A Paper Cemetery

A paper cemetery

Misshapen tombs,

Above lands grave

Destined for circular ends

Alar; hollow

Back-stories triggered

By a violent strike of sound

As contrasting marble

Slow dances with shale

A sickened affirmative

Droops its heedlessness

Grapnel; sullied

Ornamental gates

Creaking a minor smear

Lamp-less lanterns flood the rive

As curtails crisscross the skimming sky

The Well-Wisher

Well-wishing and looking at the rippled lines

Vacancy’s and for sale signs

Can be seen as discouraging tombs

Or as opportunity to invest anew

Flies amass to stickiness

Sweet like candy, more or less

So, as you enjoy each treats bliss

Remember, that flies also swarm to…

Wink, wink, nod, nod

Poking your eyes out with the cattle prod

Electric bolts to spark you bright

On a fated windswept night

Oh, how the niceties in life

Can grow to be repulsive

And how the ugliest thoughts

Can become the prettiest

I’m closing my eyes and praying on a penny.

Believing upon splash comes the answers to my dreams aplenty

Where Once Walked Marsh

Where once walked marsh

For questing’s grail

Worldly weights hinged upon-

-Our unpropitious victory.  We could not fail

Complication unlaced her dress,

Prompting route to fork its trail

To the right, a hazed fog split us half,

Spawning a hash of Dilaudid canaille

To port, suspicion’s fever flared complicit,  

As rancor stirred in dubiety’s gale

Where once walked marsh,

Through vales unkempt

Sifted sway of silted limb

Marred by visions dreamt

The never ceasing eyes of foliage

Pry through vine and draw contempt

Stanchion’s fossils ivy-covered,

Memorialize winnowing’s failed attempt

All shapes of creatures never seen,

Swarm the fringes of the verdant kempt

So close, now to free, yet whispers echo from the brush,

Stating, “escape you may, but you’ll never be exempt.”

From what, is all most can muster

But linger long and the thought(s) will show

Where once walked marsh

Has since been shadowed by snow

So many years have now past,

I’ve forgot how to know

In a journey of thorns, some prick while others defend

And for what, a hero’s welcome home?

At first the honor was the dignity,

The seduction and the glow

Perhaps it’s just to make the days gone appear worthwhile,

So near the grail, instead of elation, concessionary eyes back-roll

Onsets of the beholden by,

Grandeur’s chains endured through pride

Footholds first, is oft it’s last

To survive the many cracks,

One must be swift of mind

And strong with staff

But even then, the ankles may snap

Insets appear-thought not of (yet)

(yet), once renewed is now remanded back

To hope to hunt for hope

A plague to the optimist

A battle scar for most others

Where once walked marsh infused with hope,

That path, is found to be, paved by the smoke of ghosts

Where once walked marsh in boyish tread

Now stands but one of hundreds dead

Here left to hold the treasure and bring it home

To pay homage to the man now seated in the throne

As memories sort the better part of days

I often wonder if they think much of those 1000 men

Once cheered as Gods as they left bay

I wonder if they think of much, all that was lost by us,

It’s been so long I doubt they do

But I’d like to think back and pretend they do to

To the ships set to sail in the harbor

The revelry and the returning promises

Seems like all that’s gets me forward

Is a pursuit to remember, “whend-we-go”

Claudia is hosting Open Link Night over at D'Verse tonight.  The doors open at 3:00pm, and seeing it's a 1/4 past right now, the doors, I would guess to already be open.  Check out the OLN, read a ton of amazing poetry.  Every week seems to outdo the week before, which is really saying a lot, because the very first week was great.  The number of poets submitting their work has dramatically increased, which means more poems to read and more experiences to be had.  Anyhow stop on by read some great poems and if you'd like submit one of your own, I'm sure they'd love to have you:)

For my offering this week, nothing experimental as I've been doing the past few weeks, but I'm hoping you'll enjoy it.  It's a journey piece, epic poem or whatever moniker you'd like to call it.  It's loosely inspired by The Odyssey as well as Norse Myth. Varying from typical myth I thought I'd forego the battle scenes, perhaps allude to them, but make this more of a mental piece, dealing with the emotions of the questers.

Hall O' Ween

Was travellin’ down old Joppa Road, during the time that was, the freedom of ’76 and Spinal Meningitis(got me down), so off I chose to be, alone to end my days as a drifter in the dark.

Along the way it came to be, that I met a little girl all in tears.  I stopped to see what the matter was, which was when she spoke to me, “My name is Candi, mister could you please help my pony?”  I asked her where it was and what the matter seemed to be, and quickly she replied to me, “ He’s over up on Buckingham Green, I know not exactly what ailment he does have, but I heard the doctor sing the HIV Song when tending to him.”  His illness took me quite a bit aback, I easily could have truthfully told, that a vet I’ve never been, instead, for what reason I know not why, when I spoke, the words were lies, “Candi, it’s okay, I’ll be your Jonny on the spot…it’s gonna be(alright).”

Up the hill we travelled long, past some minstrels streaming songs, across the narrow stony paths, where a three-seated bicycle drove on past, and then a couple people we did see, leaning over dramatically, a ledge it looked as if, they were going to drop to their deaths.  I stopped and before I could speak, Candi alleviated the anxiousness in me, “Mister, It’s okay, nothing new, people do that all day, they jus’ kissin’ the Blarney Stone, please let’s not hurry, let’s not dote”

When we finally arrived, I could see many sad faces all a-stir, but Candi pushed our way right through, past the masses until but two were left to view.  A man and a woman stood over a horse lying sideways on that grassy spot.  I peered my head down to the girl, and saw but one tear for Eddie did she spin, instead ran with swiftness o’er to him.   I began my slithering back, through the crowd, retreatin’ to that long and winding path we just came down.  But something still seemed off to me, I whispered to myself,  “I can’t put my finger on it,” but something here does not make sense.  Perhaps it was Eddie’s polka dot tail, or that Voodoo lady with the golden eel, I didn’t know, but should’ve left, this now I do now know. 

But as cold blows the wind, I returned to the girl to see if she’d be all right, after all I promised her that, twas a lie but she was unaware of that.  On the way to the tike an aged man came rumbling near, spitting words with a violent flare, “ You, you have no choice”, to which I found out that, I’m dancing in the show tonight.  Before I could rebut or argue, that old man disappeared from view.  Perhaps this is the type of thing, what deaner was talkin’ about, when he said Don’t shit where you eat my friend. 

Candi crawled back to me, washing off the now teary cheeks.  I reached down to the flowery ground, plucked when up and handed it to Candi.  What, I’m broke and roses are free?  I countered when that old Voodoo hag began her ear-scratching chant of vice. 

Candi asked me to take her away, that she wanted to leave, before the Ocean Man came to town, with the mollusk he had found.  I could sense this man made her scared and was about to say it’d be okay.  That was when the hag’s voice grew steep, “Baby Bitch,” she did repeat, again and again as she peered a hole on through.  I tried to cover little Candi’s ears but upon next sight she’d ran into the woods to flee; leaving but the angry witch and the masses lined up to see what I’d do. 

I didn’t know what to say or what to do.  The looks they gave to me then and there, made me feel as if I was waving my dick in the wind to each of them.  Scared now I began to back-step.  Was about to turn and run when I felt a wet cold hand grip me tight and spin me some.  Now eye to eye I knew it was, the Ocean Man, Candi-dear had spoken of.  “Buenos Tardes Amigo,” he addressed to me, as the Voodoo Lady cursed me simultaneously, pink eye (on the leg) as I stared into the mollusk atop Ocean Man’s head.  Then all went black and dark.

I awoke without sight.  I felt the moistness of the earth.  Soil grains passed through digging fingers still, pushin’ the daisies, that day became my last actions.

It is told, the show was a sellout, best of the year.  Days later removed I was.  Dirtied hands, soil beneath nails, mutilated lips from lack of air. On Halloween, tricks sometimes come from treats saved, or so those were the last thoughts I had.

…

P.S.  

Candi didn’t run into the woods.  She went back the path looking for downtrodden strangers lost.  Tears she sent upon her face, weaving to a lonely man, a tale she spun about her dying Equine love.

 **********************************************************

So I was looking through the Sunday Flyer and noticed that the Halloween store had reopened it's doors.  This store doesn't get fancy with it's name, A big Orange Banner is draped above where the old TJ Maxx sign once hung.  In big black lettering the word HALLOWEEN is all that's shown.  It opens every year and then closes down a few days into November.  The place is humongous for a store it's type and in the abandoned building beside it they usually have one of those "haunted house" things.  Not sure if that's happening or not this year.  So anyhow I saw the flyer and how the store had crammed as many costumes into it as possible.  This one mask looked like a starfish was stuck to the wearer's forehead and a couple arms creeping over where your nose would be.  Anyway, this image got me thinking about the band Ween, and how they have an album called The Mollusk, so I decided to do one of those tales that utilize some of the bands song names.  I didn't use all their albums just two of them and a song from their first.  Anyhow, I guess Halloween comes a bit early here at Poetical Psyche.

Ragged Dependency

Is it often the calf?

We bind hip, tied to-

Stretched strand, taut snap

Elasticity.

From the kneeling knife

Amidst motion’s pendulum

Is it the vagueness of recoil?

Leaving fingerprints, partial or full-

That traces swirl to reel,

A corkscrewed collaboration-

From reverence to

Severed crux.

From the frozen pin climbing

The breast of a monolithic shill

Is it partition?

Standing in two-

Blockading here to there-

Unaware.

A shallow craftsmanship

Barely conceals separation and scream

Rue and Desire

Two sides, to a man

Cufflinks to ragged dependency

Each, therein a construct of