Presentiment: I once saw myself very old

I stared out of a half-steamed window
watching ravens swoop and dart
through chimney smoke, at play, tag it must have been
as gangly winter shadows crept across
wind-hardened snow

the eaves whistled, icicles were bent into
translucent catawampus claws

my left thumb trembled, right index finger
as well, as I repositioned hands on the
armrests of my wheelchair
and sighed.

A grainy, rather faded heyday film played
in my mind, I smiled at the rosy-cheeked boy
in a tire swing, kicking his feet into
an aqua-blue summer sky, hardly
earth-bound

then, the movie reel fast-forwarded to,
heart-pounding, sick-in-love days of sweet and sour tears,
recited poetic jumbles of words, sometimes
kicked into the street like
an empty can

but the love, gilded in frames, mantel presentable
memories, have always been there
for you, my dear

scent of your hair, those brown irises
opened wide after we kissed, like
desert flower blooms at midnight in awe
of the universe, and that
shuddered sigh; will be my
very last thoughts
before I pass.

Death Is Not the Worst

It’s one hundred twenty degrees
in the mind of a lunatic, no shade,
no occasional breeze, only
beads of sweat pouring
down foreheads, stinging
mind’s-eye, I hear yelling in the night;
detritus words launched
at God.

Panhandled change is counted, over and over
at the bus stop, rapid-fire blinks
too numerous to count
must stir-up mini vortexes
in another dimension,
a meth mother huddled in a doorway
brushes her daughter’s silky hair;
mother tweaks to her
own tune.

Outward beauty is only skin-deep
just as winter ice can hide dead fish and
worse jetsam beneath an urban pond,
a needle in a haystack has become
a stack of bloody syringes,
no play on words there, just a dirty
ditty sung in most any
modern city, heroin zombies lurk
behind dumpsters, everyone wears their
holier-than-thou blinders.

I see it all, thirty-somethings screaming in the streets,
fighting themselves more than anyone else.
There will be blackeyes and
pounding headaches in the morning,
mascara will run like soul shattering fault-lines.
It’ll all repeat next Saturday night
as Satan picks his teeth
and laughs.

Sacred Lotus

161

 

Virgin soft flesh splayed
on a translucent jade pond
your sage wisdom roars

I Am Not a Robot

I have traced moon’s polished
alabaster form
afar
with trembling fingers,
I have cast
tear-soaked letters
into rainy streets,
watched them swirl
down sewers,
I have been hypnotized by
Erato’s stare, in crystal pools
I have reciprocated

these traits
of a hungry heart
with volumes
of sighing words
sown into mirrors and
patiently listening
night

dead-fish eyes
perched upon rococo facades
are warning beacons,
I see strings attached to
a choreographed touch,
hollow language
is the screaming confession
of a festered soul.

Truth

“A ‘mistake’ is being ignorant of the facts and/or outcome. ‘Careless indifference’ is being aware of the facts and/or outcome and simply not caring. Regardless, innocent people suffer. Being ‘human’ is not a malady, it’s a responsibility hallmarked by maturity and emotional intelligence.”

-Michael J. Donnelly

Invocation to autumn

 

I have stared out a window for hours
as summer bowed its head

at October rain, at banana-yellow leaves
glistening, tumbling in slow-motion
sighing with nature

as autumn overcame, as wraiths
sorrowfully caressed withering roses
with bony fingers, as ravens
sang hymns

but my soul changes
always, it puts on a worsted cloak
grey and speckled brown

a page turns slowly, as though
the story is a familiar one
read many times and
I smile

joining melancholy muses and romantic rebels
reveling in dreamt sage scented vortices
whirling like dervishes
biding farewell to swelter and
buzzing things

the prayer is then lifted and I whisper,
“Rest well honored flora and fauna
but before you close your eyes
see the pumpkin-orange painted sky
at dusk, before you sleep.”

Yes, I Would Mourn

Should you die
I would lament to the wind
tearing at my clothes
cursing the darkness
for taking my light

for a short season
there would be not one iota
of joy, smiles would be banished
my pillow would certainly
remain damp

there would be a spiritual battle
within, fitful dreams
stark awakenings and
fist-clenching
prayers for strength

until the storm passed
I would cling to
photographs
covet your love notes with
head hung low
breathing in and out

and the silence
would rage

but like spring’s song I would
stir, to recall your words
once spoken, “Don’t grieve too long, please
live and be happy.”

A Foreshadowing

I saw an ebbing portent in clouds
over the peaks, a blur
of rain falling with gray tendrils
and august sighed

wraith winds blew from the north
I rubbed my face
as a man long in the tooth
thinking of lustful
summer days
gone.

September will blink and autumn
will sashay in like a
boisterous gypsy spreading
wafts of sage

there will be burnt-orange offerings
fluttering, umber talismans
and whispers when
dusk greets
harvest moon

all of this I see
as the birches wax humble
with their yellowing tresses as
ravens caw reminders
to tarry not

the mountains are solemn
they are the wise men
watching.

Autumnal Nocturne (Kyrielle)

 

 

Bleed spirit, into bronze-tinged night!
Lift me above chiffon clouds height
To whirl and whirl amongst moon’s glow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
And Luna’s breath will fill my sails
Or perhaps November’s brisk gales!
Brushing tall tops of the willow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
Carry me, carry me aloft,
With a Northern gust’s robust ‘waft!’
To soar with hawk and cawing crow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
O’er shimmering lakes and loons call,
Sashaying grand with lovely fall
Cross fields dreaming of spring’s farrow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
From chimneys sage-like smells would taunt,
As I flew by on midnight jaunt
Through yellowed dell and bronze meadow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.

This Faulted Shell: passing

 

I grasped it
in a daydream moment
breathing in
and out
bright vignettes
blurred one into another
almost teasing
of course, there were tears
but not mine
soft fingers caressed
hoary thin flesh of my hand
I felt trembling lips
kiss mine
and…

 

 

 

 

 

And Yet You Shine

A zither descant rides wind through the trees,
Clouds pirouette like maidens in chiffon,
Summer’s hot day allows night to appease
On a lake, moon-glow highlights a lone swan.

On snow-topped mountains, on drifting sand dunes
Piercing the darkest forests with your beams,
A grand mood setter for lovers and loons
You even preside in most of our dreams.

Oh, ancient bright orb that hastened bards reach,
That spun many hearts and minds in a whirl
With your polished wisdom you softly preach,
You are God’s dangling necklace of one pearl.

Oh, bright overseer spinning in space
I pray that you ever shine on each face.

Ireland (Kyrielle)

It called to me with siren song,
With unseen grasp it pulled me strong
In dream its verdant hills were showed.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

Took hours to travel there by air
And sweet it was like luscious pear,
From Dublin to south Cork I rode.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

The folk were friendly chatty types,
Many preferred to pedal bikes
Through big cities, down country road.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

And there a certain spirit pled,
From ancient castles they bid, “tread!”
And oddly my time there, it slowed.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

I smiled at penny whistle tunes
And buskers with their heart-felt croons,
Life was savored, the Guinness flowed.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

I laughed, I danced, my spirit soared
In wee pubs they played Celtic chord,
I heard a raptured heartfelt ode,
Across the jade green isle, I strode.

The time spent there I’ll not forget
Like a remarkable sunset,
It was a lovely gift bestowed.
Across the jade green isle, I strode.