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October – November 6th, 2020

To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet
While Reading Elegant English Sonnets
It Would be a Wonderful Power
One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour
With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend
Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen
The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery
And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me
Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles
We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth
During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon
But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail
We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak
There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice
Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes
The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside
We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the ***** Incline
Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us
What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon
We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures
Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend
Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes
The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows
Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest
We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved
Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light
A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight
Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions
Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning
A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away
The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain
And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon
Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders
Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders
Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins
But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us
In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire
Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather
The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us
My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze
Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide
Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment
I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below
And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight
My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze
Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk
Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand
For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls
Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction
Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat
When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh
The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials
Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair
Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways
Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height
The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning
Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion
Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled
We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells
Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak
My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea
Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair
All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate
At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky
Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment
Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure
Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine
It Would Be a Sensational Scene
My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees
Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon
My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites
Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers
Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew
Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors
Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground
My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest
Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast
We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars
In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting
Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath
With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend
We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb
My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes
We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology
I would Have Reached So Many Listeners,
Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed
Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets
Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales
My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift
To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift
September 29th, 2020

Air from Terra Rising
Quivering in the Mountains
Rocks Rumble Beneath Earth, & One’s Feet
Wind Blares Down on All of Us
Nature Plays Tambourines – Touching Each of Our Ears
Terrene Mother Drums her Hands’ Down on the Planet’s Crust
Manmade Iron Rails Roll their Human Cargo through Scenic Landscapes
Man - in their Fibbing Imaginations’ Believe that they Overcome the Mountain’s Rocks & Horns
Sights Behold, & Sights Lost in Time
A World Without Flesh Arrives with Urbanization
Voices Born & Silenced through Oppression
Mothers Can’t Pay for Milk,
Feet Thump on the Aggregate – Pasted Over the Once Fertile Ground
Steps on the Concrete of Our Grandparents’
Skyscrapers Block Out the Open Sky
They Lord Over the Sight of Homes Lost to the Next Generations
Parks Become Sinkholes in the Modern Age
Beats from the Boomboxes of Youth
Converting themselves into Car Radios
Words Walk By
but their Unheard by Invisible Bodies,
Gibberish Blends in the Air
Whispering Echoes of Past Lives – Lost Within the Smog
The Sun Sets on the Densely-Driven Divides
April 12th, 2017

A girl drew a doodle
It was of her pet poodle
He laid on a mat
He was quite fat
Her mother smiled and gave them both strudel
August 27th – 28th, 2020

The Puzzle of Quietus – Taboo to a Child’s Ears
Possessing their Intuition – A Genesis Shall Take Hold of My Little One’s Imagination
I Become The Mature Mistress, and I Tell Them an Exemplar of Our Essence,
As Fortune Foresees, the Loss of a Life Can be Settled in a Box, and Embedded Within the Ground,
A Perpetual Sleep, as Pictured by my Lilliputian
They Envision a Long-Dead Man, Skinny, Old, and Suntanned, Laying Without Open Eyes in their Cardboard Crypt
His Body Won’t Rot, and his Box Won’t Decompose, his Smell of Decay will Stay Nonexistent
The Child’s Imaginary Corpse – Can Only See the Illusion of Atmospheric Airspace,
With Shallows Painted like Nectarines and Peaches – Flashing in Soft and Slow Kaleidoscopes
This is the Deeming of My Petite Fille, their Developed Divination Beyond the Deceased
And I, the Madam of Maternity, tells them, “When you Die, your Body is Gone.”
Still, My Child’s Cerebrum Can’t Forecast this Subsequent Severance, to be One, but Without their Flesh,
For them, To Be the Host of Incorporeal Vitals – it’s a Bewildering Paradox,
I Soon Bestow My Sequential Warning to the Schoolchild,
On Their Ride to the Phrontistery for the Premature, They Sit and Peer at their Right Forearm,
It’s a Pastel Tint, Not Yet Infused with Literary and the Sun, and Dotted with Moles at Intervals,
They Conjure the Image of their Little Left Fingers, Giving their Cubital Fossa a Squeeze, and Pulling Down the Skin like a Band-Aid
Behind their Eyes, the Little One Sees the Impression of their Unpigmented and Elusive Ossein, Below their Crimson Sap
To I, the Guide of their Ride, the Fillette Asks, “What would Happen if You Peeled Your Skin Back to See the Bone?”
They Want to Gaze at What’s Underneath, To Know What Lies Beyond their Make-Believe
But to their Horror, I Reply, “You’d Die.” – And Fear Replaces their Anthropological Fascination,
I’ve Given Life to the Seed of Thantophobia that Lies Within them, it Resonates with Deep Authenticity
Nevertheless, the Cherub’s Curiosity Still Roams,
Death is the Undefined Taboo
Sugarcoated in Disney Films, Hidden in the Words of Passing Away,
It’s the Mystery that Starts After Cessation,
May Hereafter be Raised, My Schoolchild’s Mind Will One Day Be Blooming – with the World’s Explanations for the Expiry,
They’ll Think of Kinetic Skeletons Holding Blades, Androgynous Winged Hominids, the Bearded Mediterranean Beneath Earth’s Crust, the Gothic Immortal with Horus’s Eye,
And Cloaked Clouds of Catholicism Will Become the New Afterlife, the Cardboard Burials and Visions of Pale Kaleidoscopes – All But Done Away With,
My Grown One Will Witness their Comprehensive Comings,
Dying Won’t Stay an Enigma, but will Remain Somehow Concealed – Contained in its Own Labyrinth
The Twists and Turns Already Expected,
My Little Girl – Will Become My Grown One, and Being Deceased Will Not be the Doorway to the Other Life, but the Pathway to the Next Platform
September 9th, 2020

The Skies Once So Proud – that Mirrored the Ocean Blue
Now Coated with Hazy Orange Fumes,
A Settled Step into Purgatory,
Passing Us By – Apollo’s Chariot has Flown

Ashes Bop Beneath the Unforgiving Ambience,
The Drowsy Haze of a Drunk Bewitches Ones’ Wit,
Nature – Bleary and Blended,
Morning has Refused to Arrive,

Our Trees Leave Tears Beneath their Roots, Blackened by the Loss of the Sun
Love has Left, Limbo Leans
Unearthed by Gods’ Means
June 28-30th, 2020

With a Nice Piece of Toffee,
She Indulged on her Mid-Morning Coffee,
As She Sipped on her Java
It Warmed her Throat like Lava,
And She Smiled Knowing her Cup was Lofty
June 9th-10th, 2020

In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds
It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,”
And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face
The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise
It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man
Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick
Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes
Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand
Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top
Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge
Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back
Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other
Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her
Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite
Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland
She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion
Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers
The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves
Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared
And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died
They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House
They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost
They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad
The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony
and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show
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