"elderberry" poems
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
the black river of himself.
The grain of his wrists
is like bog oak,
the ball of his heel
like a basalt egg.
His instep has shrunk
cold as a swan’s foot
or a wet swamp root.
His hips are the ridge
and purse of a mussel,
his spine an eel arrested
under a glisten of mud.
The head lifts,
the chin is a visor
raised above the vent
of his slashed throat
that has tanned and toughened.
The cured wound
opens inwards to a dark
elderberry place.
Who will say ‘corpse’
to his vivid cast?
Who will say ‘body’
to his opaque repose?
And his rusted hair,
a mat unlikely
as a foetus’s.
I first saw his twisted face
in a photograph,
a head and shoulder
out of the peat,
bruised like a forceps baby,
but now he lies
perfected in my memory,
down to the red horn
of his nails,
hung in the scales
with beauty and atrocity:
with the Dying Gaul
too strictly compassed
on his shield,
with the actual weight
of each hooded victim,
slashed and dumped.
3.5k
i am a phonographic record
and you are the ears that hear me
i cant compare my music
to malignant mammographies
and the phantasmagoria of cash
or to hash-browns and flapjacks
or to a purple field drowning in wisteria
yes, i am hysterical too
like elderberry syrup and cough drops
popping like its hot
so we japa till we drop, it all
yes, everything
so give it a chance
see your face in the reflection
of a pool of moonlight
a **** bather
a fool at the equator
equates to nothing
so i undress my unctuousness
a congruent confluence
like blood on an apartment building wall
a pox in your cereal boxes
flu shots and mandatory vaccinations
without informed consent
we are experiencing a loss of the immaterial
if we pamper ourselves with distraction
we attract the repulsive side of thy will
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:27 PM UTC
Many are the word and phrases
Other minds can oft times frame
Laughs and tears our efforts gain us
Eternity is not our friend
More there is that we can utter
Open minds may let us see
Lovers foemen heroes vile-ones
Even these we must defend
Maybe we can live in concord
Only time drags at our heels
Lives we have and we must live them
Exist Believe become be real
So we are and we descend.
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 11:38 AM UTC
from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks
moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle
stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows
snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage
avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline
lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter
upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine
*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.
-Jack Kerouac*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Off to 'The Orchard' for afternoon tea
Beautiful and quaint, filled with history
Rupert Brooke, the poet, started the trend
Taking tea in the garden 'til the days end
Virginia Woolf, a writer, with a troubled mind
Enjoyed the bonds of friendship with a group so kind
It goes as far back as the year 1897
Cambridge students found a pocket of heaven
Blossoming fruit trees arranged in rows
Scattered seating, cushions and colourful throws
Crumbling moist Scones with jam and cream
Carrot Cake and Cordial an Elderberry dream
Horses in the distance and cows by your side
Cool Emerald grass where the insects hide
A wander by the river hand in hand
The most peaceful day that ever was planned
I visited The Orchard yesterday, a most gorgeous place. I hope this poem gives you a picture of this idyllic little corner of England x
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Downy moss doth grow in shadow
Emerald and darkly damp,
Ancient as the runes of legend
Lost to time's priescent ramp.
Damp and downy, roundly soft
Pubescently profound,
Nestled in the vale of love
Where tarantula abound.
Nestled in the vale between
Stark pillars tall and white,
Nestled where tomorrows day
May flourish into night.
Flourish with the elderberry
Mingled with the sage,
Seeping drops of acid wine
Into the maw of age.
Marshalg
23 February 2013
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
The Shed
Waiting for afternoon
when I visit, tea in one hand
crossword in the other.
Rows of last year’s seeds parade on the shelf
by the window, cobwebs high and tight.
Mulchy tobacco odours mingle in mooted sunbeams.
Garden tools hung neatly on nails, the workbench clear
save for the jars of nuts and screws and old mug rings.
Exiled carpet, stiff with fatigue,
plant pots are the only pattern left,
the wooden stool moulded with old-age-grooves
and joints that grumble,
stands next to bottled rhubarb and elderberry
dusty and vibrant, drinking in summers past.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
Blackberry sweet
elderberry shine
we cannot ignore
the approaching signs
growing along the highway
to Autumn
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 8:28 AM UTC
and all the baby crickets chirp
I got the daisies planted and then appeared
numerous
red black bugs
swarming the daises the elderberry bushes
the crickets just watched all the festivity
like who are they they are not me
that is cricket talk
especially when young
and the boxelder bugs in
swarms respond
in red black harmony of numbers
it is we the red black bugs of sap suckering
I chuckled
the crickets responded
by rubbing their back legs together
almost like
applause
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
this frail body is black and blue
soft hands turned callouses
no longer rosy nor inexperienced
i no longer have them,
the thing you seek
a barren waste land with out fruit to grow
your seeds cannot grow here anymore
they said icarus loved the sun too much
that death was bound to give him a kiss
on his peeling back, the one where
flesh and waxes intertwined
i do not understand why
everything still trembles when you knock
but i have learned how to handle earthquakes
and you aren't as encompassing as you thought you were
there's a little girl that drowned, some years ago
fighting tooth and nail until she grew too tired
so she sunk and everything filled her
and she disappear between the lines
i do not resent you
we are not meant to be in a way
this were destined to just be
but i do not have what you seek for
and the walls have been carved
with exorcism rites, by the little
girl with chipped nails and bloated fingers
bitterness is a taste i am customed with
ever since that moonless night
but to let it poison such things as a smile
is a blashpemy to life it self
i have learned honesty,
behind words and the masks
the you left behind in those old suitcases
from your family
this frail body is tired and weary
in need of an over long due sleep
so sing me a lullaby,
about the kindness of cruelty
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
*She's as long and leggy
as the tallest Georgia pine
Goes right away straight to your head
like Elderberry wine
That sweet Georgia peach
Filling every Southern need
With a draw as smooth
as the cool Smokey Mountain dew
Lighting up the night sky
like Lightning bugs in June
Knows how to treat her man so well
That sweet Southern Belle
Like the waves of Saint Simons Island
Kissing the Georgia the shore
Keeps you coming back for more of that
Hard for any man to ignore
Settle for nothing less
Than a girl that's G.R.I.T.S.
(Girl Raised In The South)*
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Thoughts of elderberry rest on his lips.
The poison dripping softly down the chin.
A gasp for air, one final love's eclipse.
Abruptly, the devils rise from within.
Clenching at the mottled Juniper Tree.
Their eyes glint of gold, their teeth gnash the bones.
His violet stained brow grows wild and free.
Frenzy takes hold and they throw the first stones.
A jam forms of berries, blood, and bruises.
Their echoed cackles buried in the sand.
Tear-stained ink blots, his soul he abuses.
Only then shall he find his helping hand.
A beginning's end as abrupt as rain.
A tale we shall tell again and again.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 3:03 AM UTC
I do not like Soyinka!
Except because I love him.
I do not like Soyinka!
That in obvious allure octogenarian man.
With whitish locks.
And this is my jocose to him.
That old jolly-jocund who's in a gay.
I do not wish to be garrulous,
Or loquacious.
So I will say
For I am an enfant terrible.
And I will enfeeble him with my euphoric words.
That elderberry with no egregious egotic lines.
I loathe him, yet loathing him.
Bend to him.
That fair dinkum laureate.
I hope this is not a lese majesty?
For I have penned this accord to his standard.
I do not like Soyinka!
Unless because I love him.
My sworn, utter coruscating model.
Is that I do not like him, I love him.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
*I am dancing through the worlds
entangled by your curls
technology, commerce and religion
labor, agriculture and entertainment
what a way to grow and learn
our hearts are bigger than our homes
sweet waters and violet thrones
our shadows taller than our souls
have you heard the echoes
of owls in the forests
the queen of the jungle
her eyelids are painted black
swollen in their act
of becoming images
forever bitten by candy striped gardenias
soldering irons are hotter than the sun
your darkness is something to outrun
keep chasing images and you’ll go blind
the time is now to rest and unwind
green trees bring traveling companions
to their knees
i believe in my soul
wholeheartedly
i follow my impulse
a tragedy of enlightenment
shadows of retirement
infinite abyss
harboring the mystic
out of time and space
i run from mind and place
look behind you
are you aware of reality
the tiny details
the cracks in the pavement
bearing fruit
can you see the way
the earth was constructed by language
bringer of humanity's knowledge
your presence caresses me like a feather
i am tingling all over
your presence caresses me like a feather
i desire to come closer to your body
take me inside you like the fire
i smile when i think of you
the way you lay beside me
and curl your body like a tiger
and purr with your whole being
i am a slave to thy nectar
the theater of life is chasing us
respectfully keeping pace with our elders
asparagus racemosus also known as shatavari
combined with ashwagandha
this good medicine is elderberry
sweet and pungent for your blood
moist and unctuous to the touch
i will hold on to your hair
pour butter through you bare toes
strain your heart with melodies
eternally naked
i swear by your shadow*
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
*letting go of mind and body
out of this dichotomy a world of flowers blooming
forever is in the choosing
to see the water’s beauty from inside our hidden towers
thousands of broken flowers
threatening to reveal the truth that we are returning
to the burning days spent singing in old cathedrals
streaking naked in the woods
dreaming upright streams of cottonwood
treetop dancers stand upon the crashing boughs
deepen their stance and make flashing elbows
your feathers are wet as yesterday’s snow is melting
how many years till the pelting of the sun with arrows and stones
commences to cover up our coats
of fur, tooth, breath and bone with armor
your faith is cheap so you repeat the weakness of the elderberry
your syrup stealthily dripping, stripping, ripping
a wealthy dreamer hungry for the sun-dried lobotomies of love
the watershed depends on nothing yet it remains
ugly and unsteady and ready to drop you without warning
love is deeper than still water
it is all about alabaster and descending melodies
the viola serves his daughter’s laughter
in symphony’s ancient slumber
projecting this imperfect world as a boy masters his box of toys
stepping out into the abyss like gargoyles on the corners of rooftops
i stop and wonder how we plundered so much of the universe
despite the treasures that were never uncovered
did we misplace our souls in the bargain
in stolen mansions deep within the forest
stallions cast shadows on straw covered blankets
asleep in thyme’s meditation
i deliver the delicate feathers of the mother
to swarms of stormy eyed children drifting in meadows
forests of wildflowers matching our emotional temperament
again we separate the wheat and the chaff
the oat and the staff of ancient Syria
stood tall and bowed before
all the youthful interpreters
foregoing is ambitions cursed gesture*
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
The empty office hums
as air-conditioned drums
rattle through the ventilation
and I sit idly with time for contemplation.
The day rolls forward unopposed.
As I've read: "So it goes."
With a sigh, I make my tea --
an infusion with elderberry --
but that alone doesn't warm a mind
limping out of tempo with the time.
My soul's too slow to keep this rhythm
of skewed self-perception and idiot-ism.
Know that I'm afraid to express my love sincerely,
because every person I've known I hold equally dearly.
Nothing special exists inside my love,
where no one is treated as below or above.
Now if you pass me on the street,
you'll know me when our eyes both meet.
I'll smile from my core for you
and I hope that you reflect it, too.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Descended stars nestle in the trees outside the stadium
supplemental moonlight whitewashes the locusts
pearly lines linger on the tar black sea
crickets creak on the screen door of summer.
Round white stars swirl in elderberry blackness.
Stare. Long enough to see them meet head on
Collide. Spinning in slow motion
celestial pinballs sliding across exploding endless night
shattering sparks that rise gold
Embers into purple shaded trees
falling in silver
plating the grass to face the amaranthine dawn
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:22 AM UTC