I hate when I’m trying to be handsome,
and a more handsome man stands next to me and handsomes harder than I can.

''Surely you can handsome somewhere else,'' I say in a handsome passion, to the man dressed in ridiculously good fashion.

But he just stands there, handsoming harder than I could dare.
Even if I were wearing some Prada underwear.

So I turn up my nose and ''hmmph'' out aloud,
then handsome off to a less handsomeable crowd.

''Oh, what a success I've found,'' I say in a handsome murmer,
before handsoming away to be handsome further.

the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.

It was the Spring of 1908. Magdalena looked upon the water as it glistened in the sunlight.

A group of men stood beside her to her left, leaning against the railing of the boat as she was and looking out at the endless Atlantic ocean. The pungent smell of their cigar smoke reminding her of her father and his friends back home in Italy. She could not understand what these men were saying, but their words and laughter with each other comforted her.  They were all on their way to America, and their dreams were seemingly coming true. The spray of the ocean, and the brisk breeze, felt refreshing against her cheeks as Magdalena inhaled the fresh, cool air.

Magdalena looked over at her poor sister and tried to comfort her. Maria still was suffering from motion sickness, and she leaned over the railing in miserable anticipation to *****. Ladies and girls in babushkas were singing nearby, laughing with each other in the joy of each other's company. Magdalena really wanted her sister to experience the joy she was feeling, that these women and men were feeling around her.

She had to worry about her sister all the time. At age sixteen, Magdalena always felt responsible for Maria, especially now that she felt she had dragged her with her on this large passenger boat traveling across the vast Atlantic, a ride that seemed endless.

Maria was not quite fifteen, and she seemed more like a little girl to her older sister. Back in their small village in Italy, they both knew what their fate would be.

"You are lucky to get what you get", Magdalena recalled her father saying to her. "You are not the pretty one in the family, and we are not rich!"

Maria's father, Matteo, was not a bad man, but a blunt one. He knew he had to marry off his daughters one day, and the day came that Magdalena's father received an offer from a man almost thirty-five years older than she was for his daughter's hand in marriage. He was a simple peasant farmer, like her father was, and he went to the same  Catholic church as Magdalena and her family did.

"I don't want to marry him!" Magdalena confessed to her mother, Bella. "I don't want that life, Mama!"

"You don't need to love the man to marry him!" Bella shouted. "Don't let your father hear what you are saying! You need to be grateful! Do you think we can take care of you forever?"

Magdalena tried to be grateful. Out of eleven children that her mother bore, only six survived. It was not an easy life.   Her brother, Matteo, the third, and her sisters, Sofia and Arietta , were older than she was.  Maria, and her brother, Alberto, came after her.

Her father had already arranged for marriages for Sofia and Arietta. Both of them were currently pregnant, and Magdalena did not know if they were happy or not. Between the two of them, they already had five children. She never heard them complain, but she also rarely saw them smile. It was as if they accepted their fate with quiet submission and without a scrap of passion for their existence.

Magdalena looked over at her sister. Maria was retching, her hair hanging down about her. Madgalena lifted her sister's hair off of her sister's face, and gave her sister a handkerchief for her to wipe her face with.

"I am so sorry" Magdalena said, deep remorse in her expression.

Maria looked over at her sister, with her pretty green eyes, and asked, "Why?"

"Because I made you do this", Magdalena confessed.

Maria shook her head. "No, you didn't. I wanted to come".

They smiled at each other, and Magdalena thought her sister had the most beautiful smile ever. No wonder the men were buzzing about their home in hopes to find favor with their father. She could never be envious of her little sister, for she loved her too much.

Maria was going to be next, the last of the girls to marry off. But, first, it was Magdalena's turn. It was settled. She was to marry Vincente Morino, a forty-nine year old bachelor, a stocky man with thick white hair and mustache, and a gruff voice that scared her away.  

When she cried out to her father to have compassion for her, pleaing that he reconsider, his anger burned within him. "You either marry this man or you don't live here anymore! You will need to fend for yourself if you don't! You will not bring shame onto this family!"

