Monday, April 30, 2012

A Once Young King to Be

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

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, April 29, 2012

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

Friday, April 27, 2012

Wandering With Another's Wardrobe

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.  

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Trying to Find an Amoeba in an Expanse of Filtered Sea

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
         redefining what makes a home   

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

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

Monday, April 23, 2012

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

Sunday, April 22, 2012

A Collector of Things

He had a pension for collecting
         things and toys
covert or frank, 
it didn't matter,
         he saw them each the same

became objects
                           forever on display
                           Mementos to dust and shine
ever adored
                 in the archives of his mind