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 May 2013 c quirino
st64
redeem
 May 2013 c quirino
st64
1.
white chapel on a hill

sheep dot rugged, earthy slopes

ruminate on warm, sun-kissed dale

endless lines and lines of verdant tones

late afternoon sun slanting

behold, jaune compassion

alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind

distance of silence yearns on

afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales

powder-blue ranges in 3D tiers

shadowy rifts, like a painting out of heaven

lone tree not alone, reaches up

blinding turns and rust-coloured bends, twisty trails

two on horseback, apples for sale

reservoir as a hold all for all

brown mud is where redemption lies.


2.
sun dips away, out of reach

beyond the eye's catch

step out car

feel the ping of silence, deeply-alive zing

crowd in and then,

into the slot of torched horizon

the orange world slips . . .




S T, 19 May 2013
feel that deep humming of the car, as we finally decide to roll along that country ride.....yesterday saturn-day :)

redemption humbly sought in the passing of hills and vales

lovely...all along the eastern escarpment of the beautiful Mercy-Valley...not far from Lake Great Bear on southern Jupiter :)

yet evening cold can sink so hard and fast in the countryside (best be prepared :)

away from all the noise and bustle - rolling, green dales and oh blue, blue, blue....






sub-entry:

'sudden cold'


1.
how dreaded that sudden coldness
press downward
crouch tight upon shoulder
drape your chilly cape over me
clench your claws into soft flesh
hover abrupt around nostrils
whisper icy whittler-words
sinking into pores, settle on
pinched nose-end, fingertips and toes
from across the chasm, silent eyes admonish
burning freeze stick so hard
hug disfavoured hart

oh cold silence, how you **** me!



2.
envelops round me
try in vain to wrap my head around this

warm heart
take this thing and throw it in the dump

(can't
just can't)



3.
blanket of love
whopping oblivion away

seek still
to redeem.
 Oct 2012 c quirino
James Joyce
Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.
Conscience, consuming.
My stomach has turned inside
and in on itself.

My eyes have rotted
and reduced to such lifeless,
stationary orbs.

Today is the day,
I ***** my weaknesses
to teach myself strength.
© Kayleigh Redwine May 23rd, 2010
Written as a Haiku sequence.
 Dec 2011 c quirino
Wade Redfearn
In the hanging kitchen, the smell-
cut cayenned sausage, ejective tomato slices
the whole thing in the back of the throat, inflamed.
Olive oil. Vinegar. Billie talks about her "girl
friend." She lives in Mayfair. (Almost pretty;
don't look too long.)

At times I feel sick.

American man he
strikes the figure of a half-God
broad-shouldered, burned
he does Not exist, John Henry
split his bust long ago and we
are huddled small boys imperfect
in the dust of his legacy.

Our fathers stood from dinner tables kissed
wives were kissed by children one last sip of old
wines and walked into the night looking
for burned-up lamps, the memories of mountains.
Ate stone. Drank mist.
(A thirst for adventure is close to your heart.)
Fell into the grit, the failure, fell
into everything.
(Little else has taste once the spice of life is on your tongue.)

I have nothing but my understanding.
I want to be swaddled, paralytically blind, shamelessly loved.
Or to go out in the wicker
world, there to find whatever our best
died looking for, tigers or ruins or
a life after adventure.
Just ask me.

— The End —