Love can leave a terrible sting

especially when it has taken wing

The lover sits and knows why.

The sky is black and full of lies.

The cistern of my lust and desire;

squelched by water, oil and fire.

My heart, a blinking thing

gone mute.

Forgiveness never comes with truth.

That is where i went quit wrong.

Months and months of a sad, sick song.

Finally, lover's coals are put on the hearth.

There they stay till  winter's march.

A miracle of plain design, so quietly it sneaks

in with its design.

My heart a happy beast at last.

Love returned  bravely but will it last?

I lay me down to sleep with dark thoughts

     swirling in my brain.

I knew the dreams would come

     and I would live again.

The dream life was exhausting

     as I met strangers and made house.

Dreams took me from my frosty life

     and lead me to release of spouse.

I'd travel to strange places,

     drink to my delight.

Wake up with indigestion

      in the middle of the night.

I lay there in the morning my

      heart racing to a dread.

Was I able to breath

      or was I really dead?

My gasp for air

     was a shuddering feat.

Then I would gasp again.

My wife she lay beside me

     unaware of where I'd been.

I'd look at her disgruntled

     face in sleep.

Asking why I had to

     take that breath?

I did so long to live again...

     so I went back to sleep.

Terrible truths have been gagged by rags

in the mouth of man.

He cannot speak in this cellar of souls for

things of ourselves  are hidden

in dark places.

A dark, where silent  lies are told.

Man did gag his truthful voice because

of no understanding.

The way of the beast in the field is man's way.

But, he refuses redeeming his due.

So, man stays dead in soul

with no words to save him.

So, frightened of those terrible truths

forever mute and raving.

The human imperative tells you this if

nobody tried to live this way the useful world would be in vain.

A man, like me, sitting on this sagging bed, staring at the green

greased stained walls disgusted with the human imperative is unique.

I detest the ***** smell in the dingy brown halls and

the communal bathroom with bugs on the wall.

I know why you had me taken away not jailed this time.

I didn't hit you just spilled whiskey on your imperative new

furniture and dress. Now, whiskey is spilled on this brown

stained carpet and I have no more money. You saw to that!

I'm too sick to panhandle. Nothing to pawn. And the human

imperative makes me sicker. It doesn't consider really gut

hunger for love, ***, food, sleep, oblivion from the mind's

torments of failure. I didn't expect much from this life.

My brilliance kept me above the rest. I am brilliant enough to

know life can end here till they throw you in the alley to die.

There is no where to go. You say recovery? I say, Bull!

No one recovers from a plan like this. Not when you were

King of the road. Not when you wouldn't concede to others

needs because they were banal and stupid and nobody

accepted you drunk. I didn't hit you this time. I know when

I hit you. Some don't. I know I made a mess and was bad.

**** it, once in awhile one of us gets away. They do, imperative

or not...

As the bruises fade I scare myself;

the abyss is close today.

Making love with you leaves me black and blue

and my mind goes blank when you stay.

Lightening strikes across the bedroom air.

A bolt strikes you in the head.

That lightening came from a pointed gun

and now you're finally dead

Tree branches glisten like diamond chains.

Frozen lips want to sing old refrains.

Home, and hearth, Thanksgiving too...

friends, and relatives, the house is a zoo.

Frozen outdoors as the fresh turkey arrives.

Mother in apron is sure to preside.

Pumpkin pie, spiced cider, cranberries glisten,

father tells his jokes and nobody listens.

Sister arrives with rose hips and blooms;

a dazzling display in the living room.

We all gather together to feast at the table.

Say a quick prayer and eat as much as we're able.

Deaf to nature's harmony creates a deviation

not meant as God's creation.

The unnatural bent is towards

false pleasures;

fools can reflect at their leisure.

Climb an ascent and see fire in the sky

is perfect harmony as it zig zags by

but the old male beast sees only youth

when all is worn; dumbness or delusion,

it remains illusion.

Life in a greater sense is harmony not madness,

performed not by chance but in nature's fullness.

Out of a weeping forest a mysterious river flows.

It carries all the souls who lost their way and

have found no place to go.

The river travels very far into the womb of sea.

There the souls met others who came this way to be.

They gather round in floating fright wondering if it

is day or night.

They ponder their predicament and find no answer

to make things right.

The forest where they lost their way weeps for

them every day.

The river gently rushes through collecting those

who must pay their dues.

The ocean's womb is a forever thing that is

the tradegy, that is the sting.

One way in and no way out...

forever doomed to eternal doubt.

Go bravely into this dark night,

death has lost its sting with words

of love on the wing.

Stay stoic before the dark unknown;

better things in heaven than ever known.

Regret nothing in life it soon  passes away;

there were no guarantees only mercy and

moments of Ecstasy.

Take flight before the end, broken wings into

the glow of sun.

Your labor is over, a job well done.

Human life may take its last breath

but you my friend will go on and on...

for in the end love has won.

You swallowed everything rotten when you

swallowed me.

All the indigestion, disgust and anguished reverie.

I keep it tightly locked within...you dared the worst.

You swallowed time and tears and added years;

sorry for what you've done?

You assaulted my infinite oblivion....

my darling solitude and sick...

and yet you thought you'd won.

You lost, my dear, more than you can know.

You can't contain the old re-runs.

So, spit me out into the sea,

a better person you will be.

Let me dwell in my hollow hell with

my demons under lock and key.



Some things should be left alone forever.

Fires burn in the hills around the city.

Smoke curls down like a deadly snake to choke

and take....

I watch and know the knowing....

Our yearly ritual fire and then

a strange voice whispers an invocation,

commonplace yet unknown to most,

this grace...

There is a pathway of unheard fractured voices

that yearn and cry out their poetry...

Catch their words...quickly now!

Words fade as fast as fireflies in a fire.

My ears stretch to their insistence,,,the

poet's pain of knowing.

Their insistence, we are not alone

I am standing here myself by the kitchen table,

the facet drips in the sink...drip, drip, drip,

a familiar repellent sound.

I raise my head upwards with the final beauty

of the done deed...

here in this shabby hotel in the darkest of places

in the city, where the winos roam and  beggars die.

I walk to the room with the white shadow on a blood

splattered wall, a red hand print on the door.

i lift the hank of sticky hair from a worn chair and smell

the clotted blood.

I am filled with weariness; one man's answer to the belly pain.

My eye is a match-flame, the pain a solid lump.

Who will clean up this mess? Who?

I close my eyes in divinity and pain. No redemption...

The neighbors did not hear, they never do not with the radio

blasting out the rock and roll of a seventies tune...

Now there is no noise but a lack of sound.

i have gone deaf from the scream but the scream

was hours or days ago and the radio is unplugged and i stand in

black blood, it covers me and the bathroom is filthy and I

want to leave but stay and try to light a cigarette with shaking

hands. The room is empty except for material things...

strange to feel this cold...her gift of love too clumsy, too worn

not enough to hold me stable not in this dark place.

Why in this space of cockroaches, and stale muscatel?

The room does not answer only its broken ugliness hisses,

and where is the body, curled like a beaten infant in the corner?

Will rats devour her? There is a male insistency on meaning.

i can find no meaning in this stagnant air.

She laughed at me and my hands became weapons.

What was I doing in this shadow-land of the city?

Following what? Death! My death...

Now, i hear again the water dripping, it rips my nerves.

I am strung to a fine pitch...to know, to know not be erased

like so much dirt...dirt is here. i do not live here. Can I burn the

body in the bathtub and run the brown rust water and it will

go away? How many people on this planet starve to death

every second? What time is it? She stole my watch, the *****.

I give it all back. I give her retched life back. I am covered with

her blood and I long to be clean. Long to be rid of her rotting

stench. Who will call the police? I will. i know that as I know the

corpse because I must have wanted this. i have no understanding.

It was a surge of life i sought and only found death. My death,

her death and the world's death. Our planet will die ,just this way

with a dripping facet and a ****** shadow...

The world will die with me.

i hear the voice in whispers...

whispers...whispers...

under the willow tree

the voice says nasty things

***** words

to keep me listening

i hear it by the river

over rock and into splash

slash your wrists, sister

they'll never take you back

i run to my old playhouse

under the old oak floor

the whispers turn to hisses

i can bare it no more

i take the razor and cut so deep

the blood is black and sprays

now maybe at last

the whispers will go away

I reach across the table to touch your hand.

Fine hands, long slender fingers, pale pink and soft...

so soft...

I long to feel your hand silently caress my cheek.

I hunger for the softness that hides a secret sexuality.

You are secret.

You keep yourself refined to a pitch.

I want to know that pitch; can your hands take me there?

I want to know every part of you, I know there is more

hidden softness.

Softness between the folds of your plump round *******.

Softness of the skin between your legs and buttocks.

I look into your soft brown eyes and see your hunger.

