Sidetracked sunbeams break through a shaded heaven

Their curiosity claimed the dark

Illuminating an astounding sequence

Industrial excess now lost in a vast indifferent green

It's structure resigned to an organic reclamation

Man made contraptions
corrupted with time

Man made rust
A fine coating for these blooms

Lives once spoken for

Buried beneath earth and root

Leaving only remnants for these spaces less traversed

Tread on brickwork once shadowed with motion

It's wind weaved patterns suggest no recent confrontation

Now only a rains persuasion may reveal its meticulous layering

Footsteps fall and the microscopic scatter

Leaving only an imprint for indication should another soul stumble here

for some have known where the man resides
it isn't in northern hemisphere's tides
yet he insists on telling a falsehood
to the gullible that he's so convinced
could be said his conning is well minced
a southland record does factually show
his address is in sub-urban street's row
definite the look of Oz neighbourhood
mister Kneale's abode revealed to all
we've the oil on his hideout's bricked wall
he did flee from the wife and kids back then
thereby not wishing to be located
all fatherly duties abrogated
so he could have the life of a single Ken

...and I'll give you half an ear.  
[L9:  Robert.  And sent a pic when returned.  And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)


Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here.  Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low.  Whence?
Indeed.  He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that?  The problem is...that you
Are not here.  What are cool winds' murmurs?  You're
Who gives dusk romance.  Tell me that you knew.

23Oct16c

Take this pocket change of poems
paid in movement's subtle sway
play with antique hearts that thrum
and soft kettledrum bouquets

Gloaming arrow points that call
migrant wings o'er river's dale
wending weary path, drifts fall
numerous cries upon her gale

Take this pocket change of poems
pay it forward to heart's end
sing your songs of fertile loam
grow deep love throughout this land

Journey's night sweeps pressing past
ever close in distant flight
churning  flock of instincts fast
into dawning's piece of light

-cec

Snap-bone crushing loneliness
saps these last human desires
music's food spoiled moldiness

muted in feelings feeding calcined pyre

Winter's smoke threads coil skyward
into bent gray heavy clouds
tarry over these tired tombs

ferry-man bowed, slow over Styx, haunted, cowled

Now is this solstice slump home
despondent excursion south
exposing deep in marrow

decomposing airs of Bohemian couth

-cec

The sludge
of mud
       that creeps up
to my eyes
squelches me
down like quicksand
***** a large
breathing object
                         into
its grainy film
an antithesis
       of sea
lungs sputtering
out brain reeling
in remnants of
clusterfucked,
panic –driven
welting
and I am ready to
burst out
legs trapped
yet voice high
heart squealing
in the fire
bring me to
somewhere
it’s a situation
                    dire
this madness
cupping me through
time-realms
and I must find it
that liquid that
wet flow of writhing
struggling
breaking
            free
of those heavy bands
of slimy kelp
holding me
squirm me out
I don’t care
if I get the
muck of centuries
in my hair
for in my veins
my blood does see
I crave the sunlight's
strokes
and
        I
            must
breathe