The albatross sings through clouds
Waltzing in the circle of our intimate desolations.
Pandemonium caressing winds of destruction.
The sound of lonely steps forcing tendencies along the shore.

As Crumbling drops of rain do unexpected time around the sun.
The hands open-wings angels
Break the silence underneath the blue sky,
Passion hidden in a kiss.

Walking beneath waterfalls
Whispers penetrate the alley of rendition.
The good Sheppard strolls between thin lines.
Walls of winter shiver at the sound of war.

Fear of a reliance bounces through souls
Seeking and founding my silence.  
Walking the mind of child
Unfrosted and fragile uncertain from the waist down.

Run as fast as you can.
The telepathy of a mother
Brings back a memorable dance with the stars.

As The tree of life cuts through their veins
A mind field of flowers began to blossom
The sound of bird
Whistling inside my brother’s keeper…


Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2009

There is nothing fair about the pale light of New Spring
Air that is full of promise,
bearing no fruit or cinnamon scent
Naive contempt that we all will bear a rich fullness
Sun wick in its watery gaze.

New Spring is the forewarning of the lengthening shadow
While the flowers bloom, gnarling hands tug at their roots
Decaying the imago, delicate foundations,
ruining their artful poise.

Urge of the nightingale wavers and a swift dirge comeuppance
Clouds break apart, denying their lofty existence,
Soil blackened by the soot of His flamed feet,
Which trespass sweetly and indulge in the
scent of burning and plague.

New Spring is the cowering of my hope
and the doubts of rightful renewal
Bread I bare is stale, water a rasping thirst
My heart unfrosted and chilled from Winters gambit
Tis a Stolen Season

The fuzzy blue blur from my childhood has come to haunt me
I first saw him when a happy meal was filling
Seeing the cookie for the first time had me mesmerized
I was entranced
It was great and sweet with a bitterness that I could not yet swallow
I would call for Super Grover to save me when Cookie got too crazy
Shoving cookies until I cried and vomited
Touching me like I was nothing more than an unfrosted gingerbread man
There were far too many nights that I couldn’t signal for Super Grover to save the day
Soon I stopped signalling
Losing all contact with the outside
Cold days were plentiful and I sat outside because I knew that inside meant that I would freeze
Outside meant rain, wind,chills, and hands so cold that they felt like they were burning
Whereas inside had heaters, dry clothes, and my body frozen in terror
Shaking in fear or shaking from the cold air outside
I knew that his cookies were poison on my tongue but rationalizations got the best of me
I forced myself to believe that he did as any other childhood figure would
Eventually he started to feel more hungry as time went on
A hunger that no cookie could satisfy
He wanted innocence
I was his unknowing prey
And I allowed for mine to be slaughtered
His filthy claws stuck into every piece of my skin
Moving my young soft hands he would make the most inhuman noises
A howl as he went for the ****
He went from a symbol of joy to showing the second part of his name
Monster
Nobody could know
This was my burden
Because I had allowed this
Because I knew something that they didn’t
That they couldn’t
That the Cookie Monster is still a monster

I am a plain cake donut
Boring
Unfrosted
Easy to disregard

Unless you look on the inside

There you will find
Bacon
that’s interestingly salty;
Black strap molasses
which adds depth
but isn’t too sweet;
And a single berry
for a blast of the unexpected