Are you just too soft for me to go deeper?

The agony I feel...

The frustration of intense longing.

Let me in, please. The velvet softness of your hands

makes me insane for you.

I will go mad for the softness,

You take your hands back and fold them.

You are wise to your treasure and making me wait

increases the excitement.

The pleasure I will someday feel inside you.

I felt like the foolish American

My  translator book in hand

The streets are charming in Paris

A Britain I hunger for lamb

I saw a bright colored Bistro

Umbrellas over white tables

people eating and laughing

probably telling rescae French tales

i cannot speak much French

My little cheat did not come with me

She had other things to do

Like doing other professors or two

So, I sat down quietly and waited

A waiter came up to me

All I could say was, La moule en folie

He blinked and smiled and beckoned

me to follow. We went into a narrow alley

then up winding stairs. He knocked.

A woman’s husky voice said, “come in.”

She was lying on a bed fully naked

and pink as a salmon. The waiter

held out his hand. “Monsieur,la moule en folie.”

I've wandered far all alone

just to find my way

back home.

Twenty-five years in a cell

of my own

is too long a time for

anyone to atone.

I grieve over the life that

passed me by...

It hurts like hell;

a sty in the eye.

I hunger after rainbows

on dingy walls

then pick up my pack

to go no where at all.

My eyes are tired

from lack of sleep;

no gentle hand to

comfort me.

Where can I go if

not back home?

The jokes on me

where ere I go

I'll be alone...

Ferryman, ferryman don't come for me,

the children sing freely

in the bright sunlight.

When gathered together on a dark

stormy night...

they pull covers over heads

to stay out of sight.



He takes the coins

from the eyes of the dead.

His payment for the travels

he plans ahead.

When payment is made

he guides his guests

to make their final hopeless quest.

He beckons with a gruesome smile

and they board his craft with little guile.

The river is swift...the river is long...

He ferries them right along until he

crosses  the river when he blows his horn.

He looks around and all are gone.



It is said on dark lonely nights,

the Ferryman is out to fright.

Who dares to board his ferry boat

are the dead who have lost all hope.

When innocent children hear his horn

they run like hell to beat his harm.

He took her child...

Where would the child be?

Spirits of the island wept for thee.

This is no mortal business, I declare.

The child is lost, stolen by human care;

the devil’s lot.

Mourn not!

The child still sings out, Mother find me!

Shake off thy slumber and beware…

lest you miss the spirits who will take you there.

Perhaps, a cavern beneath the sea…

your child will wait for thee…

So, free the spell that hangs like doom

upon the island lost to you…

an open conspiracy took your life’s breath away.

Let open sails take you where you’ll find yourself

and child too.

Mercy may have faults but nature is often kind;

your suffering will end in time.

Old Charlie was a winning

the gambling game that night.

He was in a frenzy glorious with

sheer delight.

He'd swig another jigger of his

favorite ***,

then laugh his head off, he was really

on a run.

He'd met a tiny man before this

gambling match

who promised all the gold just

for a lighted match.

Charlie lite the little man's cigar

and the little man blew

smoke on Charlie's wrinkled cards.

"Now, you accepted the deal," the

little man said.

"I'll be back to collect my investment,

you have to pay the debt."

Charlie just shook his head

and sat with his pals with flashing cards

of death.

The clock struck twelve and Charlie

had beaten all the rest.. One begged

for mercy, for his kids but Charlie

only growled. "I won the gold fair

and square, out with you to bed."

Charlie sat with all his gold and the

*** went to is head.

The door opened into Charlie's room

and entered a shadowed shape.

A voice from Hades growled with

lust and Charlie nearly fainted.

"Time to pay what I invested in thee."

the voice was hot and fierce.

Charlie's fright sent his heart

a quiver and he fell towards

the hearth.

"Get up you fool, you'll be charred later

now I want my debt, no later."

"Here's  all the gold." Charlie whimpered.

The dark One only laughed. "Ti's not the

gold we bargained for it is another matter."

In the morning the pile of gold shone

brightly on the table.

All that remained of Charlie was a

*** glass and a shadow,

Image by UW Digital Collections via Flickr/ Ivan Novikoff was my ballet teacher for twelve years when I was very young. Kathleen Colby/view photo on my profile facebook




Gypsies dance while the world spins on and on…

Pacing a beach in Africa a lion yearns for freedom and fun.

This old beast has known the wilds and never spun to happy tides.

The girls have thoughts of glory in their heads; no lion tales do they dread.

