Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
~
First God
Then Everest
To the ends of elation

Her eyes in sunflare
An imprint from her light
Heavy and pulling me
The ever after of the hereafter

In that moment I was hesitant

~
I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.
in the meadows above treeline
the wildflowers are in bloom
turning time into sunshine:
the indian paintbrush, green orchid,
yellow columbine, heart-leafed arnica

and climbing through the rain into sunshine
our shadows stretched across a cloud

and my love's surprise
echoes across the mountain side
to the bow river
and snow-covered mountain tops.

it is an angel's song, gentle and sweet
where the wildflowers bloom
and our hearts are always free.

Alberta.
A carpenter touches me,
  feels length and texture,
    adjusts to perfect fit,
      varnishes till I glow
        with polished pride.

Aristocratic fists
  use my glossy guide rail
    to find their champagne boxes.
      They listen in patchouli perfumed privacy
        while I hear only distant chords
          of an unseen opera.

When the lifts fail
  bent arthritic fingers grasp
    and haul old bodies
      grumbling and groaning,
        step by step,
          to the circle.

But my favourites are the sticky paws
  of children ******* sweets
    hurrying to the pantomime;
      in their haste
        they leave a tacky sucrose veneer
          on my glassy lacquer.
        
          My sugar coating lasts
      until the complaining cleaners
    reset the theatre
for tomorrow.
Fists - Cockney  rhyming slang for fists is dukes.  i.e Aristocratic fists = Aristocratic dukes.
Patchouli - is an essential oil that has an intense smell, which is often described as strong, sweet, and intoxicating.
Lift - I imagine the lift (US = elevator) is not working so the old people have to climb the stairs.
We are not Flawless
bad crossings wrongly drawn
shifting paths
exacting revenge
reflecting our existence
by delivering force.
Neither are we Lawless
living and learning
shifting paradigms
exacting our course
retaining our existence
by showing remorse.
I've come to that age,
when I'm starting to wonder—
about my last words,
before I'm no longer.

Will they be wise,
the words that I utter?
Or will they arrive,
direct from the gutter?

In the throes of passion,
if that's where it ends,
will my last words—
be words that offend?

Or will they be muffled—
by way of a pillow,
by a long-suffering wife;
my soon-to-be widow?
this is the day I begin to feel old
the back is always sore
the knees are shot
the shoulder aches
my real teeth are down to four

a bout with cancer has taken its toll
but they caught it early so I shouldn't moan
what little strength that had remained
has left with my testosterone

my feet and toes are turning numb
my eyes are fading fast
it takes an act of congress now
to exercise my wrinkled ***

my memory now is headed south
it wasn't good to start
the only things I do more often
is eat, sleep and ****

but I'll be 70 come July
I really shouldn't *****
I've seen and done some crazy things
and I've yet to lose that itch!
getting old
You got in my fingertips
The nerve endings to be exact
I felt you for days after
Not sure
How
But
I think you are
In
My
Bloodstream
Invasive
Next page