"peregrines" poems
Revel in space, yet not darkled, still
the **** and span of things that breeds
airlessness; The trees are evenly cut,
and their overgrowth seems like a forethought.
Where I am from, we eat fish with
our bare hands and our furniture, from bodies
of sandalwood, crushed with the scent of
peregrines. The morning makes you conscious
of space, and altogether the height of trees
syncopates to a nauseating stillness. In the awning
hours, leaves punctuate the ground – the cicada
with its machinistic song prowls, spills like
water from a broken vase toppled by me
years younger, raw, agile, deftly windless,
wounded in love, lovingly wounded,
perhaps if there is a word for it, then let me
have my way, easily fraught with its meaning:
a casualty. Sometimes the timeworn folks
would light cigarettes underneath the canopy
of a mango tree to banish ants and send them back
to their queens – roosters in their wrinkled stations
croon in stasis, a song for the somnolent. I become
what the seasons evict. Constancy. Rearing weight
and gravity from nocturne. Tears are communal.
They make us aware of the weight of the Earth.
Somewhere, a funebre stilts through the silence,
and the jangle of little pieces spells out fortuity,
men in huddles mending pain by the sleight of hand,
a toss of a card, spinning in its imaginary axis: fate,
feigned and fine-tuned to belief that it is controllable,
a variable, or a tabulation marred by frailty. From where
I am from, people stride through the streets naked,
soldering baskets filled with fruits gossamer from the
harvest, children suckling their mothers, the music of sweeping
metastasizes throughout the afternoon, and the same clouds
contort themselves to afford wry proposition: it is a day tender
with wonder, its allure overwrought, its sheen unremarkable.
The funebre leaves with a necessary abundance of absence.
All the leaves depart from their mothering boughs,
collapsing on the dreary back of the loam like penitence.
Like how once when you were young, you tinkered with
the fresh scab of your wound and felt the pain confine
itself there, a part of you, that has now healed, but is still
available for the world to break once again.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
"Chalk forest branches, Hermes of sylvan gloom,
Dark mists that flirt with the narrow streams,
Creatures that cherish the rayless nights,
Faery spirits and carnage mongers
All spread, at her feet, their obediences.
To her willow throne borne on braided flames
Lay heathen peregrines with claws and manes"
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
As if we were peregrines,
we played like Ancients, lover
Cadence and rhythm pattern like sheet music on a sine wave.
Music rhymes as my fingers stretched to walk your drum.
We were interrupted, caught and held
In the hands of masters and teachers
Still I reached for you, only to find a kata, then a lay.
Searched the whole way home. Negotiating and maneuvering the quantum spaces of my soul for more you.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Approach the meridian sun,
Halves forever fated be apart,
Abyssal divide by their own labor.
Brilliant reverie towards the Fraser,
To flow slowly into the blue Pacific.
Way up high in the rainbow,
The dreams we dare to dream,
Aspire under the twinkling stars.
Over the wispy snowy peaks,
Peregrines soar, they fly.
Across the viridian greens,
Through the cloak of morning mists,
Blood red roses sway.
She who wakes upon a spring day.
Sigh... he who dares not breathe.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
"Chalk forest branches, Hermes of sylvan gloom,
Dark mists that flirt with the narrow streams,
Creatures that cherish the rayless nights,
Faery spirits and carnage mongers
All spread, at her feet, their obediences.
To her willow throne borne on braided flames
Lay heathen peregrines with claws and manes"
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Books
of
snow
in
daguerreotype
swollen
on
the
creases
sprinkling
from
where
only
peregrines
dare
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
As if we were peregrines,
we played like Ancients, lover
Cadence and rhythm pattern like sheet music on a sine wave.
Music rhymes as my fingers stretched to walk your drum.
We were interrupted, caught and held
In the hands of masters and teachers
Still I reached for you, only to find a kata, then a lay.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Wednesday comes but once a week
amidst dusk autumns falling red and gold leaves
here I sit writing in states of feelings
waiting for the deliverance of mornings cry
The early sun
the birth of a new day
then I open my curtains to the glory
that's when the light comes streaming in
I mind not the wait
or the anticipation
for my word is my bond
to every nation
Little birds of the night sing to me
keep me and mine sober to daylight
watching like hawks
shadow peregrines of the night
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Orbital sending
Flying peregrines sailing
On the winds of wish
And beneath the clouds of hope
Your laces catch the air fine
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 1:32 PM UTC
The drums of doom are echoing
Across the barren hillsides.
Heavy carts on wheels of hatred
Loaded high with steaming tubs of vitriol
And the ugly trolls who brewed it,
Are rolling down the twisted roads,
Toward a city newly named Perdition,
There to dance the Sarabande
While flocks of screaming Peregrines
Circle through the storm black clouds
And all the shutters are nailed tight
Against the wind that that rattles doors
And augurs the millennium.
ljm
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 11:01 AM UTC