The lion just wants to dance, his old legs wobble when he tries to prance.

The girls let their scarfs fly high, the wind whips them as it should into the sky.

A perfume hits the lion’s nose; he lays down dead, he is very old.

The girls dance on without a thought.

A dead lion in Africa should have been taught that ballet

dancing is for the very young when you get old you are done.

A dying heavenly light

signals home

as I lay dying

all alone.

The buckboard

bucks and rattles down

the blazing dust

of country road;

toward the gentle

green of tree

high on the hill

a plot for me.

I rave against the burn,

the sting of death;

no more to yearn.

I rage against the diggers *****.

Peace at rest where i am laid.

Free from this final walk on fire.

I've climbed to a celestial shire.

My song is sad it makes me cry.
Alone in this world and waiting to die.
When we have used up every ruse
and can't find a new convention;
we are left with shadows and little attention.
We ask ourselves, what did it mean?
It was being human without a dream.
The dream is what makes life an adventure.
Without it, life is empty with no exception...

Hurry gravedigger

The ground is frozen solid, sir

And this sack is heavy, you cur!

I need a *****, a drill would do!

Dig, you slug or I’ll send you through and through...

The snow was deep, the graveyard barren

not a wreath on a stone. The dead were alone.

You should have brought her in a box, sir.

I laughed like a lunatic.

The ***** deserves no better than a sack

her cocktail dress a mess, alas.

Suddenly, her head rolled out.

My God, I said, Her lips are red.

My big concern was her corpse would

sprout in Spring…

Perhaps sir, beg your pardon,

it may be sooner than you think.

I blinked and blinked…

her cheeks looked rosy pink.

What did you give her sir?

Slow acting poison in green liqueur

Hum…she seems to be moving.

What a wicked smile.

A twisted thorn branch hit my side.

A red drop of blood hit the snow.

I tossed the branch aside.

This woman was destroying

my writer’s pride with ***.

She climbed out of the sack.

I took off my coat and wrapped

her tight. Divorce would have taken

all my money away.

Well darling, she said, attempted

****** is now on the list to rid me

of your writer’s fits.

I began to feel ghastly faint. My

stomach turned I vomited in pain.

Grave digger, she cooed,Keep digging.

A shallow grave will do. After the news,

the prodigal writer son will be shut away

in the family Museum.

The bewildered grave digger nodded

then watched his master fall to the ground

seemingly dead.

I don’t understand, the gravedigger said,

he claimed he killed you with slow acting cyanide.

Yes, in my favorite green liquor.

His rabid fondness for liquor obscured the switch.

He drank my drink.

Is this ******, madame?

How so, dear boy? he simply killed himself after his novel

fizzled. I simply took him quickly outside, buried

him shallowly and only for a while so the smell

would not offend the party inside.

la belle dam sans Merci

What did you say, old man?

The angel of death and all her wiles

leads men to death with her beautiful smile.

I should report these goings on…

I think your thinking days are done.

She picked up the *** and shoved it hard

into the old mans mouth. Blood dripped from his ears

and eyes. Then carefully cut his vocal chords.

The old man fell to the ground. He tried to speak

but not a sound. She kicked him down the hill with

her spiked heeled pumps. Picked up the coat

and wandered through the headstone maze.

She stopped. A headstone caught her eye.

A silver wreath hung ore the name, diamonds like

icycles  dripped their bracelets from the branches.

She was in disbelief. She pushed aside the wreath

to see the name. She stood up shuddering.

It read: For my Belle, I made you up now I

take you down. One hit by a club of steel.

She didn’t feel the blow. A trickle of blood at

the corner of her lush red mouth. The grave

was ready with head stone too. I tossed her in

and locked the lid  then dropped it all into the

pit. Tomorrow the grave diggers would do the rest.

I was mild proud of creating a character so

clever, No more. I was free. Free of my own creation.

Free of having to prove myself as a writer.

They will find the stone and believe I died a drunkard's

death, a second rate writer with an empty

bank account. What a New Year joy. The money in

Tahiti and so will I…writers can change their name.

What’s in a name anyway?

Many years ago

when the bloom was on my rose

I found God in the desert

innocently, I was alone

I heard a sound not

made by man

and felt the jolt of life

beneath the heat

a throbbing, pulsating stillness

beneath my feet

In wonder, I stopped...

a cactus flower

pink with ****** rupture

opened up her face

My heart was filled with love

I felt the flush, the rush of life'in this place

A baptism in hell

known by the  murderers, and those

of  ******* loss of soul...

They didn't know they knew...

is what they found out...

They hunger for mystical rain on their cheeks

walking down a lonely street.

They search for  requiem and

pulsating warmth of life,

anticipated as a gift...

That is the sting!

Mother's milk like honey from a flower

cannot save them.

Tragic to miss creation in

the chaos of their destruction.

In the corners where I do not go

lies a heap of dust ***** green with mold.

Mother told me to sweep them out.

She doesn't know what they're about?

I poked then once

they snapped my stick,  teeth marks

not a little *****.

Someone has to know the truth;

not as long as Mother is under foot.

Mother calls me evil names;

she has her way to cause great shame.

She says I'm a **** for not getting the broom

after all this is her room.

I told her the ***** had very sharp teeth.

She says I am a liar and must be beat.

So, Mother just to show me grabbed them

with her hand;

lost all her fingers and couldn't stand.

They began to devour her legs, she screamed

and called me a devil's knave.

Now, Mother is gone all is well.

Me and the dust ***** get along just swell.

There is a story

going around,

Jack the Tripper

is back in town!

Twenty girls

dead on their head,

beaten to death

with a piece of lead.

He trips then hits,

and bites his lips.

This ghastly tale

is is happening again.

You just don't know

who is your friend!

Girls, murdered and *****

then left to rot...

Jack you're a ripper

with a very poor plot.

The Mulberry butcher was amazed

a packet of kidneys arrived and glazed.

Where did this wonderful treat come from?

It said on the label, Choice, US, One,

The Chief of Police was having a fit;

twenty young women  

reported missing and found ripped.

Ripped through the throat and the back

as well

somebody was destined to go to hell.

The coroner cried, My God, look how they died!

He sliced their neck, took out their eyes and

then, My God the kidneys too!

This man surely belongs in a zoo.

The Chief, he knew, at once,

the Rippers return had given him lunch.

The front page news hit home!

Thirteen dead in a gambling pen...

A dead bell hounds those

rain soaked back streets

bullits smash soot blind windows

and the smell of blood makes you sick...

White light of the camera eye

spinning red  globes

An attendant shacks his head"How do you rationalize this mess"

"Just bag up the rest"

A child whimpers.

"Hush, Little flower,

it is just death's long shadow

way down in Chinatown."

The Wizard knocks upon my door.

The hour is late

stale breath I adore.

I let him in with his bottle of gin.

He grins at me toothless then

grabs the tin...

a cup I save just for him.

What loquacious tale he may tell

doesn't sit with my mutton and his smell.

He is pretty drunk and so am I.

Can't seem to open my sightless eye...

Why I invite him in each night?

Is the reason mother sits dead in fright.

She stares at us from across the room.

I only hit her once with the broom.

The Wizard promised she'd soon be gone.

You know Wizards, they're full of moon.

So, I let him in when it gets dark.

We plan each night another brain ****.

Mother just won't go away. She's bloated

and smells as  the ugliest  ****. But, soon

we will figure something out when the gin

runs low and our lights go out.

Conspiracy is just a word…

senseless death of innocents

is all too real.

Pray for those unknown heroes

who rode a plane through Hell;

who died not really knowing

and will never be able to tell.

In the quiet rain of this September,

amidst the ashes and the pain;

try to remember with prayer:

each and every name.

The light of the world

flickers faintly and fades.

In autumn's grey shadows

hushed voices make hymns...

    A cloak of sadness

cloisters the old refrains,

and each of us wonders...

will life ever...be the same?

They ran her ou ta town with

her ****** hanging down...

They said she'd put a spell

on the grocer's witless son.

See how stories get twisted.

The truth is much more misted.

Twas the out house that she sought;

having drunk gallons of rot gut,

and an alligator popped up to

bite her rear.

The dim wit heard her scream;

thought he was in a dream

and ran out to assist her.

Seen together in this fashion

twisted up and rather mashing

folks took the first impression

and their tongues began a wagging.

They put her on a bus all covered with dust.

The grocer's son sitting right beside her.

Nothing like a twisted tale to

put you on the road to desolation

The falling leaves drift by my window.
The autumn leaves of red and gold.
Since you went away the days grow long.
Soon, I'll hear them sing old winter's song.
But, I miss you most of all, my darling;
When autumn leaves begin to fall...

I lost my head at gound zero.

I am near “the Pile.” Too near…

Planes gone astray. This was not meant to be or was it?

Water is close, I smell it. My keen sense of wonder and longing.

I wish I was a carrot but nature determined my fate.

A man looked down at me and said I was ugly.

He pulled but I resisted.

My sister has half her head. She wears it proudly.

People will notice her for sure. She might get water.

Someone just might step on her.

I am rotting and rancid. I may beyond hope.

I need water. To be a wetted nymph.

**** you, keep those trucks away.

A flat stump has little chance to survive.

Another man hunched over me and vomited.

That was not nourishment. Why are drunks here at “the Pile?’

Just pieces of flesh and slashes of clothing and twisted metal.

Nobody wants to feed me. Water!

God can see everything. Happiness!

A good New York rain!

Out of the dream I hear it

the distant thunder.

I hear the cry of children;

love will hold back darkness,

love will hold back death.

The sky is violet, red

clouds have bled this day;

smoke rises from the ashes,

guns are put away.

In the distant thunder

I hear an infant cry;

love holds it safe at harbor,

love rocks it in the sway.

The dreamer goes on dreaming;

waiting for the new world

where madness done and hate...

Now, the sky is golden,

something new appears above.

The thunder rolls asunder

no one wanders to the grave.

Forever dreaming until the Lathe

says, Go! Accept the truth that

nothing endures, nothing is precise

one with rock and still alive...

dreamers we now know the world

is paradox and fate...

This prose poem is from my collection "Poems from the Island"

Snow flurries rushed between us on the ice.
Two  black shapes without the world.
"Keep seperate!" he yelled.
The wind blew his words asunder...
Instantly, I remembered the sea heather
I'd left to dry by the fire pit.

Idle thoughts like sludge move slowly
in a frozen mind.
And the right words freeze on your tongue.

If the ice cracked, we'd hear it.
That horrible sound when Buddy was ****** down.
I wished I married a fireman.
A fireman would have saved my brother.

My old Dad was crackers living on this island
so far North. Expanding his poetry by writing
sonnets to Shakespeare and Ovid.   Taunting me
into crossing an ice plated pond to test fate.

The time was ****-eyed, too late in the season.
My father was scared. He'd been scared for a long time.
I heard the CRACK! it ripped open my head.
Suddenly, ****** back to our unborn selves. STRANDED...

No time to say, good-bye.
The black curtain on the last call falls sharply.
Those with nothing to live for invent things
to die for--so much for invention...

I sank my soul in the salt of sea.
The sea spit it back to me.
The wind would not take it, the air let it be.
Then I saw it ...the live thing  at the edge of the sea.
The sea licked it clean till it could stare at me.
The soul looked up from the slime  to be free.
We pour out our sweat and our seed.
In time lie down and  finally just be.
Nothing has changed not you or me.
The dead old world is full of decay.
The telephone rings and rings away.
Dark hell is the number written on the wall.
I wrote it there when I was small.
My savage heart cries out to what?
All is gone and turned to dust.
I saw the corpse when they took it away.
Now, my soul has no where to stay.

This tiny room is dark hell.

Ashtrays hold hills of butts.

I feel the smell of smoke.

And smell the flow of motion;

long sounds of cars outside

make brown shadows

move across the dingy walls.

I am staring at loves face.

I am as real as you.

I look over the bump on your nose.

Nothing has changed.

No match flame in my eyes.

Vita Nu Ova! No! No!

A dead world inside and out.

And this agony of mortal pain

with no release too much to bare.

When love is only a word…



Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/a-room-in-hell/#ixzz0vqkkTaoZ

Visions lost in cracking air
dirt and crumbling sidewalk

I drag my feet homeward
one more time

I dream the dream of dying
I wake gasping

I am locked in
this chambered hell of body

I see fire under rocks
I smell smoke in the bathroom

The night breeds evil smells
they float into my nostrils

Hope is lost, it flew away
I woke up laughing with the dead

Give me a safety pin
I have to pin myself together

My body has parted
was it a distorted mirror?

I touch my eyeball
and it sinks

I spit out teeth
with blood

My fingernails
have fallen off

Tired, I am so tired
i wander crooked streets

Shadows on the grey walls
my only companions

I am daughter of radon
I laugh as my hair falls out

I am so hungry
hungry for life

This steel landscape
of bed pans and commodes

The chill enters my toes
I wake up screaming...

In this dark of times
shadows drape like drop cloths
I know the pull of pure desire
My days and nights scorch like fire
The walls sweat with my profanity
I see a torn moon and
Fill with chill of sun at noon
Death of soul I don't repel
My dark desire flames the fire
To lust for flesh against my own
I traveled looking returned alone
I am spent from evil winds
Torn asunder with life's thunder
I throw myself into unnatural light
In hope of sleep I pay a price
Waiting for lust to burn to ash...

Rain...all it does is rain
The sky is sad...sadder than you know

Rain,,,rain beats down my window pane
I sit and cry with the rain

Rain makes me sad and refreshes my soul
Sadness is not the worst of all things

Sadness can make you feel and think
Rain can do the same

The elephants hide under banana trees
Elephants blink long lashes into the rain

There is a raindrop on your nose
I kiss it away and you laugh

Let's play in the rain
Let's be children again

The air is orange...
smoke snakes down the Sierras.

He and the dog went up there.

A wind pours hot by my rough cheeks.
The sheep are running wild.

The sky turns a pale grey:
a soldiers color.

I will evaporate waiting here.

I hear the dog's faint bark
in crackling timber.

Promises no longer matter!

A rush of raging heat.
The dog drags to my feet.

Too late.

The faint cruel whimper
of impending death.

Eyes burn and tears
are dry.

Aurelia!
I hear him call my name.

Aurelia!
Even fireman die.

The Sierras burn on faster...
Some lonely night I will go and gather his bones.

Then, I will take him home.

The honeyed scents of a summer’s eve

float towards a dying sun.

The dancing violet shadows on the canyon wall;

oft terrify our dog.

We sit  together on the  tiled patio

cold beneath our bare feet.

We listen to the ocean roar.

Soon fog and mist drive us closer

together inside our door.

We’ve done this on many summer’s eves;

just you and I and the old dog.

Sometimes we all nod off and

dream of  summers gone.

Darl Dudley was a pud with a swelling in his nipper.
Shaving, he forgot to zip his zipper.
The morning was great, he was cheerful and able.
He decided to set the breakfast table.
Seeing the adelaide boots he became unstable.
Yanking at his crotch, before he was aware,
Yiks, he had caught a lot of hair.
Then he broke the zipper off and ashamed, began to swear.
His love entered the breakfast room
saw his bent over form and thought it was a dare.
Darl stood up and held his crotch, his pants slipped down
a notch; red faced he howled a prayer.
"My darlin," she exclaimed. "You seem to be in pain.
Let me help you get your trousers off."
Darl let out a heart felt sigh. Just wanted to cry.
His dinger, hot and swollen with a badly bruised side.
She bent down for a moment to see about his fly and
and ended up with a sharp poke in her eye.

The battle field was smothered with blood.

My friend had lost his head.

I got up and walked between the bodies.

My sobs were dearly meant.

The artillery smoke hung like a haze;

how many men would go to graves?

I was lucky, I was still alive.

No more battle for me to ride.

I saw her then from in the smoke.

Lovely, she took my hand but never spoke.

She led me past a field away;

full of flowers and birds this day.

I leaned back in the tall sweet grass.

She stroked my head like no other lass.

Her beauty went beyond any words.

Her body like a goddess , she broke my fears.

Something so lovely to come out of death.

Her lips like wine, sweet was her breath.

She pulled me up and nodded away;

a place to go where we might stay.

She lead me past the battle field;

down a hill and into wall of hay,

beyond was a graveyard and an open grave.

She kissed me sadly, tears in her eyes.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci had let me die.



Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/lady-of-death/#ixzz0tUzsE8rK

In a heady perfumed night…

Spanish guitars strung out a snare,

Soldiers crowed the border town

to see the Gypsy fair

Gypsy wagons, colorful and garish

circled the camp fires near the barracks.

Gypsies wandered freely their mongrel dogs did howl.

Gypsy’s drinking ***, stealing and making dog stew.

Some claimed they put in magic herbs to

boil a man’s skin raw.

Others said the opposite, it came out as a draw.

The violet dusky sky seemed to fall into the sea.

Bonfires burned and ravished the evening gaiety.

Sweat was running just waiting to see her.

She’d leave them broke and *** soaked;

but they cared not in their desire.

Just before the clock struck ten a wagon

door swung free.

A garter ed stocking leg emerged and men forgot

to ***.

The guitars began and then the drums until

the lady was among the wild eyed bunch.

Her colorful skirts, taffeta swished. bracelets graced

her slender arms, luscious breast heaved into sight;

men thought they would go blind.

And from her ears hung gold earrings dangling seven sparkling

moons. Her black eyes glistened as she made her snake like moves.

Her feet were bare and a golden scarf wound round her raven hair.

Slowly, She began her dance. to the ,melody of stars. The faster her body moved

her hips swung loose gyrating like in grooves.

Out of the shadows a dark figure appeared. No one noticed; her body was their

cheer. No one saw him pull out a knife and walk towards the girl.

Her torso grew more snake like with every ***** move.

His suit was black with silver studs.His boots were to the knee. A cigar hung out the side

of his mouth.  His meanness was plain to see. At last the girl saw him. She whirled away towards

her wagon; a ****** threw himself before the stranger. To late, He kicked the little man and

then began his wager. His voice was like a fog horn, smoked poured from out his nose.

Rosanna .grabbed the wagon door. He reached and pulled her close. A golden object dropped

in the dirt, no one picked it up. He twisted the girl till her breast were glued to his chest.

“next time you rob me. you gypsy *****, be sure what you take.” he tore the other earring off

and flesh came along as well. He shoved her to the ground and kicked her in the belly.

“Try to pass off a dead brat now, to hell with you and many.” He threw the other earring down on

her blood soaked blouse. He strode passed the dazed men and leaped upon his horse.

The girl  lay very still. No one moved till he was gone. Then they rushed to Rosanna

and saw her final blush. When he had been holding her he stuck his knife in her breast. She was dead

in the red dirt  and *** soaked breaths.

A legend grew from this incident, Rosanna of the seven moons. Folks said she was with child. They said

she was a ruse. After the terror filled moment her body disappeared. All that was left was a golden earring

that turned out to be fools gold. The strangest thing that had happened ,all the men had been robbed, Their

love for Rosanna blotted out the loss. No one cared about the money. All they wanted was to see Rosanna

dance before their lust was lost.

Many years later, a stranger passing through, said he’d found a golden earring with seven large moons.



Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/rosanna-and-the-seven-moons/#ixzz0tUwFn8hz

The road was a ghostly ribbon:

a strange violet hue.

The sycamore trees ******* thrashing

as a frenzied wind blew.

A dark cloaked horseman

appeared on the horizon’s edge.

He whipped his horse forward;

this horse almost flew.

The pounding hooves echoed

down the cobbled road.

The  madman charged forward

with his deadly load.

They never caught the horseman

who murdered her father that night.

He shot his pistol once then the old man died.

No're was he ever seen again

after the red cobbles dried.

They never found his stallion

with nostrils flaming fire'

who flew like a dragon

until the prey expired.

The girl wept and moaned

at her window. Always watching for him.

Watching the winding road ;she could redeem his sin.

A kiss my darling sweetheart, kiss and let me fly.

His shadow was imprinted on  clean cobbles.

His scarf around her neck but nothing made things right.

The devil surely wanted him

and death breathed down his trek.

They searched  swearing they'd catch the wretch yet found

no trace of him. The girl she smiled sadly.

For now he rode the wind.

She ****** the marrow from my bones.
Smacked her lips, she'd fed her fill from my blood.
I could only think of long winter nights
and found myself in terrible fright.

My instrument so amorous
I believed her lies.
How could I know
her beast inside?

It began with my lust for wine.
that fueled this madness; a helpless
debaucher now souless and dying.
I hear my wife and all her crying.

The ***** promised wine
then ****** my blood.
The feeling was mutual, familiar
and the dream was done.

You will die, I heard her say.
This **** I found in an alleyway.
This rotting corpse with no remorse.
All it wanted she got and more.

Does this mean I've lost my soul?
Dead drunk I'd laugh and not recall.
My mind was driven by autumn tides.
Drink and madness killed my life.

I sail the morrow on the morning tide.
In this casket I will reside.
The **** of ***** took  all my pride.
The ****** **** not at my side.

She laughed again with no shame.
This is not a sublime disgrace.
My wife, dear wife won't touch this box.
She must go and get a lock.

Bones chained in this prison dark.
Eternity has no end...no start.
My blood flowed in her throat like a sobbing flood.
I sought oblivian in a vile ****.

My blood drunk by the Devil's  *****.
Sorry dearie, there is no more.
My dearest wife absolved my drink.
This foulest  of deeds beyond her brink.

I am a ****** soul with unbending regret.
None of it matters for I am dead.
Forgive me wife, your love was a flame.
My hideous lust your only shame.

I am  a tormented cry that no one hears.
Good-bye...