"nightshades" poems
behold
mine guilt be carved
'pon this furrowed brow
plainly writ
for all to see
i pray thee now
speak softly
fair an' sweet
an' brook no lie
to pass thine ruby lips
those serpent fangs
venom filled
'twould pierce an'
wi' their poison still
this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where mid-night forest
darkly flows
this raging torrent
swiftly feeds
black rivers
writhing coldly
thru my soul
as faceless voices
darkly speak
urging chaos
mindless screams
nightshades tearing
rending eat
the broken pieces
of this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...
where the sun
is but a myth
deep within this
dark abyss
an' the moon
faithless
fades
from memory
alas
speak softly
fair an' sweet
release me from
this dark abyss
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
at thy feet
.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/29kvqs8.jpg
.
.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
It is hard to explain
When you work the midnight shift
You only seam to exist in nightshades
Not the warm daylight hues and tints
When sunshine becomes
Inverse in your tired mind
And days are measured by
Moonrise and moonfall
When solar heat
Is just a sweet precursor
To the night that cools you
And the sunrise signals slumber
How sweet it is
To interrupt this with
With a day
Spent awake
Surrendering to the
Splendor of the sun
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
A lonesome threshold,
yesterday was light as confetti / from a wedding that
bled in thirty litres of martyred roses / How long are
three hundred steps from a church, to stucco walls
the colour of sorrow?
Soil, the tint of blood,
ichor of mountain Gods, deveined for lost embrace
of roots / Wind whistling away regrets in the dust of
liberated souls / Would it sing for her, embalmed
in the bowels of earth’s sanguine hum?
April heat, weighted with a dirge
of tears salted in ocean / rusting the trumpet
and violin strings / Who will tune the piano for mass,
now that those musical men sailed before her,
in paper boat memoirs?
The Goliath tree rooted in bones,
a giant on such sustenance / gatekeeper of souls
tethered to fleshy sinews in beds of solitude /
Will she be interred in fruit, as he suppers
on her animated putrefaction?
Suffering, twice a child,
once a lady, she didn’t stay long to be swaddled
in linens of pity, cottons of commiserations /
Where will I store the enameled chamber *** for
when I grow up to be her likeness?
Nightshades, funneling viscous memories,
trumpeting in a pastel wilderness, alkaloid racket
waiting to sound in the poisons of prayerful echoes /
When will they bloom, toxic with grief of a swelling past,
so I may sleep as soundly as her?
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 6:18 PM UTC
The tenderness of creeper vines
and garden trellises
plucking fruit from branches and
leaping with abandon into the
Dirt and the
Rocks & water—
Idyll & idolatry
fed through a tube.
I am on
Four blocks north of eagles court and
Where is a funny kind of word
won’t you stop to dust your feet off and
hang your jacket on the trees on orchard road—
This is our home now,
I told you with the early morning
dewdrops in my eyes and you
plucked them from the apples
of my cheeks and pocketed them like
diamonds.
Burn yourself onto my skin
brand me like the devil—
I quake not at the
Eruptions of hearts & other
wise blood that pulses through the stones and
trees among which we’ve gotten lost.
Tangled together, you
Weave, serpentine, in & out of
focus as the poison works its way into
my skull.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Sonorous sensation seething sorrowful
Sagacity serendipitous
Sing-song similes sidling southward
Seemingly slipping ******
spectacular symmetry shows sputtering soul
Fallacies
fall
fluttering
fecundity fearlessly flaunting
former friendships foundered
narcissistic
N u a n c e s
nearing
nightshades
nymph-like nuptials
nocturne
destiny Disposes
damaged defenses
duly dramatizing
dour dowager dreams
declaiming drowsy doleful deeds
Euphemistic
elegiac
embargo/encounter
exiled emissary
endless
ecstatic
echoes
echoes
echoes
echoes
echoes
.............................................
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC
Clover honey sunshine o'er Sassafras rivers
Proud Martins sing for notoriety , full bloom-
white sugar , shivers in the afternoon pasture
Our last Raven of the hard day season
Roaster , stained glass color kinda holidays -
liquid Kildare clover valleys , euphoric July nightshades
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
*He walked through a wood,
Answering the trees,
Like some golden roustabout,
A Sophocles among nightshades,
Willows and the moving waters,
Wilderness wandered with he,
Wild in the sun as a freckled
Red headed lassie.
White butterflies waved their flags,
Surrendering to the murmurings
Bespoke in the sorrels and sores,
Waves of mumble wept into the winds,
Sands underfoot hushed by with him,
Birds above dreamed of no landings,
He could hear each word in their songs
Warbling in the briars and time poured
Its draught, fresh and dear as the first
Unearthly sunrise.*
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
I felt it then
like I feel it now
There was a dead end sign
at that moment I peered into our future
We tried to give space
Then that choice was taken away
One more chance to prove we can survive
locked down together
So we took my family land
We tilled that soil
Built distractions
Illusions and dreams
The peppers and tomatoes
that I now harvest
I prepare them alone
The nightshades
the itch
now taint my tears
and pink-stain my cheeks
where they have streamed
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 2:15 AM UTC
*Georgia Sun relaxes in the fifth house
Hummers circle Florida sky from my shaded chaise
Blue Jays and Brown Thrashers lounge the
ripened Fig Trees , shadows walk the vegetable
gardens , nightshades ardent for cool , rainy reprieve
Crows muster high atop centurion Oaks
Bluebirds and Sparrows work the grass like -
two old time blokes as the ice melts away in -
a frosty *** and Coke* ......
