Come to the cemetery once again
And read poetry with me.
The only place where we have found
The slightest bit of peace.
The world outside is far too loud
And too terribly unkind.
So sit here on this tombstone with me
And find something we might find.
The crows all sing their shrieking songs
To the dead souls resting here.
And we, their only breathing guests,
We read Whitman and Shakespeare.
The stones we labor are cold and hard
Just like the world outside we see.
So come to the cemetery once again
And read poetry with me.

In blackest day, or brightest night,
of longest vision but shortest sight;
in a single step on an endless road
of mindless thought or breathless ode,
I stumbled over the shadow cast
by ancient present and modern past.
Here I discovered a light that shone
on wonders wandering, all alone,
and onto that faceless, nameless ghost
who whispered this to a wooden post:
“If all who judge were to be blamed,
as all who boast were to be shamed,
and all who hate were to be healed,
so all who hide could be revealed,
and stones forgot how sand had sinned,
then spirits which they call the wind
would carry them off as a faithful friend-
and only then would this road end.”

dry creek bed
a silvery flow
slips between
sun baked stones -
canyon wren song

Tom Spencer © 2018

O Beren, sweetest to my heart!
Alas - to doom that we should part!
I find thee not, I hear no more
Thy fairest song of days of yore.
How may I Dairon look upon?
For he betrayed me 'neath the throne
Of my proud father, he who set
His mind on jewels - how to get
Immortal, precious stones of old -
The Silmarils, with power they hold.

But I care not for all these things.
No more with nightingales I sing:
I am locked up and watched by guards.
My only comfort - nightly stars;
Of sorrows mine I speak to skies,
And into dark drown my soft cries...

(с)kRu, 04.07.2003

Frost-locked all the winter,
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
What shall make their sap ascend
That they may put forth shoots?
Tips of tender green,
Leaf, or blade, or sheath;
Telling of the hidden life
That breaks forth underneath,
Life nursed in its grave by Death.

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly,
Drips the soaking rain,
By fits looks down the waking sun:
Young grass springs on the plain;
Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots;
Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;
Birds sing and pair again.

There is no time like Spring,
When life's alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track,--
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack,--
Before the daisy grows a common flower,
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by;
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,--
Piercing the sod,
Clothing the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing:
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.

Part One

Tropical Moonlit Nights full of beauty
with the singing lullaby of the waves
such a picturesque Night with twinkling stars
underneath a deep-blue sky
palm trees sway in the summer night breeze
and the hibicus flowers bloom at Night
in the morning the dewdrops kisses their satin cheeks
and the hibiscus flowers smile at the dew
which are like jewels surrounding their beauty
tropical waterfalls surrounded by ferns, moss
and tall majestic palm trees
on the water sits moss-covered stepping stones
and bubbling, flowing, and singing loudly is
the tropical waterfall which holds such infinite beauty
and sometimes when it rains a rainbow the sign of promise
will arch over the waterfall and show off its bright colours
then ever slowly it will fade and pretty soon it is hidden
behind the veil of the sky where it will sleep
then awaken and show itself once more

*~Marian~

"How are you?"
She smiles back,
A grin developing like an old polaroid.
"I'm fine!"

She's determined to never let them see
That each night she needs to just be
On her own so she eats silently and locks herself in her room
Hiding from the ice that her home has become
It almost makes her wish
To go back to words
Thrown like stones

No matter where she turns
It's like she's a ******* burden

First it was the battle of the Titanic
Her parents marriage was far too grand to last.
Next came the sister ship Olympic
Who thought a second try was going to be a blast?

Both were too big, too bright, too cocky to be true.
So she models herself after them
Because when the Titanic hit the iceberg
The first thing people said
Was not, "We should pack up and move"
But
If we take just one more drink,
What would it hurt
Just one more dance
Can't do anything

And really, if that isn't the perfect explanation of her life,
she doesn't know what is.

So for now, she'll keep her eyes firmly shut
Pretending things are right and **** if she won't fight to keep it that way
Silently struggling
Until the day she can no longer grin and say
"I'm fine."

this reminds me of you,
you exist.

i resist, but my eyes insist
to take a look one more time,
and then one more-
i think i'll lose my mind
before i go blind,
and then i'll be sure;
you were never mine,
and that's all i know-
no love to breathe,
only this hatred deep inside
to feed, monsters and ghosts,
****** and witches to bleed-
i keep myself
from the outside now.


i sleep without a word,
lonely and cold-
so worthless and vile
the world laughing at me
all this while,
and i sit here, to be sold
face my exile-
a face with no smile,
only distance and walls,
stares at me as if he's watching
something coming back to life,
something that must've died
a long time ago, here's a man
turned into a monster for the show,
here's the man, i see everyday
here's the man who speaks to me
in whispers, i see him in the mirror,
everyday, every-way i walk,
there's something wrong with me-
and it won't stop, oh no, it won't,
my brain would rot and my heart
will be caught on fire.

there was more than love for you,
there was more than desire and
now i cannot explain how lonely
i am here without you,
without your lies, and the liar.

i see what isn't in the mirror,
my mind playing tricks-
i'm always so sick, with a
picture playing in my head,
like a song-
if i don't get rid of it,
i know i'll always be torn.

always in a mourning,
for a want, at a place
no one belongs-
nobody to rescue
somebody to haunt,
there's always a human
inside, hiding somewhere
in the wrongs,
toiling the sky, spoiling
the earth with his arms
hypnotic and strong,
nobody believes in a home
where nobody stays for long.

the world is so static,
there is still a portrait of you
in the attic of my heart,
i thought i was done with
them stones and sticks-
when i found you,
and now when i remember it,
everything is so erratic-
maybe it was a curse,
maybe it was poison
could it be magic,
what was it ?


that made every good memory
i had so tragic-
stained by the ugliness of
your beauty, and a knowing,
that you must be
at a better place now,
outside, and i can't take it.

it reminds me of you,
you exist.

Footprints in the sand
wandering like ripples on a pond.
or skipping stones across the water
like dancing or a life.
Sing to me songs of moonlight and madness,
of a lover’s waltz spinning;
going nowhere
but for the dancing
like footprints in the sand...
but ahh...
the dancing.

Lousy with life
warm with haze
on walls, idols hang without any names

Dull with growth
bored as bloom
curtains, drab
a lifeless gloom

what was once the music, the life the dance
now is silence
the quiet trance

Like stones, words are stacked atop drawers
language it gathers
dust it falls

I am older now
looking back
I see everything differently
but still the same
there were various sides of me
that have faded but still remain
stepping stones turned into memories
I can hear a song and become someone else
then I can hear another song and reveal my true self
my life has been exciting thus far
times have been easy, times have been hard
there is always a light that will flicker
that I can forever see, and forever feel in my heart
praise the day I depart
with this world that is essentially art
when I come back
I will paint a wider picture
then manifest myself into a star
and hold everything in my arms

I want to build your high horse a stable
let it rest a while
let it lay down with mine.

I want to mill that hot air
see it put to use
turning wheels
blowing glass
warming the soil after a frost.

We'll skip stones across still ponds which once were cast in judgement.

See all that manure bring forth lush vegetation
so that winged beasts may perch and call to the spring.

It only happens when I look at you
When my new stones turn an icy hue
A cold chill of last November
Frozen deeper than I remember
With a steep wall to scale
It takes a moment to fail
But it only happens when I look at you
Again I hear my heart break
And I learn what's at stake
In a journey to heal --
Only this wound to feel
And that only happens when I look at you.

It's not all in your head
It's all around you
Coming out of peoples mouths
The things they say, that's what leaves the scars you see on their wrists
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me",
that's the biggest ******* lie I have ever heard
Words do hurt, they ****
I would rather be hit and punched and kicked and beaten down everyday,
than have to sit there and listen to what people say
The words are forever edged into your brain,
they leave their marks
You can never forget them
They are always there
Waiting for you
Haunting you
They **** you from the inside out and nobody sees until it's too late
They are there to convince you that you are not good enough
That you will always be a failure
You will never get better
You will forever be broken
Words do hurt
They are like bullets right to the heart
So stop your words before they **** someone

We stand united
We stand united
united and un-armed

We stand united
In love
In peace
In war

We need no walls
No swords
No stones

Our words are harmony

Our freedom is yours
Our kingdom remains

A dream

The smell of death burns the lungs
Of a hundred thousand innocents
Steel on steel, minds on minds
Destiny is out of your hands
And you're the only one standing
A million women are still weeping
Their sons who shall never wake
What is it that you'll still take?

Do you think you are still alive?
Give up all your pathetic chores
Surrender yourself to the sword
Lay your heart down to the God of War

Sticks and stones can **** you now
Even though you escape somehow
Don't tell me it was all mistakes
You bloodied all the pools and lakes
But hey now blame the God of War
I only know what I speak for
Your demons are out in daylight
Your lust for blood you can't deny

And do you think you're still alive?
Come now all of your heartsores
Surrender yourself to the sword
Lay your heart down to the God of War

A war inside your head is on
And you've been barely holding on
Revenge is all that you crave for
Denial is all that you stand for
You took the lives, you stabbed and swiped
And You killed till your heart felt awe
But hew now blame the God of War
I only know what I speak for

I know that you're aren't alive
You've been my minion all this time
You had but been a big wild boar
Your heart has me, the God of War

Storing the tears dripping from your cheeks so I can water color you a picture of why, even at your worst, you're a work of art-

Whoever created you, evolution or God or the pairing of particular chromosomes, dipped their brush into a palette of sunsets and starry night skies and painted your bright smile.

They borrowed from evergreens and forever instilled a dark green hue for your eyes that are as old-soul as the rings of the trees.

Your skin came from the white of peaches, your freckles from the brown of river stones smoothed by the water and time.

The curls and color of your hair came from beaches that only knew washing waves, seagulls and tiny ***** and seashells.

Your strength emulates mountaintops covered in white snow, blown by harsh winds yet still standing tall.

A mind like yours looks like clockwork- gears grinding constantly,, hands spinning and continually rotating, not even stopping when easing into the darkness of night.

Strawberry-red across your cheeks when you blush, the white of crashing waves when you receive news that's takes the color from your face, yellow sunflowers when you laugh the way you do.

A heart like yours was painted from the heart of mine- I dipped a brush into my own heart because I know there is where I know you best, where I honestly know you for who you are.

Cry your tears, give them to me.

I'll make you out to be what you really are, what your eyes cease see-

Your tear-cleared eyes aren't cleared enough for they do not believe that you are nothing short of a masterpiece.

a contradiction contracted in
lowest terms are
you.
[it’s metal edges]

your beauty is
of
a
garden
(suspended at mid-
clouds), to enter
and

to say

that in such a
variety of
flowers
there
can not
be
one that
attracts
you

to pick it

to dismantle it
and
to
neglect
the
rest.

[it’s plasticized segments]

you know how to
quickly imprint
yourself
on me

when

you laugh
at times
and
conversely
you weep
and

you are like

those skies
that shake me
to my core

when

they are
blinding
on one hand
and
violently bleak
on the other

so

clearly
fractured
they shake
me pierce
me
pierced
i am
by

you.

[it’s just thinned points]

imagine if
a chameleon
started
to
acquire
each
gradation
of
another
creature
in the form
already
similar
to
it:

where
could
he
ever
escape?

[it’s inconstant semicircles]

(i can not
delineate
you
it is like
sketching
a tidal
wave
nobody
can:

painters

invent them)


[and it’s shoved arches]


i’ll tell you
of
a
woman
her soul
shattered
and

subsequently

imprisoned
splinter by
splinter
in hail
stones

she

fell
and
she felt
herself
crashing
at the same
instant
millions
of times

however

she
never
went
insane.

[it’s torn curves]


(and I know well
how a continuity
interrupted
succeeds
to make
you
fumble
convulsively
but it’s not
enough
for me to
restrain
myself
don’t
ask
me
to)

[it’s petrified vertical axes]

what i see
is
a cross
section of
enclosure
handfuls with
disconcerting
efficiency
consisting
of prisms
and

you know how to decompose

yourself inside
an innocence
delimited
you proceed
by inconstancies
you lacerate
metabolizing
you struggle
silencing
and

i could
only
teach you
one thing:

gray is not
a faded
version
of
black.

~~
An impossible eyes saw through
thick wall of light,
extend beyond the boundaries of,
couldn't touch anything,
a handful of darkness came,
did not wash away hands try to forget
but strange conclusion repeatedly comes back,
I went to sleep,
again saw the line,
hands of dream moving lights

Then the dream of eyes,
dark without light,
past the stones,
the witnesses of time then fallen sudden nebula,
came out of the space,
the time of,
time hit on the wall of sight,
sky became crunch,
matched in a point,
numerous points in the way of

I walk,
you go,
move with the spiral ways,
all mate to an infinity,
in front the new days,
open space,
I know that you're in the midst of,
seeks,
gets,
loses,
In fact in the dreams so many times,
came on over to the,
and I grew out of existence

~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

These are poems about sinking, poems about drowning, poems about loss, and poems about new discoveries we sometimes make while feeling lost...



Sinking
by Michael R. Burch

for Virginia Woolf

Weigh me down with stones…
fill all the pockets of my gown…
I’m going down,
mad as the world
that can’t recover,
to where even mermaids drown.



What Goes Around, Comes
by Michael R. Burch

This is a poem about loss
so why do you toss your dark hair—
unaccountably glowing?

How can you be sure of my heart
when it’s beyond my own knowing?

Or is it love’s pheromones you trust,
my eyes magnetized by your bust
and the mysterious alchemies of lust?

Now I am truly lost!



Sonnet 26
by Giacomo da Lentini
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I've seen it rain on sunny days;
I’ve seen the darkness split by light;
I’ve seen white lightning fade to haze;
Seen frozen snow turn water-bright.

Some sweets have bitter aftertastes
While bitter things can taste quite sweet:
So enemies become best mates
While former friends no longer meet.

Yet the strangest thing I've seen is Love,
Who healed my wounds by wounding me.
Love quenched the fire he lit before;
The life he gave was death, therefore.

How to warm my heart? It eluded me.
Yet extinguished, Love sears all the more.

Giacomo da Lentini, also known as Jacopo da Lentini or by the appellative Il Notaro (“The Notary”), was an Italian poet of the 13th century who has been credited with creating the sonnet.



The Discovery
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

What use were my arms, before they held you?
What did my lips know of love, before they encountered yours?
I learned I was made for your heart, so true,
to overwhelm with its tender force.



Grave Oversight I
by Michael R. Burch

The dead are always with us,
and yet they are naught!

Grave Oversight II
by Michael R. Burch

for Jim Dunlap, who winked and suggested “not”

The dead are either naught
or naughty, being so sought!



Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch

I’m sure it’s not good for my heart—
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to **** it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.



Birthday Poem to Myself
by Michael R. Burch

LORD, be no longer this Distant Presence,
Star-Afar, Righteous-Anonymous,
but come! Come live among us;
come dwell again,
happy child among men—
men rejoicing to have known you
in the familiar manger’s cool
sweet light scent of unburdened hay.
Teach us again to be light that way,
with a chorus of angelic songs lessoned above.
Be to us again that sweet birth of Love
in the only way men can truly understand.
Do not frown darkening down upon an unrighteous land
planning fierce Retributions we require, and deserve,
but remember the child you were; believe
in the child I was, alike to you in innocence
a little while, all sweetness, and helpless without pretense.
Let us be little children again, magical in your sight.
Grant me this boon! Is it not my birthright—
just to know you, as you truly were, and are?
Come, be my friend. Help me understand and regain Hope’s long-departed star!



You Never Listened
by Michael R. Burch

You never listened,
though each night the rain
wove its patterns again
and trembled and glistened...

You were not watching,
though each night the stars
shone, brightening the tears
in her eyes palely fetching...

You paid love no notice,
though she lay in my arms
as the stars rose in swarms
like a legion of poets,

as the lightning recited
its opus before us,
and the hills boomed the chorus,
all strangely delighted...



Time Out
by Michael R. Burch

Time is running out,
no doubt.
Time is running out.

I don’t know what the LORD’s about,
since Time is running out, the Lout!,
and leaving me with gas and gout.

I don’t know what the LORD’s about;
still, it does no good to grouse or pout,
since Time is merely running out,
like quail before a native scout.

’Twill do no good to shout or flout:
Time’s running out,
I have no doubt,
though who knows what the LORD’s about?

No need for faith or even doubt,
since Time is merely running out,
like water from a rusty spout
or mucous from a leaky snout.

Yes, Time is merely running out,
and yet I feel inclined to pout
and truth be told, sometimes to doubt
just what the hell the LORD’s about.



Pointed Art
by Michael R. Burch

The point of art is that
there is no point.
(A grinning, quick-dissolving cat
from Cheshire
must have told you that.)

The point of art is this—
the hiss
of Cupid’s bright bolt, should it miss,
is bliss
compared to Truth’s neurotic kiss.



Haiku

Am I really this old,
so many ghosts
beckoning?
—Michael R. Burch

Sleepyheads!
I recite my haiku
to the inattentive lilies.
—Michael R. Burch

Stillness:
the sound of petals
drifting down softly together...
—Miura Chora, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sky tries to assume
your eyes’ azure
but can’t quite pull it off.
—Michael R. Burch

The sky tries to assume
your eyes’ arresting blue
but can’t quite pull it off.
—Michael R. Burch

Early robins
get the worms,
cats waiting to pounce.
—Michael R. Burch

Two bullheaded frogs
croaking belligerently:
election season.
—Michael R. Burch

An enterprising cricket
serenades the sunrise:
soloist.
—Michael R. Burch

A single cricket
serenades the sunrise:
solo violinist.
—Michael R. Burch

My life:
how little remains
of a night so brief?
—Masaoka Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

(Masaoka Shiki struggled with tuberculosis and died at age 35.)

Yesterday’s snows
that fell like cherry blossoms
are mudpuddles again.
—Koshigaya Gozan, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I write, erase, revise, erase again,
and then...
suddenly a poppy blooms!
—Katsushika Hokusai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vanishing spring:
songbirds lament,
fish weep with watery eyes.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wearily,
I enter the inn
to be welcomed by wisteria!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
seems equally distant.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

By such pale moonlight
even the wisteria's fragrance
seems distant.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
drifts in from afar.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pale moonlight:
the wisteria’s fragrance
drifts in from nowhere.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Plum flower temple:
voices ascend
from the valleys.
—Natsume Soseki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

limping to the grave under the sentence of death,
should i praise ur LORD? think i’ll save my breath!
–michael r. burch

The Ultimate Haiku Against God
by Michael R. Burch

Because you made a world
where nothing matters,
our hearts lie in tatters.



Homer translations

Surrender to sleep at last! What a misery, keeping watch all night, wide awake. Soon you’ll succumb to sleep and escape all your troubles. Sleep. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Passage home? Impossible! Surely you have something else in mind, Goddess, urging me to cross the ocean’s endless expanse in a raft. So vast, so full of danger! Hell, sometimes not even the sea-worthiest ships can prevail, aided as they are by Zeus’s mighty breath! I’ll never set foot on a raft, Goddess, until you swear by all that’s holy you’re not plotting some new intrigue! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let’s hope the gods are willing. They rule the vaulting skies. They’re stronger than men to plan, execute and realize their ambitions. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Few sons surpass their fathers; most fall short, all too few overachieve. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Any moment might be our last. Earth’s magnificence? Magnified because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than at this moment. We will never pass this way again. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Beauty! Ah, Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess, she startles our eyes! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Many dread seas and many dark mountain ranges lie between us. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The lives of mortal men? Like the leaves’ generations. Now the old leaves fall, blown and scattered by the wind. Soon the living timber bursts forth green buds as spring returns. Even so with men: as one generation is born, another expires. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since I’m attempting to temper my anger, it does not behoove me to rage unrelentingly on. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Overpowering memories subsided to grief. Priam wept freely for Hector, who had died crouching at Achilles’ feet, while Achilles wept himself, first for his father, then for Patroclus, as their mutual sobbing filled the house. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

“Genius is discovered in adversity, not prosperity.” — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ruin, the eldest daughter of Zeus, blinds us all with her fatal madness. With those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, she glides over our heads, trapping us all. First she entangles you, then me, in her lethal net. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death and Fate await us all. Soon comes a dawn or noon or sunset when someone takes my life in battle, with a well-flung spear or by whipping a deadly arrow from his bow. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust.—Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Homer translations, Haiku translations, life, death, sinking, drowning, bitter, sweet, rain, darkness, love, fire, fate, ruin, genius, memory, memories

Two men under a moonlit sky
Stacking stones

With heavy hearts and tired limbs
Stacking stones

Others slowly passing by, look and wonder why
They are
Stacking stones

The men know, though others question
That they have good reason
For their enduring habit of
Stacking stones

Their journey to here long has been
Trial marking and marring their way
Still they use the last bit of their strength
Stacking stones

The benefit they get
From their laborious task
Is worth the price
Of fortitude
That they pay
Stacking stones

The men finish
And turn
Finally going to their homes
To rest, if only for a time
From what seems like the ceaseless work of
Stacking stones

A small child
Young and innocent
Questions the men as they pass by
Returning home, no longer engaged in
Stacking stones

The men turn
And manage some few words
To the one questioning
Why they are
Stacking stones

For these stones they say remind them
Of how far they have come
For many many many years each pile represents
To them a reminder
Of a victory won
And so when all seems lost
They look upon the hill
Where their have toiled
And then they
Cannot help but remember
What they have accomplished
To drive them to go on
Stacking stones

So as long as they can lift
These rocks from the rushing river
They will carry on
Stacking stones.

(theinkthatspeaks.blogspot.com)

Advice for mice for the merry go round of life
Fields for the fiends burning with desire
Attempt to tear away the streets easy pleasures
Escape the need for a mind of easy pressure
I am no known man for I stay in between the light
Today is yesterday as tomorrow exists for the night
Up in the starry landscape of scarred winged' angels
To hold in tears is to force the soul then to cry
Show me pain show me anger show me your lowest low
I feel every pin ***** of poison all tied neat flowing bows
You say you need me to whisper soft comforts at midnight
That I need to lay you down to lie that this life will be alright
But know that these worries for me are quite the same
That life at last with gleaming chess pieces is just a game
We make it so through the blistering hot and frigid cold
Politics pawn off men and women for only survival
Mortar stones chip as one thousand of our minutes lift
Only to be dropped dead from the windy clouds ahead
Moon churns the childish ocean again and again
Grandma's ladel breaks splinter sparks glow in the dark
Autumn laughs as the bodies of mine and hers
Were separated to accept an encroaching certain shackling past

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces                                                
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

Two sparks of glass dancing on the currents
like two feathers with silk stiffened by salt.
Broken bottles to the midnight seascape sent
unsteady as whispers, sharp as the cold.
I’d drift as part of chandelier like rain
be the anglerfishes’ luminous snare
to tresses of jellyfish dresses vain
as the smooth face reflecting there.
On the plateau the sand will frost our smiles
smoothing those edges to a bent jigsaw piece.
This cold Desert of ebb raked sands and fells
from the bottle’s great birth into the sea.
Making blood fire by joining sparks by hand
as others join stones in returning to sand.