"medallions" poems
the ghosts around your moist lips
clipping the sweet drench of our limp wish....
the spectral harlots of our far lit lamps
and the damp parlors of our damaged camps
pitched.
the pit of our peaches, fussing the cuff
of our sap. the honey bonds -
of our wayward damp
runes...
that
we caste to undo
any telling
of our demise, to save our precious
myth.
to keep our ruse
amused...
my darling... goodnight... though nothing is good
and we have only the night.... goodnight.
i will
trouble you no more
but labor to keep your sweet grief
mine.
to contend
with your unending medallions
of perfect regret, to pass your palm
with silver drek, the likes of which
your liking, may learn to kiss
with two lips
at dead
stop.
if this is the end
tremble and be
trembling.
our disassembling
locks
our open door
and nothing more than vanishing
remains, where our appearance
mocks the
same.
goodnight... though nothing is good, and the light is a darkness,
a trump of knives and a far thing,
up too close
to save a prayer for the plight of fools
and just too far
to pry our hands from live
grenades...
to live for.
but to die
yes.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—
A poem should not mean
But be.
3.5k
The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 12:12 PM UTC
The aconites
sing of us
in Early January.
Sing their first
song of candled
love.
Sing to the time
between midnight and noon
where coy clouds wake the world
and water reflects medallions
in its glass.
In Early January,
snowdrops
lark the dormant
hedgerows hanging
like pearls
from their delicate
stems. And sweet dew paves
the meadows
in jewellery.
Its cold in Early January.
Sometimes the 6B pencil shadings
of the sky
leak petal-snow
which, despite our coats,
coat us in silver chill.
Early January to me
is in the smokey firework
dust swirling from the
London chimney-stacks.
The tired world is
still sleeping.
Early January
is you.
Squished in your white
blanket while you pour
cereal, morning
breath still misting the
glass on the sill.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
gold medallions
spread over the lawn
a lace tablecloth
fit for faerie queen
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
WINTER
as the heavy snow fell
the chimneys in the village
belched with dark smoke
SPRING
on that day in May
the rustic cottage garden
arrayed in blooms
SUMMER
stinging rays of sun
lashed idle sunbathers
along the shoreline
AUTUMN/FALL
copper medallions
hung from the maple branches
in Alberta's streets
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
the brilliant hues
of autumn
dripping
from
the trees
piling up
around
their trunks
almost
to
my knees
scarlet red
and
russet brown
form
deep
puddles
on the ground
gold
medallions
from the elm
worth more than
coins of the realm
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
*A shadow on the upper right lobe,
its probably nothing*
Its close to Christmas,
I think about our first
and how purple it was,
sunflower medallions
and George Winston.
I grew my hair long
and wore camouflage.
We ought to run a few more tests
My guilt was more than
I could carry back then,
gallons in half gallon buckets,
blood splashing onto
white carpet.
*We'll get a little more blood on
Tuesday*
The waiting game was nearly terminal,
the kids and I exchanged gifts in the Sears
parking lot. When I got home you held me.
We need to talk in my office for a minute
I cried about the choices they made.
You were never unkind. The rosaries I
made were hung on our bedposts,
they hang there still.
The shadow on your lung is a tumor
Its been five years. They're adults now
and old enough to hear about death.
I'll schedule a biopsy for after Christmas
I don't think I'll tell them.
I don't think I'll tell you either..
maybe just once we'll have a peaceful holiday.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 4:46 AM UTC
Watch out for the jackal.
A Joker.
I don't like to play games.
This is serious follow the clues.
The stepping stones line the path.
Through the meadow and the prairie.
Galloping stallions.
Twirling battalions.
Shiny medallions.
A whiny dalmatian.
A quarreling nation.
What is the logic?
Chirping frogs.
Daddy long leg spiders.
That sit down beside her.
A messed up mind.
A senseless theory.
A confusing plot.
Without any thought.
What was I thinking?
If I remember it wouldn't matter?
Really?
Of course not.
Absolutely not.
Giggling girls.
Gossiping & copying.
Stealing each others cosmetics, boyfriends,
money, CDs, DVDs, jet ski's,
Mountain climb.
Scuba dive.
Snorkel.
Hot air ballooning.
Hang gliding.
Bungee jumping.
Parachuting.
Water skiing.
Boogie boarding.
Dune buggy racing.
Ice skating.
Roller coaster.
Merry go round.
Ferris wheel.
A maze of fun.
Build a sandcastle.
Build a Snowman.
Make a snow angel.
Collect seashells.
Or sea glass.
Pearls.
Fly a kite.
1,2,3 go.
Wash, rinse, & repeat.
Step, shuffle, step.
Destiny
Harmony
Star
Karma
Ruby
Aqua
Moon
Rainbow
Trinity
Phebe
Ariel
Glow
Diamonds
Cool water
Vanilla fields
Charm
Dessert
Fantasy
Perfume
Fragrance
Delightful & frightful.
Neat & sweet & discreet.
Charming & disarming.