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
Pacing empty sidewalks,
Chasing insubstantial things,
I a sheep without a shepherd
Fear the silence. As it rings,
I watch the traveler dance,
Slipping from shadow to silhouette,
Passing charletans, in Retrospect,
Undeserving of regret,
Unnaturally cold and
Teeming with thoughts of sin.
Their whispers wonder carelessly,
Riding like vapor on the wind.
"Your lie is my salvation", I muttered,
And in response was spoken,
"Your flaw is imitation,
And your will is finally broken",
Scattered across the Planes,
Indistinguishable in the dust and gloom.
I the champion of Martyrdom
Lie gracefully in my tomb.
Beneath where the nightshades bloom,
For Nature's rage to consume,
The coup de gras in Her machination,
I provoke Her henchmen as they loom.
Here to repossess Her time and toil,
For misuse of Her ethereal gift,
She cleanses the canvas in lavender oil,
And sets Her new vessel adrift.
We, weary, wake and wallow,
In search of another creature,
Waiting for someone to follow,
Just floating in the ether.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
allowed the scent to stain the tips
of each appendage
as I rubbed the delicate petals between
watching how hues of purple
slid gracefully along side the curves, the honey
gold sunlight dripped
ignited the slight variations of dark nightshades from light creams
the hint of white, the shudder of black in each tint
I turned my hands upright
watching fragments cascade to the sidewalk below me
Introduced him into my life
slipped the necklace off my neck and gave him
the exact directions to the destinations
that made me safe
scared
weak
strong
the potions that awakened each aspect in my life
granted him the open doors to each variable that
emulated my entity
turned the side of me, the numb variations that dictated logic,
reason,
protection
and forgot to listen to the words he spoke
as the evening rose above the
firs, evergreens.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
Plight of domestic animal on city streets ....Volunteer nightshades that germinate in Fall , wild rose bushes , strawberry plants growing in Summer on mountaintops ...Ice clinging to Pear trees after a Winter storm in late March ...Diseased Willow tree racked by howling ocean winds on the seashore...Man and woman both young and old , succumbing to the gentle allure , raging fire and finality of Relationship , Life and Love .....
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
*He walked through a wood,
Answering the trees,
Like some golden roustabout,
A Sophocles among nightshades,
Willows and the moving waters,
Wilderness wandered with he,
Wild in the sun as a freckled
Red headed lassie.
White butterflies waved their flags,
Surrendering to the murmurings
Bespoke in the sorrels and sores,
Waves of mumble wept into the winds,
Sands underfoot hushed by with him,
Birds above dreamed of no landings,
He could hear each word in their songs
Warbling in the briars and time poured
Its draught, fresh and dear as the first
Unearthly sunrise.*
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Evening light
Shining 'cross the lake
From behind me
Through still still air
Over still still water
You have so many
Great qualities
And so many friends
That adore you as you fade
Through amber and crimson hues
We don't wave goodbye
You just slip away
Gently and softly
As Nightshades take hold of the air
We'll see you tomorrow... same time.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
She's a garden no one wants.
Eyes full of marigolds.
Nightshades stained lips.
Soil drenched with blood.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
the Spanish wood table
lay broken there by the door
its cotton cloth soaked with the wine she spilled
her cigarette still smouldering like her eyes
loose on the dusty floor
the music stopped has left its echo in its place
like an intangible trail into the
mystery's of night
into the mythology of her tales
riding a mare of nightshades
wailing fears and regrets
has she departed for the end of empires
where has she gone
how can we go on with this brave tale
with this misadventure
without her brave face
walk down into the crowded house
walk slow thru their confused and frightened faces
'senior what shall we do now that she is gone
who could have lead her astray'
and as the the tolling bell raises the alarm
dawn creeps into the room
like a thief come for the rest of our treasured hopes
like a fat banker come for our gold
they ride hard out in all directions
searching for some trace or track
there will be hell to pay
they have sworn blood oaths
and have readied their sharp knives
they will find thouse responsible for stealing her away
someone will pay for this
the newspapers all scream
then our cat wanders back in the door
and curls up at my feet
oh ok
she came home
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
MOTECUHZOMA
Our priests have proven green and tenderfoot
By goggling at our late, ill auguries:
Dumbfounded, counselless, they scan their toes.
For this have I agreed to pawn my pride
In dabbling with questionable cures
By calling forth the aid of sorcerers.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Dread lord, how might your grace with confidence
Place mercenary warlocks in your trust,
Who twist their gifts toward late-night banditry,
It’s said, to paralyze their shaky preys.
Tezcatlipoca, our capricious master,
Might cloud our muddy minds yet murkier
For slumping to such dubious helps as these
If they make mock of his peculiar knowings.
TLACAELEL
Don’t worry. If they cool your fevered fears
We’ll hail their hocus-pocus as white physic.
If not, then as black fiends in iron they’ll rot.
MOTECUHZOMA
Bring in these esoteric ministers.
A guard leads in three Sorcerers
You three obscure and dicing conjurers:
Have you beheld grim omens in the clouds,
Or prodigies upon the earth? You three,
Who fathom ‘neath earth’s black and gem-jammed caverns
To skim atop cold pools of stone-blind fish
And witness those who have not winked at day;
Who sink into the water’s murky deeps,
And loiter drowsily among the weeds,
Mustering fronds and nightshades for your charms.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Have you encountered stray and mongreled men?
Or lightless nooks congeal as dead men’s shades?
Or midnight women, crablike, creep in broods?
Shall we be leveled flat by strange disease,
Or locusts, pirating their greedy shares?
From sudden deaths, from wars or wild beasts?
Shall rainstorms sink our rooftops down to jetties,
And Tlaloc drown us in a tide of bounty,
Or broil us in cruel sabbatical?
MOTECUHZOMA
You must not candy up **** truth for me.
Have you not heard our thirsting goddess cry,
And nightly croaking from the earth’s deep faults?
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
It was time to
modify the heritage―
in a delicate bid to
aid the dying.
A wrenching decision was―
to ask for an apology
from a living god.
I will crack, but
not come to you, to
invoke the grace of mercy.
The twilight sits at
my door to seek the nemesis.
Why did I swallow the moon
without asking the sky's womb?
Cocooned. Afraid
to show the scarred skin.
Your words bloom in dark,
like a cereus. I collect the fame
to light the candle in wind.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
Morning nightshades , beckon the -
nourishment of kindred sunshine
Harbor the earthen dew of first light , reach -
for the Heavens on rain cooled nights
Emblazon tired eyes with the mastery -
of innumerable color , announce thy presence
with the very essence of Summer
Crimson symphonies , songbird curiosity in ardent performance of July's fertile theater
Filling Wood strip baskets 'neath sapphire Georgia blankets , mid-afternoon youth treasure surrounded by honeysuckle pleasure
**** tomato sandwich , late night delights ...
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
.
He walked through a wood,
Answering the trees,
Like some golden roustabout,
A Sophocles among nightshades,
Willows and the moving waters,
Wilderness wandered with he,
Wild in the sun as a freckled
Red headed lassie.
White butterflies waved their flags,
Surrendering to the murmurings
Bespoke in the sorrels and sores,
Waves of mumble wept into the winds,
Sands underfoot hushed by with him,
Birds above dreamed of no landings,
He could hear each word in their songs
Warbling in the briars and time poured
Its draught, fresh and dear as the first
Unearthly sunrise.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
A mating pair of bluebirds do well on this parcel of land , reach for Sun on this day , every herb and fruit above emerald zoysia with manmade furrows at random , morning dew on nightshades toppled from the violence of Thor , returned to peace in the nurture and admonition of my creator , my garden at rest , my Summer lover !
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
My words don't know peace. They are the nightshades all over a hunting ground. They are the bending of sunlight as it slices itself against headstones. They are a patchwork of all the cruel things I've done with my hands. They are the birds of prey, circling overhead a wounded doe. My words don't know peace — they are made of every last bit of my chaos, barely contained by my fingers. They are made of every last bit of my violence made to look nonthreatening. Gentle as the wind and tame as a field of roses — the thorns, left buried in your back.
Still, a refugee trembles, hides beneath her battle scars. She recognizes the wars waged in her skin — the cruel way they stay long after the last battle — the cruel way they don't know peace.
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 1:46 AM UTC
My garden is only full of Black Nightshades,
It is what I am made of.
A flower that is considered a ****
An invasive species.
Am I invasive in the way I talk,
Loud and commanding?
Am I invasive in the way I care,
About all species?
Tell me,
Am I poisonous to the tongue?
Is the way I scream and sob about the world's odious ways invasive?
Would you like me to be voiceless?
Tell me,
Are the way my words hit your skin prickled with hatred and toxicity?
Is the way my tear hits the soil a sign that I’m delicate?
Tell me,
Do the ways that my stems reach for the sun seem invasive?
That I crowd and push,
The way my garden stands tall.
On guard and at attention.
Tell me,
When the poison drips down your throat,
Is it as invasive as your thoughts?
As invasive as you thought I would be?
Is my garden not your idea of picture-perfect?
Cut clean and full of color,
Bright blues and pinks?
Is the way I present myself poisonous,
Is it invasive to your existence?
My garden is not here to be pretty,
It is here to be hurt but not hardened by the world.
The changing season and brutal weather will not sway my roots.
I’m here to grow,
Even if it seems invasive.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 6:55 PM UTC