Message

The blank page beckons, smugly sure
that I'll concede and wander on
to seek that fey and feral well
beyond the dim where shadows swell
and madness breeds as visions spawn
in onyx pools of stark allure.

Addiction's goad or passion's quill,
who's hand upon the lacquered hilt?
What lackey drives amygdala
in service of this cabala
to leap the walls that fear has built
and thwart the laws of conscious will?

Once more I'll brave this dark terrain
and drink deranged ambrosia bought
with wagered sanity, in lieu
of coin, as revelations spew
this lingual ichor; deftly wrought
in reckless faith I'll bear the strain.

The balanced eggs of Easter time,
atop magician sticks of lime,
are guilty of a joyous crime.
They set chromatic paradigm
in shifted shades off purely prime;
as from the beds of winter grime
like brave balloons, they swifty climb.
A tale of spring in unvoiced rhyme,
these choral bells in silence chime
and bob in pastel pantomime.

In raiment made of sunny cheer
from cast off dreams of yesteryear.
Aflame as countless clusters sear
in gentle soul of summers dear.
Each pointed guard, a stainless spear,
the teeth of alabaster gear.
A prophet to the lover's ear,
"She loves me," calls first souvenir
"She loves me not," in answered fear.
As last is pulled, the answer clear.

So intricate, her charms accrue.
No naive lass, but lady true,
in ornate gown of vi'let blue.
A coy regard, she will eschew
and take maturity, in lieu
of pale and tasteless morning dew.
In complex pride, she stands anew,
though often aid, she'll misconstrue.
A vital vision to imbue
with ripened wile and rich purview.

In radiance, a queen unbent.
With cruelty, her grace is lent.
Her musk, a sacred secret scent
which fuels a need unfairly pent
by dreary world, it's magic spent.
A darkly shining argument
for eyes besieged by long lament
to rise beyond their discontent
and seek this fragrant monument
of beauty bound in grand extent.

The tulip smiles in freshened clime,
quixotic entity sublime.
As daisy's hour grows warmly near,
she beams in freedom without peer.
A shameless dame of passion's due,
the orchid poses for review.
A cage of thorns, in message sent,
protects the rose from ill intent.
No other sight could e'er outshine
these verdant paramours of mine.

Would that I could trail behind and
chase the serpent in the mist.
To see the same as glitt'ring eyes,
now carried far away.
Alas, my feet are bound to earth and
forsaken by the path.

A Sijo.
Mike Porter Mar 8

I can't get up out of my bed,
there's bombs going off in my head.
Drank a boatload of rum,
which it turns out was dumb,
and now I just wish I was dead.

Mike Porter Mar 7

Vivid and vibrant against the somber sky,
crimson heart aflame
as the edges darken
to deep violet embers,
an irrevocable token finds freedom
from it's tremulous prison ...

falling

... a final link between two souls;
the last, tangible connection
in this life.
An incomplete span of
memories shared
and dreams lost
hold the blazing bloom
against the stony silence
of the clouds,
scarlet screaming wordlessly
against the slate grey backdrop ...

falling

... emerald leaves rustle
while passing mottled earth,
whispering secrets
as lovers once did,
alone in the darkness.
The delicate rasp of edges,
played by the subtle wind of gravity
as jade travels,
so briefly,
within this russet world ...

falling

... coming roughly to rest
upon the polished, wooden field.
Dark and shadowed thorns,
nearly lost in the mahogany,
wait patiently
while the hues
of life and death
stand starkly at attention,
frozen in this moment.

Mike Porter Mar 6

To stand upon the rocky shore
and gaze out o'er the dark expanse.
Lost deep within, still seeking more;
locked in this brooding, silent trance.

The booming surf, the frigid spray,
allowed no purchase on the mind.
Internal hunter seeks the way,
perhaps a tragedy to find.

For in the quiet of ourselves;
the untold, hidden secrets lay
and what awaits the one that delves
the blackened deeps beyond the grey?

What horrors lurk below our sight,
awaiting only slightest chance,
to unleash deadly spirit's blight;
unchecked, sinister advance.

The unseen battle rages on
upon that solitary beach,
a triumph gained or vict'ry gone,
the answer ever out of reach.

Mike Porter Mar 5

Scurry and posture in the noxious flock, desperately seek assurance of your size and relevance. Hide behind the emblem on your car or the label on your bag. Your fears will wait patiently for the sober moments in the dark.

dogwood in the snow
busy cardinals
flit and flutter

Rally to the banners of charity and empathy, place the halo of enlightenment upon your brow. Shroud your fluttering heart in a cloak of social justice if you must. Your fears will find you at the ebb of conversation and stalk you beyond the bounds of tenuous fellowship.

steam rises
from the fence top
tangerine sun

Place your faith in mythic symbols, learn the steps of the comforting dance. Sing and shout against the silence, raise your voice and palms to ward the void. Your fears will whisper in the wake of tragedy.

a lone crow
on the power line
thunderstorm

Spare me your illusions, we walk from death to blindness. Each heartbeat is a victory, the only we're likely to win. Exist between each breath, embrace the space you fill. Fear the absence of now, dropped from willful fingers.

first cry echoes
the final rattle
I hear only air
waves and molecules
in chaotic disarray

A haibun
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