"changling" poems
No Garden awaits here, I am Stone
You are Water, so We are lost
Gardener: tend my arid places
Hope for me when I have nothing
Be my Rock to future flowers
Maybe there are none left me
Masada palaced and unplaced
Our longest dreams of lions
Now is now, a furled fist
Behind my back and seen
Not at all and never again
So it never happened, we all
Agree
~*~
Read Me all the Poemes You Fynde
My Rising shall Be just to Hande
I Arise to Illustrate Your Care
Earn thus Existential Tendril
Iambic grace, Rarest remonstrance
Pentameters helplessly Entwine
Willow so Willing to Your taste
I will take your hand
Lead you far and a-
fielding
A great song eats strange hours
Horses know, wielding such power
A-stamping and snorting
Horses born crazy, now bending tame
Never underestimate planetary power
To lay you to ground
Sleeping, a runaway,
One changling thing who clings
Inside sweat-soaked dream burrows
No evasion, no escape
In such wild grown tall goddess
Places, clinging to a broken bit
A knuckle’s worth of bitter
Traded for a kiss
All is well
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
I survived another full Moon
the changling, is almost gone
Love and madness, reconciled
hand in hand, skipping down the night
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
Let us dethrone this ***** little clone,
put him back in the barn where he belongs;
next to the other dozen standalone stepping
stones collectively gathering dust to the dome.
A collection of crazies chasing overblown
daisies in a field of belated paraphrases.
"Three lines should get you going, Homie!"
Bite down, giddy up, breathe out.
It's savior of the species eager to embrace
the future,but skyscrapers rise like an
oases just to fold like Fathertime's wrist piece.
Where's your patience? Check the back pages.
What's a death race without 1st place?
Crusading sapiens pound their chest
while the invading aliens blend in with the rest
and I'm too pills past drunk waiting
for the impending blimp on your radar
to changling into a Deathstar.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
What use an angel
Whose wings have been clipped?
Flight an impossibility
Salvation nothing but a fever-dream.
What use is there for a heart
Too fractured and fragmented
To beat in a steady cadence?
How can it be expected to love?
How crippling it is to find
That my heart stutters
My eyes dim and my wings are broken.
Loss and betrayal
Eat away at me
Degrading, damaging, ruining.
Always lessening the whole of me.
I am human, or perhaps a changling.
Encased in iron, cut off from magic,
Both my own and that which inhabits the world.
Flawed, scarred, damaged goods.
I am no angel.
I am nothing you could call good.
A flawed design that does not fit,
I am of no use.
For who keeps a broken toy?
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
he feels he is doomed
such as Frankenstein, and the like.
he is a brute force though he is not marked by depravity.
unbroken
and with veiled language.
strange and landlocked,
with breathless eagerness he pursues nature
to her hiding places
dark eyes,
******* yet softly gleaming such as the wolf.
(in that he is a changling, he tranforms me.
lets my own strangeness identify
another oddity.
a sparkling twin
from nature's womb.)
the pulsing blood inside his body
reverberates the sounds of my own darkness.
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC