A Once Young King to Be

Squinting

from apologies 

sentience sordidly

twizzled about

like cotton candy 

or perhaps taffy

is more appropriate here

In the paramount of spires

qualms barb

in ribbons and lace

Perfunctorily dancing

the evenings away

All for the salivary pleasures

of a very, very evil man…

Alice sings

about a once young

king to be

And

And

And…

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Plastic Saviors for Paper Ghosts

A backgammon reservoir

rules the castle ever-more

for it was the bishop

that chose not to address the poor

Stranded tiles wait in-turn

for their time of elocution

yet time grows lost

approaching vindication

Vacant properties remain unsold

for ghosts I’ve heard live within

and as time does drift, the condemned stir

a passive voice attending to one’s present sin

Failed hypotheses draw the man,

upon a scaffolding’s verbose display,

ill-conceived choices and unlikely

provocations impel theory to a swift decay

For plastic saviors come to show

when paper ghosts entrench what’s known

Wandering With Another's Wardrobe

listen to ‘Wandering With Another's Wardrobe’ on Audioboo

Stigmata scented

and poised to see

God’s forgiveness

Tired of what’s become

he hoped to change

these “fortunes”

He’s seen so much

yet knows so little

of meaning

Nature, nurture

to him a choice not provided

until this day

He kneeled before the altar

as he’d never done before—

         he realized he had no business to be

Clasping hands, similar

to how others had done many times

before the quenching song was sung

He had a speech all planned out

and like a lawyer he defensed his soul

with all the many reasons beyond his own control

He claimed he’d changed,

how different he’d become

and that’s when God appeared

Unfeeling and cold, he stayed knees to floor

knowing this all should resonate much, much more

but he also understood, if God returned, soon it all would

In an ancient and blessed tone,

psalms from Heaven filled the room

but muster a nod was all our hero could

As disrespecting as perhaps this might look

never once did God forsake his grace,

for he saw the tears stream down this man’s face

But before those drops could hit the ground

the sky opened to a basking love sent down,

and buried deep, the stolen soul is found

Eviscerated now, is the curse

         for even those so entrenched in sin

                  God can see the worth within

And the vampire may have lost his thirst

         but in so doing, he now had

 the chance to seek eternal life

        

        

This week for Poetics, the crew at D'Verse has asked each of us to create a poem that uses the vampire, either literally or figuratively, as the central figure/theme.  I just happened to post this piece yesterday and have decided to link it up with the other vampiric poems.  Head on over, enjoy what's been linked up, and while you're at it, perhaps you'll see the light and burst in a creative explosion of your own.  If you do, please share.  Cheers

In the recording I made some changes, mainly changing the narrator.

Proud to perform at Wednesday Open Mic with JohnnyK over at the River.  

Trying to Find an Amoeba in an Expanse of Filtered Sea

listen to ‘Trying to Find an Amoeba in an Expanse of Filtered Sea’ on Audioboo

Angling for reason

         netting nothing but decay

casting for meaning

         reeling nothing back but lines and hooks

and that’s just half the times I set to look

motile yet stasis sits

         upon a thriving throne

where inability’s widely known

Stagnation’s strong

         in this single cell

eyes can’t see

         and minds can’t meld

hands can’t feel

         and hearts can’t heal

I’m longing for the day to come

         when I’ll be seen

for all I would have done

         if you only let me free

 or chose to join me

         encaged but not alone; imprisoned but not afraid

together,

         redefining what makes a home   

Furlongs Past Fatigued

Upon the ragged tundra, a million laps begin,

where hackneyed sins, force weight to future stakes,

embellishing their takes, commingling deception with fact

Chimney-black, the hearts oft dance

in charcoaled ignorance—where ignobility dines

upon the earliest defined, inhibitions unkempt

while hope tempts us to believe in our truths,

It only takes but a single proof—the smallest of reservations

to incite the darkest of desperations—our breath and blood disturbed

By filters unnerved— drained and strained but dirty still,

to the brims each were filled—but none the pretty things can stay

as only fractures remain—powerless, inert

Upon the ragged earth, a trillion strides hinge

where hackneyed sins, distort the future stakes

embellishing the penances man makes—in whole or asunder

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

I thought I'd play around with forms.  Not sure if this is an actual form or not, but what I did was: 15 lines with a structured rhyme pattern

a b     d e    g h    j k    m b

b c     e f     h i     k l    b  c

c d     f g     i  j     l m   c  a

Last word links back to the first half of the first line in the first stanza

Anyhow thought I'd do something a bit different this week for Open Link Night.  Doors open up shortly, at 3pm.  So head on over to D'Verse for some amazing poetry, and while you're there, share a poem of your own.  Cheers

Dusk's Lament

Lost in the cordial of afternoon

A somber fray consumes

the lingering of mourning

Escalations build

inside the cages

of a parting sun

Ignored in the evening breeze

are the rising tones

of never-wills and what-have-beens—

Altering each chain of choice

are muddied customs

too oft denied it’s voice

A dawning breath still speaks

of laziness and idle grief

Directionless yet reacquainted

a spirit of tomorrow

For what was lacking

has been replaced

by this loss we share

Shared alongside the wonderful poetry on display over at

 Imaginary Garden With Real Toads for Open Link Monday

A Collector of Things

He had a pension for collecting

objects, 

items, 

         things and toys

covert or frank, 

it didn't matter,

         he saw them each the same

Memories

became objects

                           forever on display

    

                           Mementos to dust and shine

ever adored

                 in the archives of his mind