Meet & greet.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I lay medallions on your heart love,
Even in your dreams are the witch club,
Like the craft,
You're the one I can perform on,
No better time than tonight,
Especially when there's nothing wrong,
I,
Can,
Be,
Your savior when your world is gone,
Every useless brick by brick,
We'll rebuild a new love song,
∆I want your magic,
I love you madness like Alice,
The *** is heaven,
Let's get buried in our sins,
Tonight!!!!!!!!!!
Alright!!!!!!!!!!
Just let it happen,
In a nice timely fashion,
We count to seven,
Then the Adventure Begins,
Tonight!!!!!!!!!!
Alright!!!!!!!!!!!∆
I lay medallions on your heart love.
Your savior when your world is gone.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown--
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves.
Memory by memory the mind--
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea--
A poem should not mean
But be.
Archibald McLeish
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
A maul is not an axe;
an axe is not a maul.
One is for splitting,
the other for felling.
Of course to trees
such distinctions
are immaterial.
Walnut rounds
scattered on grass
stare into juniper
scratching the sky—
tall pallbearers
shiver in wind,
whisper above
dead medallions,
unblinking eyes.
The handle I hold
like a divining rod;
metal blade forged
by inchoate words,
honed on grinding
letters of precision.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
I sometimes think of growing up
Waking early and brewing cheap coffee
Pouring it in the same old half washed cup
Exchange a cold shower for a couple bucks
Trade happiness for a crooked smile
I could walk to work, but I think I will drive instead
Traffic is soothing
Job security
Misery becomes my amusement
Local radio 8am
Woman won a thousand medallions
Two burnt down houses
Stop short, *******
Now the coffee is on my trousers
Half past nine
Parking lot is packed
Six block walk and twenty minutes of life I will never get back
Hey look its Tim
Tim is divorced with two kids
Grown up stuff I guess
I’ll just follow him in
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 1:19 AM UTC
A-Aspen trees bedecked in golden foliage
U-Under the sun's spangling coverage
T-Thralling to the eye are these leaves bright
U-Utmost is the power of their glorious sight
M-Mesmeric medallions streaming on limbs
N-Nicely bringing the tones of flaxen trims
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Summer is my favorite season
I was born in the hazy heat
In the middle of a black and white city
that never goes to sleep
I hear a black crow at my window
her song, it frightens me
hard sandels, and coin medallions
a green dress, and Greek keys
The things we wanted they came too fast
and now we're stuck dwelling on the past
It would have been a boy, if he was real
and I would have named him Simon or James
I would have cried cause he was yours
He would have had a precious face
So take my hand
and say something simple
you said it plenty when I didn't ask
Go on. Say that you love me
I didn't expect much,
I'm okay with that.
You have Rubies, Turquiose, and Sapphires,
I just have the moon, and a few pearls
You can light yourself on fire if you want to
and I'll smile at the world
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 4:28 PM UTC
Gamma shot spark naked breathe start
With these hearts I see black torn apart
Neanderthal takes a step toward evolution
Thinking it is some kind of solution
The Norman kicked the mail man right out the way
Telling him He just didn't know WHAT to say
Linked arm n' arm for starting the farm
They, once again, started the whole storm
Now we've got the crazy fuzz ball balloons
Prancing wild on the late night TV news
Young dandelions prizing their favorite new medallions
All rubber bands strapped tight to a crazy blue stallion
These were the horror stories I heard about
These are the ones I dreamt and screamed in shout
To piece together the flower *** lids
Questioning what it even truly means to begin
An end in the painted error laying with an esteemed grin
The dolphin swam quite fast with only one fin
Now these brown paper bags litter the streets
And were out walking until we learn
To lose
Is to win
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—
A poem should not mean
But be.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
We've taken our breaks
Yet we see we need our
Hearts to even speak
The medallions glow
As the naked pines shiver
Winter leaves us now
Crying through midnight
But were learning to care more
Hear that hard rain pour
Dark eyed skinny frantic you
Bitter for no one
But your worthy self
When we are apart
Nights fall the sun still rises
Love's hard everyday
Petals of rose halo
Angels echo out-of-tune
You smile so true
Saying that to pray
Is to say hello to voice
Unknown shadows glow
Growing never was
So hard, but do not mind pain
All's said can be done
Brushing up at night
Dreams are never as good as
When I am with you
For you are what's real
My dove in the burned' sky
So please do not cry
Life is hard for you
Other pains will be hard too
But smile through the blue
Mist on blue refrain
Setting moon ritual croon
Pouring soul for you
Dear feelings too true
That come in the cracked leaves of
Autumns boring death
How embarrassed I
Am to love you like I do
I hide within you
Feed me the hatred
Engulf me in betrayal
Father I am not
God! What a namely
Name that works informally
Lingering blank names
Do you like to be told
What to do in this free world?
NO NO NO NO NO
Scientific farts
That cannot help themselves from
Being Animal
Struggle over rocks
Of resembling forefather's
Their faces old numb
Too dumb to tell scotch
From water and two fingers
Joining wine for brunch
But back to present
To New York through telescope
Orleans, if so?
And our range has
No horizon if we will
It so in a wish
We will part for now
But we are always meeting
Spring our armor
I am forever
Falling through space heaven cloud
With you only you
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
You’re walking because you’ll be drinking,
But only a little whiskey,
Or so you’re thinking, to help you sleep.
Just one, just one, just one.
You remember the apartment from before,
The right set of stairs, the same exact door,
A coffee mug of cigarette butts on the porch.
Once more, once more, once more.
Somewhat like sinking you settle down,
Smile a little at everything
Because with your frown it’s a challenge.
Keep focus, keep focus, keep focus
On what’s on the walls, the ceiling above,
Which you know must be a labor of love,
A chronicle of coexistence.
One more, one more, one more.
And you don’t want to push me, you know
That I’m new here
But I’ll go with the flow, it’s just fun and games.
I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.
Drinks that I recognize and faces I can’t,
I was never looking for a hierophant,
But you’ve been so ******* pleasant.
I see you, I see you, I see you.
How many times have you passed out here?
How many voices live inside your ear?
How many walls do you have to clear?
Just a little more, little just a little more.
Well that’s one use for your school I.D. card,
I’ll bring you your clothes tomorrow,
Let down my guard, and just laugh about it.
No worries, no worries no worries.
Thank you, Lancelot, for handing me the Holy Grail
Someone finally taught me to ******* inhale,
Many tried, and many failed, but
Breathe easy, breathe easy, breathe.
You don’t get me, and the way you speak
Leaves me forgotten and confused,
My bitter medallions bleak, the chain around my neck
Gets heavier, heavier, heavier.
The lights of the airport through the January fog
Blur my mind like a chalkboard
And the floor’s got a soggy, sticky feeling.
And traps you forever and ever and
If your coronation’s based on an old fixation,
And only a little problem,
Then after this conversation you’ll go.
I promise, I promise, I promise
One more old friend, one more new,
And this will be the shot that drops you,
This is where you’ll forget.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
You don't see many medallion men
I wonder at times
what happened to them?
I watch movies
eat popcorn
scorn *****
and once
off the Horn of Africa
in a force nine, I
was washed overboard,
thought I was toast,
but the coast guard
on the least guarded shore I know
saved me.
That paved the way for God and me to come to an understanding which was
he understood me and I understood nothing
which again I understood having been an understudy
to a life of no study.
it was good he knew that.
Woolworth's went too,
like a paper shop it just blew away
but the high street's a low point on some graph
that the merchants have made for a laugh
it doesn't make sense
you can't spend pounds and pence
when there's nothing to spend them on.
I'd prefer battalions of medallions
and shops by the score
an army of high streets and
two armies more, but even the
Army and Navy can't save me
and they used to be good for me,
God you see
takes precedence
dislikes things like
impediments
experiments
and all things that
debunk his
glorious
magnificence,
likes to be called
his eminence
I
still can't find many shops on the high street though,
it's a miracle that
I don't understand.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
with no room
to breathe, we wreathe the shanks
of our slow breach, with retreat from our null ranks.
we are going to burn for the very thing the water sparked..
the undarked sun of our unwashed medallions; marched
from sea wreck, to the bottom
of unmarked
fathoms.
clarity bleats -
and howls. but the chaos engines purr
like kittens in a bin of catnip and gypsy porridge, as it were.
and however docile the violence of our retrospect, we wander.
but never turn again to the nuisance of what two hearts
may ponder.
and yet
so it is... we kink the smooth blithering of gnats and hatters.
but only have ourselves to blame
for what if ?
if anything mattered.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
her lips are like honey
but she is sweeter
than nectar and
thicker than molasses
they taste her with
the tips of their tongues
yet they do not swallow
anything
her hair is black
but she is darker than
the night when the sky
is still and the stars have
gone to sleep
they search for
something they cannot find
lost in the fragile
strands of her tresses
her eyes are like bronze
medallions glimmering
in the sunlight shown
to many to say: 'i did it.
please remember me.'
when she smiles they
curve like the crescent
moon when it is eight
in the evening and the
sun bids goodbye
she is the mystery and
she is the detective
hired to solve all the problems
everyone else encounters
around her
she is the question and
she is the answer
she is
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
This mesa, torn from error.
Somebody knocks and I am busy reading from the newspaper hoard.
Somebody knocks and says they've found a joke. They're now irresistible.
I know its true.
I have company and a shrimp grey sweater, so I send them my boyfriends business card.
One man appreciates my ratio, finds triangles everywhere.
Or prisms or/ whatever happens you're still my sundial, right?
In the kitchen debunking my ghost problem, I forget how to braise backstraps; soak medallions in vinegar.
She is shiny in my living room, posing, asks if she looks like a princess.
I say yes, you look just like annie oakley.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
The silent myth
The sacred nuptials
the bind mackerel
a broken furred leg of spider
a feast for ants
fused medallions
Evoke the night!
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
a cold wind blows
and golden elm
is shedding her summer dress
gold medallions lie in pots
the ground beneath her
soon a mess
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC