
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC