"irradiating" poems
a parhelion forms with
the sun’s peaking out,
irradiating your eye
in crown.
there is a sanguine wonder
to your cigarette as
you drag your lungs
across the floor.
citrine is your smoke
crawling across
the bed.
light moves.
a nanosecond passes by.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
the cherry blossom accord/equation
”perfumers use aromachemicals to recreate a cherry blossom accord...(an accord is a scent made up of individual aromachemicals, that when combined, create a harmonious blend where none of the individual ingredients are able to be detected on their own).”
the odor of our lustful eyes,
the sweat, a unique commingling,
a sheen of salted oils body bathing,
crushed green petals of peaches,
crumbled together with the softy fuzz shavings,
the sediment of aromatic fruit juices drippings
our blending bottled in our brains,
none other would recognize but we,
to too two smell each other through and over
floors, concourses, cities, disparate distances
our ingredients secreted (secret),
our flavors cell secreted (secreting)
the world’s silly tittering aroma inserted,
our sparking fingertips touching
add a bush burning burnt odiferous
we seat across from each other in an airport
plastic restaraunt and everyone asks out loudly,
what is that smell, feed me that, taste me that,
as we are irradiating the atmosphere,
as we renegotiate our cherry blossom accord,
fresh signatures, updated, harmony of harmonies, notarized
she smiles, I joke, winking,
we must continue
to meet like this,
the fireworks of we,
of us,
to-gather to-gether,
a getting of giving,
she answers:
*take me home and
bathe me in love,
give our bodies shelter
from the world outside,
beside a new spice
have I uncovered,
this will require some
discussion+exploration,
the quantity to be added,
the when, and the how!*
what is this new ingredient?
asking puzzled and aroused,
she laughs
(a spice already included),
why it’s called
only love poetry
8/23/19 4:55pm
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
There was sunshine coming off of her
Blues and cream dripping from her lips down the crease of her smile
Pooling in the corners of those cheeks
Neon and tangible
The warmth irradiating from the swirls of her fingers
Southern hues
Her intonations dancing between the half moons between her index and middle fingers
Her skin shines
Mississippi mud runs clear over the rivers that dance beneath her collarbone
You can hear it flutter with the clouds
Her heartbeat
It stills the fields she runs through
There was sunshine coming off of her
Whispering strawberry sweetness
Tingeing the souls we carry on our feet.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is she…
My queen beside me, amidst this rotting debris gifted to me.
Daphne, the comforter sent from the highest skies of Elysia
And Daphne, my love, you put a stopper… on my withering
Never did the sounding of a name, here, blossom a magnolia
Daphne, yours made my hell, the eternal orchards of Elysia.
We were betrothed to each other in here, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your wedding gown, oh…
‘Tis her, the beau sky wrapped around your gentle frame
In your adornments, gifted from the agents of light, oh…
They are sapphire stars plucked from that midnight blue
On the edge of the Aegean sea, we await, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your veil and crown, oh…
‘Tis her, the clouds and her raindrops, adorning your face
I await our wedding waltz, in our deserted fields, oh…
Without our kin, persecuted and orphaned by the world
Alone we shall dance, on the edge of Ymos, our dwelling
Alone we shall be in our vows when our eyes rain in joy
I await your grand advent, beaming gleefully, towards me
Bringing me, serenity; being my succour, with your smile
I await your silhouette, irradiating the wide evening blue
Bringing me, release; being my soother, now I live anew
Daphne, your midnight blue eyes, your voice of mead…
My pen fervently gallops for words, as I just gaze in awe
Let the sands of time tick away in joy, ticking, grain by grain
The heavens merry till the penultimate hours of our union
Now, in these salty Aegean waters, I taste honey and wine
I await our pristine union; as your hand knots with mine.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is you…
Daphne…
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 5:35 AM UTC
Across and abound to the sounds of fire, they lurch and leap toward the river bend. The twilight is thunderous and bold, a fragmented frown upon this calamity of calamities. It's jagged, smooth streaks of light passing judgement from the heavens above. God himself looks on.
Bright Blues to blend with Grim Greys upon such an all encompassing canvas of green. I hadn't known the extent in power of the color Red before this night, in overpowering; in swallowing up, smothering. Exploding in iridescence and irony, in trite translucent tragedy. It sinks into the ground. As it sinks into the bones of myself and my posterity.
I shivered and clutched my chest, that my heart did still beat. Noticing to my relief, it was thudding quite audibly amongst the quiet stir of grass and leaves beneath my feet. It was then I noticed the haunting silence of it all. I was alone.
But I was not alone, my eyes could see the smoke rise, they could almost feel the bullets whip through the wind. The chill of which caressed my skin in sensation. But sounds of gunfire, bombs bursting, yells yelping, the riotous roar of it all, were absent as a shadow. My veins turned to ice, my skin to stone.
In one particularly magnificent mingling of light, in one irradiating instant; I stumbled as sound met my deaf ears. Lightning and Fire danced in the sky. In this soulless shimmer, the slow shuttering lens of humanity captured the essence of something much beyond the present frame of existence. Breaking glass and pouring out of corners, a transcendental photograph. Reaching out through the pages of time to be acted out in accents yet unknown, by peoples yet unborn, to scream with insoluble resolve. The heart of man beats as one, we shall overcome.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 1:49 AM UTC
I. Incumbent incubus;
An evil man sees the light
So he seizes the light
Zealously endeavoring
to extinguish its fervor
II. Duplicitous snake;
Trembling, the ground gives way
All the while shadows in his mind
Animate a reflection of life
All embracing, smothering him
Enveloped like a butterfly in his chrysalis
III. Beguiling wolf;
Frantically he seizures
Oh, unbeliever
With magnificent gusto,
Manifests the Inferno
Ubiquitously irradiating
To both cleanse,
and drive the shadows hiding
just beyond sight
Once more into the infernal abyss
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
To still the aching
from my ***** breaking
In each grisly leaf it wither, --
by the cage the heron tether --
I mistook the form of a mien of lady
in an oracle dream to fade he,
To fade -- to merely fade --
onto the winged-sylphs they grayed --
So, to deepen the burning spirit
lent it soar with a soul inherit
From the clasping
Cherubim heart in grasping --
Grasping despite
that heaven I respite, --
Respite the beaming of the orb
the angels may absorb
And decorum, of a single token
hung afar in the sky that's broken
So to be still in the evil,
binds only onto that mortal devil
In a sepulcher enraptured
as all my hopes within me captured
Within some dim Acheronian shore
in the depth sea the Acheronian store --
Store a most beautiful belle
I've ever kept in me ***** swell,
To palpitate my heart faster
into some unfortunate disaster
In keeping, the shadow of fire,
irradiating an ominous choir, --
A nightly lurking swan
whom the waking angels wan
Their fiery plumes parching
above the misted nimbus arching
The dim ray lighting down
from the heaven whom now frown, --
Yet, to still the aching
from my ***** breaking
For the most beautiful belle
I've ever felt me ***** swell
To be still in the evil
binds onto that mortal devil.
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
Snowfall gently covered Belleville
in a blanket of softest down –
iridescent in the gaslight coronas.
A carriage pulled up at City Park Hall where
the coachman took white-gloved hands
and eased the ladies gently down the steps.
Some paused to pat the horses
in thanksgiving for the lift.
Top - hatted men offered arms to their wives,
escorting them up the snowy stairs
and into the buzzing lobby.
Trays of wine circled the room -
their cargo reduced at every stop.
Each raconteur spoke of celebration for the
Philharmonic had turned a decade old that week.
Programs in hand, people claimed their seats
while musicians on stage
practiced random admixtures of
excerpts that would come to order soon.
Then by the light of gas chandeliers,
Julius Liese raised his arms and brought
Haydn’s symphonic London to Illinois -
a citizen orchestra led by the local lumber czar.
After the final echoes melted into applause
and coats were lifted over shoulders;
the time had come for the waiting carriages -
snow still swirling in the gaslight glow.
The clopping of hooves on cobblestone
drifted into the passengers’ ears
and co-mingled with the echoes of
strings, drums and wind blown music
still singing in their memories
and irradiating their souls,
January, 2007
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC
chain lightning blows across the sky like a radiant touch;
strikes the same tree in my hometown every time i fall in love.
what breed is it, this ruinous love? striking,
the white caustic light of it irradiating
the surrounding cornfields.
were you ever there to see it? from your bedroom window?
the arc and crackle? this tuning fork of astral flame resonating
between cloud and timber? this crippled elm where
my skinny suicidal teenage love bid me scale limbs?
where each time, like a surgeon, my shaky fingers stitched bark
with the corded sinew of raccoons and my fluids held it all glued?
in the dark? how so like an heirloom it seems now;
this lone tree, cordoned in scars,
all gnarl and char.
i turn to the map of my circulatory system in these moments,
follow the red army over a causeway of capillaries,
watch them fattened on oxygen.
how else to know that amongst all this,
there remains
a richness deep
down things?
make a supple leather from the hides
of the nights I knuckled crabapples down your roof.
It will be the color of a bruise; of a secret. all you do
is carve, slicing carefully to cut out my
silhouette projected against your bedroom wall –
all this, time and memory, just arts and crafts. molding
the vectors of us, hurtling through space
like coins drifting
to the bottom
of a well.
memory, the fashion and fashioning of it:
the way we wear our existence. our skeleton
to cobble and clothe. so while we’re at it…
let us forget the moments of trepidation.
Obliterate the clamminess of our palms clenched together,
the schoolyard drama of it all. pasted in layers
until it’s just a mess of glue. until the moments that matter
are traced with dotted lines
and lusted over
by the appetites
of scissors.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Underneath the swaying hickory tree,
He plays his Gibson guitar.
Though his song crumples in the sweltering
Southern breeze, he continues to strum
His guitar strings with a zealous passion,
Expelling each song lyric outward from the
Disconsolate depths of his mourning heart
In hopes that someone, somewhere will listen.
Within the confines of his cluttered garage,
He plays his Gibson guitar.
Though an irritated sister bangs violently
On the door, he continues to play unperturbed
As his three bumbling friends dance clumsily
To the crooked melody and his younger
Brother rolls on the grimy floor in uncontrollable
Laughter at the screech of a leaky note.
In the bustling, sullied streets of the city,
He plays his Gibson guitar.
Though passers by attempt to avoid eye contact,
Whipping out their sleek smartphones and burying
Their faces in their screens as they hurry past him,
He continues to penetrate their eardrums with his
Dissonant ballads, pausing only to collect pennies
Thrown in sympathy at his worn, weathered feet.
In the Marlboro stench of a crumbling nightclub,
He plays his Gibson guitar.
Though some customers, unsettled by the cheap alcohol flowing
Pugnaciously through their veins, heckle him relentlessly,
His guitar continues to erupt with an unapologetic
Persistence, rattling the stomachs of even the
Sober clients into a nauseous, drunken ailment.
And now, despite the aching calluses ingrained in his fingertips,
The bumps and bruises deriding his cherished instrument, and
The overbearing lights irradiating him from the high iron canopy,
He continues to pour each poignant lyric from within him, just as he
Has always done, Letting each of his fingers dance from
String to string, and every verse arouse into graceful takeoff.
As he reaches the final verse of his final song, he pauses abruptly,
And listens to melodious, emphatic voices
Reciting each lyric and bursting into jubilant applause.
In the limelight of a thousand adoring eyes,
He still plays that Gibson guitar!!!
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
a decent night's sleep,
my body to keep,
early light invades the
blinking eyesight, and
an indeterminate sky,
yet offers us an
either/or,
heads or tails,
success or fails,
what will the gods
offer us all humans,
to select, elect for this
anniversary of our
country's formation?
the slow rising sun
over the North Fork
will soon provide its
decision/incision for
our nation tumultuous,
turbulent, course direction
it appears that the silent
dawning will give us yet
another chance, a morning's
golden hour, with that irradiating
light that bathes us with visionary,
equality of light, light of equality,
but
last night's thunderstorms leave
us the detritus of savagery of
thunderous rains that came
with fury, reflecting our confusion
and the danger shoals that appear
with no warning, yet reminds us,
once more,
one more time,
even in troubling days,
of the blessings
of opportunity
that each day,
each unique sunrise
provides us choices,
and
skies have now spoken:
the early warming rays are
reminding hints that a new day
owns equal opportunities to
make our country beautiful
for spacious skies and
amber waves, of
water and light,
if we choose wisely, rightly...
July 4th
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
2025
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC
wednesday pushes through the door
an angry battering ram, reminding me
all is not lost-unnecessary cliche i remind
myself.
daylight is cruel at times, shattering illusions
of the dark.
dark itself an illusion, when it is known
there must be light for there to exist dark, or
maybe not?
a broken promise of the universe, plans gone awry,
ships stranded because of the stars disagreement to align?
my voice an angry arc of light touching down-
north-eastern bound. **** you i cry,
whose rules am i to die?
misread in the moment, a puppy barking and *******
rugs ruined, thrown to the curb.
slash at me, i scream, and again,
**** you i cry.
my temperament, serrated
as your mood.
silence now, a thick black fog
irradiating the dawn.
crumbling mass
lose yourself, safety in your books.
no risk for rejection, so we share
that air-and the lonely night
which for us, maybe forever-
shall be blinded from sight,
shouting aloud, below distant star-shrouds
**** you we cry
too late to live but far too soon to die!
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
a wicked, unrighteous child's mind
lies closer to the truth
than a noble graybeard's ever will &
here is that only, hideous verity:
death has the body of a boy.
an ocherous-haired boy, sylphlike,
unearthly, peerless and
other word to forbear from writing 'beautiful'.
guiltless people do not know that.
'irradiating one, let me hold you', he says,
and i let him. i can recall swearing,
palms pressed together and liquid lungs
settled at the bottom of a bathroom sink,
never to allow to be eaten again
because that is what holding someone is for;
(guiltless people do not know that.)
be that as it may,
i let him.
forgiveness was never
suited for me, anyway.
there can be no fallacy;
no fraud can remain a fraud
once they are birdlimed
by a fire-stricken embrace.
a mindless prey is what they become.
a devourer is what he always was.
guiltless people do not know that.
my eyelids will not yet sink over my pupils,
not until his hidden claws,
ribboning and shredding their way
out of his unsoiled skin, turn
my neck into bloodbath,
my heart into maelstrom.
what a blessed, glory-driven way to meet death.
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 8:15 PM UTC
Beloved pages, I here by condemn you to be my only ones for life
To fear me, to hate me, to be forced to **** me when the time is right
Never again will her lips intoxicate the ink of my creating
Never again will I dance the same old waltz, while she is waiting
Melodic fires taking over the sadness which taught me how to live
Attaching feelings to words and irradiating confusion as I grief
Eternal angels singing disguised as tears
Forbidden tears swimming disguised as maidens
Desirable maidens betraying their most unholy desires
Dead roses falling through the empty spaces in the room
Enabling the place to receive what it had been missing
The perfect place for a bride and a groom
So long as they continue to be kissing
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Mind full blast
Afterburners on rocket ships
Astronauts in space
Heading to the stars
Only to reach
And be pulled in
To a glorious demise
Mindful blast
I explode irradiating energy
And I don't want you too close to me
Because corrupted minds
Are contagious
And its a disease
Eating slowly
Mine, fool, blast
Don't become, just be
And don't be like me
A slowly rotting heart
Who lives through art
Most glorious
Most unnoticed
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
Inside me there is something like a chrysanthemum,
Irradiating a light like the sun.
Growing, it unfolds an oasis of bliss
Chalk full, it pours a dismantling happiness.
It feels like my ribcage is about to burst.
Warm and heart beating, like I was shot first.
the gun to my chest is his voice in my ear
I tried my best over the course of this year.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
I will open my mouth and raise my hand and {without being called on—deigned to be given permission} speak gems. I will
stride down the narrow coffee-stained greenish-gray aisle of the Sistine Chapel lecture hall, students on either side gaping fish-mouthed in amazement, gills straining for knowledge and barely earned praise, gasping, gulping for achievement--
And I will walk to the front of the class, squinting
against the irradiating ambition of those surrounding me, blinded as it blinds them. We’re all horses on a track, forced forward. I will turn to the professor--
fat on self-righteousness and money grants, grabbing greedily for book rights and scholarly acclaim
And I will slap him and I will say
“This is
NOT
the way to learn.”
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
A rainstorm into an open field
Soaking my pigments with
Colors nonexistent;
You’re a solar storm,
Irradiating, enriching me
In serenity transcendent.
Otherworldly on my tongue;
You are a forgotten language
Awaiting translation,
Patience and understanding.
Someone to take the time
To comprehend your words
Unspoken and unread.
Trust me to hold you,
To listen and read
With consideration and delicacy.
Know that I’m here for you to
Whisper your unknowns in my ear,
And compose your silent correspondence
On my skin with your lips
Without fear.
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
Sleeves of an army green jacket rolled to expose excitement. A predetermined embrace encloses around shoulders, politeness exchanged with anxious adrenaline. Pools of color collide and ungracefully splash the sidewalk. Thresholds crossed to beginnings
met by intertwining smiles. The air smells deeply roasted, exhaled as yellow stools become wrapped in conversation; all taboos acknowledged bare resemblance. Forgotten, a “Thank You” hangs out to dry. Time allotted permits brisk rambling through the hour.
Sleeves of stressed denim rolled to expose inklings. Uninhibited, honesty undresses the night’s private faculties. Every last minute filled with sound, devoured, begging no respite. Deliberately, the question must be borrowed. Chance unravels the enigma of
possibilities. Irradiating uncertainty escapes the green emeralds facing eagerness; remanded by signs of relief. Stubble is clutched diligently with five occasions, but only soft, warmth resonates. Radiation permeates the sum, encompassing fleeting eternity.
Sleeves of illustrious silver rolled around to expose shyness. First time intensity subdues any exaggerated significance. By familiar melody sweetness dances, tasted by those listening. Fascination entices conscious dreaming for scarce minutes, stolen.
Laughter called upon repetition. The other side expressed desire to not be resigned. A latch clicks, reminding of punctuality long lost. Captivated moments craved no more entertaining conclusions. Turning, a smile reveals a brief twinkle saying, “Good Night.”
Lateness found itself worthy of the answer.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC