I
saw the stars move in circles last
night. Bright sight with thoughts like no
other. My mother did not
exist. The grass kissed my lips but the only words I could
recite—*I saw the stars move in circles last night.

Mom shot Jake's cat
with the screen door open,
with dirtied snow covering the
gravel drive. And Jake, bless
his little soul, watched from
the door frame as Dad took
over, snagging the bloodied
mess by the tail and dumping
it in the waiting grave. Mom
told Jake that's the way it is
as she opened the .410's ejection
port and deposited the shell into
her hand. She gave it to him.
A memento. Jake didn't know this
word at the time but years later,
four to be exact, he'd look up
memento for a spelling test,
and think of Dad piling loose dirt,
tiny sticks, and snow on the cat
while he, Jake, stared at the
discharged shotgun shell,
still warm in his hand.

I have always loved you.

I imagine us 30 years down the road.
I am massaging your shoulders,
relieving knots.
Life gets me in knots too.

I've put the kettle on
I have my own key now so I come and go as I please
like the old friend I've become.
I feed your cat when you go away at weekends.

Smelling your pillow
Remembering you at 40.
Your dressing table
as I pictured it.

I have my own family now
but I met you 10 years before I met my wife.
I rode the wave of your smile,
came crashing down
the day you announced you'd met someone,
holding out for the real thing.

For; I was just a boy,
what could I deliver apart from newspapers
and the odd dodgy innuendos? you laughed at
tossing your hair.
Humouring me
but,
Never letting on that you cared.

I slip away every second night
when the second hand rests between the 8 and the 9
and it is quarter to 10.
I am on my way to see you.
We play cards and toast a drink into midnight.
Sometimes I reach for your delicately aged hand
twiddling with your rings,
knowing mine would have been the sparkly one.
But not a patch on you.

We lock eyes for around a minute,
My throat is dry.
Telepathically I tell you
I have always loved you.
Whether you are 45 or 75
I will always love you.

plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?




st, 27 march 2014

Paper trees
winter still lingering
soon begins water ice trickling
big eyed, dogwood blossoms, rain
pink cherry flowers blooming mad
snow of paper petaled lawns
gardens whisper underground
in colored arrangements
awaiting dawn

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice reverberates throughout the ballroom, “this last one is a personal favorite.”

As the music cues up, the young couple pulls away from the loud speakers and blinding stage lights, theirs bodies swaying from side to side as they dance slowly on the outskirts of the crowd.  They look deeply into each other’s eyes as the young girl wraps her arms around his neck to draw him nearer.  She sings along with Berlin softly into his ear,

“Watching I keep waiting still anticipating love
Never hesitating to become the fated ones
Turning and returning to some secret place to hide
Watching in slow motion as you turn to me and say

“Take my breath away...”

She draws back and smiles, “I love you, Chad Stoper.”  He says nothing, and she leans in for a kiss, pressing her lips against his.  Unresponsive to the warmth of her mouth, his lips are cold and flat.  Pulling back, she gazes upon his faded complexion.  

Frozen in time, his 4x6 glass prison is smeared by years of her kisses.  A sigh escapes her lips as she gently sets Chad back onto her nightstand next to the jagged stack of romance novels.  Quickly crossing the room, she presses rewind on her beloved “Prom 1987” mixed tape so that her ritual can begin without hesitation at 10:00PM again tomorrow.

She sneaks one last glance at Chad and giggles, “Oh, Chad – Stop it!  You shouldn’t stare at me like that.”  Red floods her cheeks as she bends over to pick up her watering can.  The smell of the stagnant water goes unnoticed, and she proceeds to water each of the plastic flower arrangements on her windowsill, a giggle escaping her lips with each miniscule tilt of the watering can.  “Oh, my babies… you’re growing so quickly!”  She bends forward to press her nose into the dust-covered petals, “And you even smell more mature.   I’m such a proud mommy!”

Her stomach suddenly growls, and she immediately sets down the watering can, sloshing water onto the stained carpet.  In moments, she has reached the refrigerator and reaches in to grab the last remaining hotdog out of its slimy package.  Leaning back against the kitchen sink, she knocks over the pile of mold-encrusted plates as her large arm reaches past to grab the can of spray cheese sitting on the counter.  

In a moment of ecstasy, she tilts back her head and empties the can of synthetic cheese into her mouth.  She foregoes swallowing, allowing the substance to encase her throat, another chin appearing as she opens her mouth even further to consume the cold, slimy intestine.  

Satisfied, she heads back to her bedroom, too focused on the aftertaste in her mouth to notice the cat litter accumulating on the bottom of her socks.  She glances at the romance novels sitting on her nightstand, the light reflecting off of the once-matte finish, now covered in a glossy mess of hotdog juice finger prints.  She pauses in a moment of consideration, looking from her novels to the ***** on the floor next to her bed.  

A yawn escapes her lips.

Tomorrow.  There’s always tomorrow.

She shuffles over to the bed, yanking out a ****** as she climbs on top of the covers.  

“Good night, Chad Stoper,” she looks one last time into his eyes, “I love you.”

When I gave up
Not a bell rang out.
And Lightning was withheld
By all accounts
From every corner of the sky.
And Thunder
had no
mouth.
No Siren sang.
There never came
A wailing throng.
When I gave up
A Shadow passed. And shook -
my hand.
And moved
Along.