Magdalena would cry herself to sleep almost every night. She shared a bed with Maria, and her sister would just hold her to comfort her. They had the closest bond among all the siblings. Maria looked up to her sister with great admiration, as did her sister to her.    

All her hiding away of her money paid off. Magdalena had to earn her keep by doing sowing and caring after a neighbor, an elderly widow. Every week, her mother and father expected her to hand over all of her money to them, for the common good of the family, for their survival.

She used to feel guilty for holding a small portion of it back. They surely would not discover it if she did. She dared not to tell anyone , not even Maria for fear she would be discovered and punished.

But now she found a good reason to tell her.

Some of the townsfolk had relatives that had went to America to live. If they were able to write, they would tell of tales of working so hard, but because of it they were now living lives they had never expected, of more food, of more space, of more freedom.

Magdalena removed the floorboards from below her bed. She pulled out the lovely paper money and coins from within her small metal chest. She now believed that she had enough money for her passage, and perhaps enough for one more.

"Do you want to get married to one of these men?" she asked Maria one day . They sat upon their bed, the soft, afternoon light filtering through their lacy, beige curtains. The distant sound of children playing could be heard on the streets below.

Maria didn't know how to answer quite at first. "No", she eventually said. "I am too young!"

Magdalena grabbed her sister's hand and clasped hers together upon it. "Then come with me", she said. "I am going to America".

Maria's jaw dropped open, and she looked like she had seen a ghost. She shook her head in disagreement.

"Don't leave me!" she cried out, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I am not!" Magdalena assured her. "You go with me!"

But how could they possibly do it? Two impoverished girls from central Italy, from really nowhere when it came to maps and the greater world around them. Could they really leave?

"I have saved some of my money", Magdalena whispered, for fear someone could have returned back home.

"You did not!" Maria whispered back. Maria worked, too, caring after some children down the valley. She never had enough courage to hold back any of her money.

It was a terrifiying concept, for both of them. Maria was both excited and fearful. She had decided that she would trust her sister. Madgalena knew she loved her greatly, and that she always would. Maria knew Magdalena loved her. But her mother and father! Her sleepy, little town! She would probably never see any of them again. This made her hesitate.

So Magdalena gave her time to think about it.

In the meantime, Magdalena continued to hide away money. Her mother was busy sowing her the wedding dress that her defiant daughter vowed to herself that she would never wear.

Then one day Maria came up to her sister in the garden in the back of the house. "I decided that I am going with you", she said bravely. She looked at her sister with a mixture of bravery and fear. Her breaths were short, and her heart was beating quickly.

Magdalena, her basket filled with zucchini, was standing in disbelief. She looked upon her sister with a warm, slow-starting smile.

"Then you better take me with you!" a young voice said from behind a tree.  

Oh, no! Alberto! Their twelve year old brother appeared in the scene, coming from behind that old tree by the rose garden.

Fired burned in Magdalena's eyes.  Alberto, that little snake! That rat! It couldn't be!

Who do you think you are spying on us?" she hissed at him. "And you don't even know what I am talking about!"

"Oh, yes I do!" Alberto responded, smugly. "You have been hiding money from Mama and Papa! And now you are going to America!"

Did he try to steal her money? Did he get his *****, little hands on her precious stash? Magdalena wanted to choke him, her insolent little brother, the youngest of the children who always was too smart for his own good. He just stood there, his cocky smirk on his face like he was so triumphant.

"Keep your voice down, or I swear you will not lived to see thirteen!" Magdalena warned him.

"You think you are going to leave me here alone?" Alberto told his stunned sisters. "Don't take me, and I will tell them. Take me, and I won't say a word".

Magdalena felt the need to grab a large branch to rush at him and beat him senseless. But she just stood there, hands on her hips, glaring at him in a showdown of angry eyes.

Alberto stood his ground, and he would not budge an inch. "Alright", Magdalena said in a harsh whisper, "And do you expect me to pay your way? I cannot do it!"

Alberto laughed, his eyes dancing in amuzement. "Do you think you are the only one who hides money?"

Magdalena felt better now that her sister's color was coming back. The air on the boat was refreshing as she breathed it in deeply. Where was Alberto?

"Oh, there he is", Maria pointed out. She shook her head and laughed. He was busy talking away with a pretty, young girl. Always the lady's man, the sisters agreed, far beyond his young years.

So now there they were, the three of them upon this boat. Magdalena did not want to betray her parents. She felt that they might want to come to America, but maybe they would stay where they were at. Perhaps they felt that they were too old to make a fresh start, or they could just be too afraid.

Would they miss her? Magdalena often wondered. Would they hate her for what she did? If so, she prayed that they would forgive her. It was bad enough she had left, but now Maria and Alberto would be gone, too, and she was responsible for it.

"Mira! Mira!" a man shouted out in Spanish. Another person cried out, "Look at that! America! America!"  

All faces were now captivated. The closer they came, everyone watched intently, like they were at a glorious theater. A low murmer of different languages all came about at once.

It took a long time to reach close to this unknown land, this vast coastline of the New World. It was just such an amazing sight that nobody wanted to go down below deck, one of sugar maples, and cherry blossom trees, of elegant homes nestled in cliffs.

Magdalena saw buildings much taller than she had ever seen in Italy as America came closer and closer into her sights, as her boat was making its way into the New York Harbor. She stood by her sister and gripped her hand in excitement. This took quite a long time to recach that destination, and it felt like a dream.

Alberto eventually ran over to his sisters. "That is it! That is it! The Lady Liberty!"

All three stood there amazed, with all the other passengers rushing about on deck and standing to look. She was a very tall lady, quite a lady indeed! A petina, a bluish-green, she stood there proudly with her lantern raised to the skies. Magdalena thought she was the most lovely sight that she had seen so far on her journey, and she could not stop the tears from flowing down her face.

Maria squeezed her older sister's hand, with tears streaming down her face, as well. As they held each other tightly, all Maria and Magdalena could do was cry in their relief and their hope.  

Alberto waved wildly at the statue, as if she would wave back. Others laughed and cried. Many waved, too,  and many stood there completely silent and struck with awe.

They had made made it.  At last! Magdalena felt like she had made the right move, even though she did not have a clue what her life would hold out for her.

Even so, she felt like she had found herself a home.

Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently

Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes

Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?

Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are  too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.

The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse.  Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.

"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott.     I            can't              remember                       any"

I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed  her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.

She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and  hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.

We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you

"I wish the rain would pass us by,"
They say as droplets fall from high
I nod my head as if to say
I think so too, but as it may
I love the rain, the life it gives
The way it makes me want to live
Inside my head, so deep inside
I murmer out an "I don't mind,"

"This freezing cold is hard to bear,"
They say with hats upon their hair
I smile back, pretend to be
What they seem to expect of me
But where the cold is colder still
Inside my mind, the freezing chill
I whisper back my icy side
"But I don't mind, no, I don't mind,"

"I can't stand when I'm all alone,"
They cry out with a striking moan
I laugh inside but nod my head
(Their trifling ways are better fed)
This time I whisper oh so slight
An, "I don't mind, no I don't mind,"

These people, they don't understand
That life does not go as it's planned
And we can choose our path we take
And sometimes ones that we don't make
So take your path, and you will find
That you don't mind, no, you don't mind

you, you make my bones murmer.
you make em burn.
you make them yearn.
you make me afraid to sleep.
you make me afraid to steal.
you make me afraid to hurt people.
you make my main muscle twist.
your easier to love than any empty building or
endless railroad or
highway at dawn or
or sewer with lifewater.
i have walked around hours and hours before
just looking for a place to rest.
that feeling i got when i knew that a particular
place would do
thatd id be safe for a night
without anyone to creep on me or
rob and **** me or
call the cops on me.
when i lay down my head and i am
falling asleep surrounded by rust and
the smell of mildew
and ****.
a place where my memories wouldnt flood me
to the point of insomnia
and i could finally sleep
with no guilt or
regret or
fear.
you are that place.
a safe place to rest

Twenty men stand watching the muckers.
          Stabbing the sides of the ditch
          Where clay gleams yellow,
          Driving the blades of their shovels
          Deeper and deeper for the new gas mains
          Wiping sweat off their faces
               With red bandanas
The muckers work on... pausing... to pull
Their boots out of suckholes where they slosh.

     Of the twenty looking on
Ten murmer, "O, its a hell of a job,"
Ten others, "Jesus, I wish I had the job."

i am nine
and learning
by osmosis
secret women's business or
the art of  pie making
production line style
to the uniniated

i sit perched on a stool
in the corner, out of the way
boxed in by fruit
it is a heady place to be
as scents of apricots(bought)
blackberries and apples mingle
sweet woody and exotic,
with the citrus tang
of  zested lemon that sits
in an ever growing
pryamid on the table.

ginger and cinnamon motes
float in the oven warm air
and flour clouds the room
and settless in drifts
and dusts the collection of bowls
on the table

my mother aunt
and mrs blunt,the neighbor,
bustle about the room....
my aunts girth designates her as chief baker
and she rolls out pastry with
gusto...fat arms swinging
penduously, humming to herself.

mrs blunt is the pie filler
adept at judging the mix
and making the gelatonious
gooey syrups filled with sugar
and spice, chopped crab apple
and lemon zest.

mother is the friuter, she peels
destones and cores
chopping up apples, apricots and peaches...
leaving berries and cherries intact(sans pips)
and then later she mans the ovens  
watching for the golden crust
and bubble of pie juice...
before removing
them to cool on poppa jacks
old oval dining table...

me I sit in  wonder,
snacking on fruit,
and  ***** of leftover dough
swooning with the smell
of stewing friut.

Next year my true apprenticeship will start....
Until then, I listen to the murmer of gossip
the passing of secrets,
the bonding of these women....

there is a seperation

a pain of seperation

such as a seperation

that only lovers specialise in

where the prevention of thought

is like a fortress overrun

where trampling terrains of concern

stampede upon the praire of the mind

transforming it into a soft savanna

of wating engagements

that murmer with comforing enchantments

lays upon such pain of seperation

as that of a perforated scar

seared across the heart

bringing tickles of soft warm tears

to the cheeks

the happist time becomes

a chasm only conquerd

by that gulping unification

of embrace

where soft burning lips

meet in that unknown

but express language

of clasped reunion

it is that pain, that awful pain

that only lovers know

The caricature of a drip.
Defining in it the sum of a short existence. A life.
Wet and alive and pendulously hanging.
I stare up from the caged depths, my eyes eagerly alive
as it drips down in a cascading spiral
less destructively than I have dripped.
A drip to know and to watch like the T.V. (that's never off).
To see the freedom in its fall.
But once dripped, dies alone. Ripped out.
Disconnected from the unsurviving cloud.
Unpoured, it seems, I murmer out loud.

I watch another drip. My reflection watches back, I'm sure.
I wish for it to break, so I can close my eyes
and hold, for a moment, a friend. A life.  
And to feel the dependence of the drip's lullaby.

Does nothing more than a drip make sense?
I gasp as they escort my back.
And does it listen when I tell it of my life
before it drips out of me like freedom in fashionable attire?
Redder than the red-lipped mouth of a liar
concerned with "family matters" and saying "sign here".
Lies that drip out of them like foolish wars.
Or the painted affections for a newborn child.
Oh such terribly dreadful dripful lies they are.

Down. Down. Down.

I'll fall down the endless corridor away from them all.
And drip beneath the cementum cracks of the floor.
I'll hide with my drip.
I'll drip with my drip.
I'll sip it a bit. Bitter, but I sleep better, I think as I slip away.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Even after I'm gone.

In your skin
I am demented
An animal that only desires
To breathe and taste you

In your skin
The ache of my need
the delicate whisper
Of my sigh,
The murmer of night
Is lost in the savagery
Of your love

In your skin
The glint of candlelight
The lick of waves
The velvet undulation
Pulse  in surging rhythm

In your skin
I am consumed
engulfed
overcome




--

In your skin
The trembling surges,
Writhes,
Wanton and whimpering,
Wishing only to be
In your skin
Again
and
Again.

On a night like this
with murmer of prayer,
the nightbird stoked in me a tremor
so slight in degree i didn't dare
open an eye to the dream
unfolding before me under
blackness ever so unkind.

"You're an angel"
He says.
"My angel."
I squeeze both of his hands a little tighter and plant a kiss on his pale wrinkle-plad cheek.
His lips mimic a smooch-
Looking more like a puckering goldfish than anything else.
I smile that smile only he can bring to my face,
As if I were the sunshine that lights the blue sky's of his eyes.
I wrap my arms around him, burying my face into his sleeve.
"I love you" I say.
"I love you too... Angel" his lips murmer as they continue to sputter out kisses.
Remember.
We don't use that word much here.
Tomorrow he will forget that I love him so dear.
But as long as his smile still shines and his eyes gleam bright blue,
I will never forget how I love him so true.

I go to work each day to tiny hands and welcoming smiles, I claim to have seventeen. I tend to live vicariously through my preschoolers and my brothers four.
I spend my week in the busy classroom, and then my weekends engulfed with them too. But I go home alone.

Most days I'm okay, I'm strong, I'm confident, I'm okay.

I lay here this Saturday morning listening to the crunch of tiny cerial bites, and the quiet murmer of the Lego cartoon making a Melody I've often begged for but never told a soul.
I lay in bed, the three of us, and watch quietly as he stretches and rolls my way, he wraps his tiny arms around my arm and pulls me close. Unbearable, yet I contort and mold to his liking. Your wish is my command, say and I'll do.
And then it's 7:30 and I grab my purse. I pull out a little white pill and my mouth is instantly dry, unwanting. I reluctantly swallow it and lay back down.
And then your dad opens his eyes and they meet mine, and just like that I'm fighting tears. I close my eyes in an attempt to fake sleep, I roll slightly so my tear trickles to the pillow without a trail.
I don't even know how to start that conversation, or if I should, so I write.

They ****,
They Mame,
They steal,
They play,
They laugh,
They covet,
They test
Hell as an oven!!!

They backstab,
They backbite,
You pulleth and grab,
They moan in delight,
They cheat,
They lust,
They thrive,
Of bones and of dust!!!

Their uncharitable,
They murmer,
Their a narcotic using world,
Their explorers,
Their punks,
Their freaks,
Their madmen,
Their geeks!!!

Their warlords,
Their pacifists,
Their hatred,
Is all nonchalant!!!!!

They get high to get what they want,
Their complainers,
Their lazied!!!
Their pilled out,
Junkies,
Crazy!!!!

Their low,
In disguist,
They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!!
A delightful expensive musk!!!

Their cheap,
Penny pinchers
Their losers,
Their winners

Their warriors,
Their jocks,
Taking selfies of shame,
Of perverted stuff!!!

Their tounges are asps,
Their hands are weapons,
They'll meet you in hell,
I looketh forward to heaven!!!!

Their babies,
Scaby infested,
Some get off on ***,
Others love molestation!!

Their racists,
Their rapists to!!!
Of mother earth,
And mankind's tombs...

They turn on each other,
Sister and thy brother,
They gaze in mothers purse,
As with dad arguments stay cursed!!!

They are disobedient,
Disloyal in their love!!
No god do they worship,
Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!!

They eat on organics,
They eat pesticide!!
Some live on freely,
Others seek thy easy way out(suicide)

The have no one to turn to,
Except their vain imaginations,
Their nonhumble,
Proudfully tumbled!!!!
Their fall is bound to occur!!!!

These are the humans!!!!

Welcome to earth!!!!

belly to belly
we lay...
recently connected
and entwined
now spent....complete.

lips to lips we murmer
our gratitude...
as you slip from within,
i mourn that small loss
of contact....everytime.

our eyes meet... and speak
worlds of migration,
taken, together....
we have collided again
....and small continents
have shaken and quivered.

lassitude overcomes,
the earlier...longitudinal
display....
and the mountain, sleeps
as the valley cleft.....watches.
we lay...
belly to belly...replete

8-28-13

Cloudy night
Making my own clouds
I put it down
Making my own winds
Tornadoes turning into mushrooms
They remind me of Hiroshima
My hands go through the metal nets
Why am I here?
No breeze
Just the slight murmer of stories untold
I'm alone in my own thoughts
Remembering the pain I went through
Wanting to get up
Wanting to leave
But I'm surrounded by black lines
Lines made of steel
Too close together
So, here I wait
In my own little world
Half-listening to stories
That will never make it out of here
Stories that no one else will ever here

I watch the minutes
Slip into silence
As the river thunders dull
Outside my open window
Cracked wide a mirror for my heart
The pieces which you care for subtly
Murmer in the late night breeze
Your lips painting pictures for my body to fill in
You are lovely
Lively, you rush through my veins like the river
Dull to all except me
I can feel you deep in my bones
Your soul kissing mine under wide open skies and I am lost in the adventures found in your horizons
And all I want
Is a simple call
But instead I watch the minutes
Slip into silence
And the memory of your touch grows fainter
Dull
Like the river roaring
Outside my window
And all I want is to tell you
i love you
And you will be mine
At least in my mind
Forever
Even as your  touches grow fainter
And your body colder
Farther from my heat
i love you
i love you even as the minutes
Slip into silence
i love you even though
You're gone

Ever since he left
Angels keep appearing to me
and the iridescence of the snowflakes settled on their wings
never fails to entrance me.
And I'm a little bit drunk.
And while I admire the starkness of the white in which they're clothed,
And the brutal honesty
Of the contrast between them and me,
They fall to their knees begging me to answer what they were sent to ask.
And it's become my burden to send angels with skinned knees back to God with no answer of why he could no longer love me. And I suppose understanding would not make living without hearing you murmer constellations in your sleep any less painful, but not even God himself was prepared for this and I think I'm forgetting how to breathe.

That bloodied unpasteurized murmer
In mine solicitude heart
Trepidates in beasting screams
I cryeth out for more
The amour' to be more than just dreams...

As many dont like putting labels on a title

I guess I'm just one who likes labels I guess
Tis,
Just who I am

What I Want

I want to be
a breath eternized,
a harmonious duel
of notes colliding;
a deep hum like rain pounding on your roof.
I want to be
your familial need,
your strong cavalier,
and yet impuissant without caring.
I want to be
the sound of your seascape and
the harrowing experience
that brings your feet slapping again on my floor;
the sublimation that makes
me your chéri once again.
I want to be your car whizzing
through the slush on my road,
and your air as you breathe in slumber.
I want to be your remembrance.
But this? This is just doggerel my love,
empty tapping on a darkened window.


The Dance…

The sound of harmonizing guitars fills my dreams,
a sound to eternize in my memory.
Their duel of fancy is poetry sounded
in the chalet of pressing bodies.
Feet slap the floor to the sound,
in the familial dance of human experience.
The murmer of voices are impuissant when faced
with the strength of those strumming guitars.
Cars whizzing through the slush
announce the departure of
those with faces trapped in a cavalier facade.
For the rest,
the music sublimates the reason of the mind,
driving out thought like the sound of breathing in the night.
The doggerel of the world is left at the door
and the snuffy exterior of life is quickly forgotten.
Only the music remains,
its meaning an elusive longing,
and the desire to dance until the sun
drives out the shadows.

and so the rains have come again dripping from the leaves
in rythms of incoherant sync, listen closely, the voice
soft, yet rambling, as if to call the gulls to the sea
find me another, bring back whole this time
restless hearts sleep in the day, the night is full of prey
in the shadows, full of grace, glowing eyes, lead astray
watching with intent, never a murmer, wasting time
the voice now useless, slumber back to were you came
perhaps the gulls will find you another

"handcuffed to
a confusion
of lucidity;
a devious murmer
of red alchemy
the devilry of
her kiss."
|| shoo.shu ||

...or--what?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCDXXXII)


Rain trips so lightly in the hallowed sense
Of keener silence listning to that frail
Step traffic rushes heedless through.  Birds hail
With merry notes and fragile, as from hence
Lo, crickets murmer like for all intents
The solemn ghost of patience walks here, pale
As Sunday's dimmer eye.  Clouds' masque the veil
Oer all, an airplane's voice sifts through, and whence?
Oh! how the maples' boughs rock, tinged as twere
By orange' first warnings of that rendezvous
With Death.  Winds caller as they whisper through
This calm, wool, tights, and tweed now, are not poor.
And if I mourn that I've ne lover fer
Whatever, somehow even that's not new.

07Oct18a

i'm bad luck. struck sad and oblate
weary, dedicated to the swearing ground.
chivalric pulp, my pages
don't bind like they used to.

rhyme me sad. adder fluent, sistines
vaunt these heads of mine. but wise
enough to feel these molecules murmer
and mouth the corvid in the wellwater.

annihilated profiles in my coming wake.
i am bad luck and prose. slipped
my shadow, i walk a bare life.
not broken anymore. not here all the way.

don't canter.
never could.
haven't loved. will

of a ghost. hell, i see ancestors
trailing behind me
in a mass of quadruped brutes
black as the day i was born
and sounding a great horn
made of gold and unprophecy,
babblings of a river older than talk.

One arm under girlfriend one against the wall
Only light from window covered it was abismal
Then three demons leered over reaching across bed
Fear clean ****** out of me,not one word was said
As I break up panting, girl growls at me
I thought to my self why can't they let me be
Why does this happen,oh for **** sake
Looks like for a little while I'll be awake
She rolls over, I close my eyes
Think of something like cats being wise
Then she starts to murmer "are we recording?" as if I'm not there
I wake and ask what she means,I just want her to know that I care
We have a giggle before I write this verse
Because when I sleep in the dark I have a curse

I keep drinking coffee.
I keep thinking I shouldnt.
I keep falling in love with you.
I keep wishing I wouldnt.
Because like my murmer, you keep missing beats.
I fill you with love but you're full of deceit.
You say your futures with me, were perfect together.
But simple conversation is exhaugsting. how can we handle forever?

Whispers can be loud
And travel far into the distance

Through hushed winds
Through suspicious trees
Through subtle thoughts
Through quiet streets

A whsiper will just carry itself
Quiet and low, weaving in and out
Creeping from crevice to canyon

Stretching far beyond its origin
To finally land in the recesses
Of an unsuspecting mind

There it will house itself
And murmer words on end

These words will breed
And spawn more of their kind

And soon the offsprings will grow loud
Constantly nourished by these hums

Unknowingly, thoughts will emerge
And they will ring their brazen bells with vigour
Secretly orchestrated by lingering mumbles

Yes, whispers can be loud

We are all in a line
walking along a precipice
treading carefully one by one
under the warm rays of the sun

A whisper rises above us
floating in the air
as many murmer
"It simply isn't fair"

We all wish for wings
wanting to escape
from incidental tyranny
the folly of our fate

When the moon becomes the queen
reigning in the skies
all fall on one knee
lowering frightened eyes

We fear the wrath
of someone else's view
a judgement that could hurl us down
'The dropping of a shoe'

You were my crypt kepper,
      Always standing over
                  My lonely heart.


I passed, but you were the one.



            The only chime in the bell,



That beat every time you were near.


     But I was always a murmer,
That you could hear.

            And even though I was


Lost too early.

   You were travelling my path,
           an echo to what I was following


                   Which was you.

eyes shining
hearts full of love

oh how the midnight light calms our minds

softening the days thoughts
turning them to a quiet murmer in the back of our minds

oh how i never want to leave the moons gentle embrace