"wineskin" poems
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before darkfall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 5:51 PM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed...
over soft new grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
At noon I left the vineyard
With a wineskin newly full
But soon a half libation lost
While running down the hill.
But though I longed to share a taste
With some fair passerby,
I stumbled, and the last drops dyed
The ground beneath a tree.
Athirst and lonely, all my dreams
Of feasts and love resigned,
When suddenly the ground broke forth
And upward rose a vine.
At last I raised my trembling hands
And plucked its yield in haste,
And found the fruit that I expressed
Surpassed the last in taste.
And so I left my garden tomb
And—drunken with delight—
I sang that Love would be my portion
'Ere I reached the night!
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
All the skin that covered
All the skin had died
After all I tried,
Turns out truth is how I lied
Living life in envelopes
Sitting on a couch
Over and In my lover
My heart is covered in a pouch
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
In the copse where the green is noble and remote
and my wineskin sings whatever tune
my besotted soul applauds…
As I gather no moss, no stranger to rough canopies.
as there; i serve agendas beyond
my craven absolution
to arrive be-darkened and be-knighted
in the very crescent of my
incorrigible descent
erupting from a tomb of my own making
with a sprig of mistletoe
in a goblet of Sangria
star-struck by
moonshine...
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 4:27 PM UTC
Right use ONE'S servant
Infuse THY gifts grant
Grace refresh my soul
Heart reason flesh whole
Tune sync hymns praise
Enter within temple vase
Our FATHER in heavean
Unleaven Bread be given
Send HOLYGHOST within
O wineskin quench all
New drench within souls
Etch hearts write unrolls
According to THY WORD
LORD music into accord
Mind core broken record
Infinite's touch THY beat
GOD'S rhythm on repeat
Hearken hearts hear eat
THY thought work ways
Yesteryear length of days
Our plight JESUS mission
New sight CHRIST vision
ELOI ELOI Kyrie Eleison
ln sync LORD attune
Music WORD at noon
Melodies ode at tune
O riddles speaks poetry
Read all peaks valleys
To fulfill one's role
And give our whole
Life beat heart soul
Open hearts hear eat
Now reap read repeat
Ears deaf defeat feat
Imploring the aid of
My GOD My GOD
Manu Dei Vox Christi
Opus Dei Pax Domini
Rex Regum Vox Dei
Tov lehodot la'Adonai
Abba! Father! We cry
LORD Elyon Most High
Omega and the Alpha
Name above all Yeshua
EspirituSantoAnakAma
Have mercy on us
Only YOU we trust
LORD of lords JESUS
YHWH first and last
O LORD grant servant
Nothing I shall want
ELOI my only confidant
InstroMEnt REady to DO
Maestro no further aDO
Musiko fuego aDORE ME
Opening salvo LAamoRE
REtreatMEnt torn aid DO
Tune hum ME toDO
ADORE ripple LAamoRE
LuxMundi riddleREMEdy
O leaders to understand
Nations heal shakehands
Embedded LOVE bonds ❤️...lands...
Oct 8, 2024
Oct 8, 2024 at 2:00 AM UTC
We’ll season our greetings
and
salt one another’s
wounds for free.
We compare our flavorless
lives,
without ever investing
in one another
or
ourselves.
No deposit,
no return.
Give as good as you get,
or better yet,
give better than they deserve.
You’ll get more than you think
in return.
To be leaving,
to have left,
to start over,
to be bereft.
What else is there
but to walk away?
So sorry a state
that only God
might stay.
There was no mercy,
there was no sin,
shook dust from boot,
beginning again.
We’ve set the fires,
the windows are broken,
only shards remain,
the building is gutted,
the staff is insane,
where once we cared
only shells remain.
Oh,
the night is a swollen
wineskin,
the moon hangs high,
I only
wanted to live,
was
left behind to die.
Sated on hatred,
collided with skin,
bones are broken,
teeth are pulled,
pliers grip
incisor again.
The clock is punched,
its wires yanked,
limited options mulled,
the senses dulled.
The hands are dealt,
the aces laid down,
all bets are lost.
they’ve come to collect,
my wallet is empty,
my life
is wrecked.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2019
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC
Unafraid,
she makes
red braids
wrapping
death
around her
soft wrist.
Her pliable
flesh
screams
fresh
mercies.
Inside
the porcelain
prism
pain
is no longer
her prison.
Life
is no longer
her poison.
Once crushed
life’s fluid
is now
a stagnant wine
that drips down
her limber vine.
For all that abused
drank her dry
felt her up and used
all the tears in her life
she is now
an empty wineskin
with no more life
to hold in.
Death was hers
and she told him
where and when
they would be
meeting.
It was
the only game
she was capable
of winning.
No note,
no warning call,
no shot off the port
From a cannonball;
She just dove
headfirst into
the dark black that
will eventually
claim you to.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC