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VOICE MENU
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VOICE MENU |
-POETRY-
Pierced
The hail fell from the sky with anger, as if the ground was being stoned for its sins. Thunder claps split ears and animals shivered and recoiled from nature's fury. Lightning bolts flashed down around him. The man was frightened. But then he saw her there waiting for him.He looked upon her, as one looks upon a bright light involuntarily. Love's poison arrow pierced his heart instantly at the sight of her unrivaled beauty. He plunged to the ground sure that these were his final moments. Had he been pierced by a bolt from the sky? Grateful his last sight was full of magic and romance, he gave into the wound. But doing so saved his life and Fate made him a cripple for her. The rain stopped, there was no more lightning, and the fierceness of the storm gave way to the fierceness of his love for her
The Folds of the Day
What beauty shall be know to me on taste of cold Vanilla?
Or sung to me on visions heard from finger traced viola?
Would lumens sung by lapping lake bring beauty to my heart?
Could there be hope to see past your blinding perfect art?
Will cold wet gray and old concrete fill my dark reborn worlds?
Could broken shadow ink hide all that beauty in the folds?
Forever searching for a light I saw that one day then
Hoping for a tongue of flame to enter my heart when…
I pulled away from your soft lips and saw my life was whole
And new Pure Beauty in my years cleaned white my veteran soul
Old world is new, sun's rays spring bright as Love fills every heart
Each tulip blooms a home for hue, a taunt of life apart.
Mother
Sucked into the black hole of life, my spirit was ripped from what it knew to be safe and reliable circumstances. Plunging into the deep cold water head first, I realized I had a head and felt what it was like to feel. Cold noises, a kind of pounding and rasping shuddering through me, I decided to feel more. To feel what this new experience was all about. My skin, I have skin, is getting sticky under this blanket. But I sense pressure all around me. A kind of pressure that brings me back to where I was. This woman is above me, all around me, a part of me. Blowing on me. Breathing in me. Together. As one. Breath of spirit, wind of worldly existence.
The Sunrise
Still the light rain whipped up white caps off the surface of the water at the Port of Death. The shadowed waves flash danger and a criminal past. Driven back into the peninsula with all a love of life and freedom that we had cheated into. A ship destroyed from within lies at the bottom of that port, gently rocking in tune with a parent too strong, the bow torn open, belly spilled. The crew remains, their choice to go down with the ship. All except for one. A child lost. Weeping for the loss of its parents and friends never known. Hope springs forth a face of deep understanding earned through great loss. Fears of others blurred through stinging eyes. Life's journeys not as desperate. An independent spirit now within leading to enlightenment. A bloom of sunrise swells once again that the dark sea fails to cover.
The Plight
You try to wrap your poetry around the shoulders of the woman that you want, because you want to show her that you love her as much as her father's eyes do. But in a way less graceful and a way that wants to trace the lines of her heart on the soft skin of her chest. But with that same purity. And it all tears and falls to the ground like wet paper, the words bleeding apart and evaporating until they are but a memory like a faint aroma of roses in the air.
Ambsace
Now we reach that time of year. Ambsace. The lowest throw at dice. Bad luck. But are such times low or are they the view we have when we descend the ladder from our formerly lofty heights? Some things are not meant to happen. So in that tradition, I will attempt to compose my first poem that I have no intention of showing to someone I love.
"Mountain"
Rock crumbling around my eyes.
Fingers straining to pull up the years.
Reaching further to reach the sky.
Gritty dusty salty tears.
Teeth scrape at my bloody knees.
Dizziness painting shrouded fears.
Teetering, holding back the pleas.
Hoping to hear those joyous cheers.
Close now, reaching near the top.
A momentary pang of doubt.
Gone this far. I'll never stop.
To the home of wondrous shout.
Doom.
Love takes way what last was close.
From the man who Loved the rose.
Trembling heart now exits prose
Into empty chasm composed.
Sheer
Love is a beach-sprint
Tired legs running closed-toed washed by white noise waves cold
Harmless-pretending shivers through silk-covered white undergarments sheer to my sight
Into the night colder now emotional fatigued light snow of golden luminescent bugs making smiles
Tracks followed from the previous day slowly as the shade turns texture into light planes as toes
Gravel into new wooden floors brushed smooth by years of this
The Ocean
I walk backwards barefoot across the asphalt and grass back lot of my life. Presently a glass memory penetrates my skin, then with another step a leafy memory tickles the rough and bleeding edges. Cool wind across my face and back as the broken fans of love criss-cross my path. I remember the warmth and the cool relief of a change in circumstance that I needed at the time. Sometimes a wave when I needed a trough, sometimes scissors when I needed a crucible. Many times bread when I needed dough. Though my overall direction remains backwards, I often look forward atop my crows nest, knuckles to brow, looking for the Northern Passage, the undiscovered canal, a scoop in the sand from a child's hand connecting my moat to the greater ocean that lies just beyond the horizon visible from my miniature ladder.