Sunday, May 20, 2012

The Thirst

I’d drink you as you are
All tastes, contoured evermore
The slightest kiss, my very dream
         Intricate aromas begin
                  Captured through the natural snifters of aromatic skin

Delicate, fragile, suited small
         Interlaced, bijou designs—
 Attracted to and likely equaling—effects
Of a hypnotic kind—as
evinced by Mesmer’s magnetism 

         Rectangular, imprisoned baguette gem
Dry as seen cut—past the diamond’s point of polishing
         Long and narrow dreams commenced
As you supply the nourishment
         And I
Stand offering all I have—
Are the showy-cheap, these baubles kept
         Like those amassed, within a jester’s bag—
Brittle mornings, barren crisp
         Flavored first as delicate
                  Just a time before,
I stand, crumbling, like the friable
         So easily reduced
To an ethereal powdered state—
         Infirmed, weak, slight and shivering
Dainty, frail, splintered some
         A dalliance—toyed to be
Humorous— to all but me, degenerating
         Here, in this soft and worn
Eroded form—built to rust as beads fall
         Oxidized and perishable

Though light can ripple cross my pane
         Causing both shadows and rainbows alike
It’s all a mirage and nothing more,
A place where reflections face their death,
It’s just me standing there, in a version you’ve never met
It’s not glass that you’ll then see
         It’s me, stripped bare—vitreous and shattering
Ceramic hearts often break
With dirges and the sounds they make

Footprints testing fate
Sprinting across a lake
Crackling deep below
The surface though shows
A slight ripple here and there
But eyes formed by a porcelain mold
Nary espy the fracture’s folds

Yes. The luster can be bright
And sighs may point to tallowed signs
Fat and rich, solid lines creped amidst
These pseudo tiles that are seemingly smooth,
Yet below the façade it then appears—that this
Shiny surface here, all the while seen as crystal clear,
also holds those facets to which believers fear—
the kind creation paled and dulled—that enameled shell
with brightness still, yet here and now, the chips do not make
the picture whole-complete

Water’s floe ferments
In glasses deep we drink away
Those faulty memories debased and gray

There shall come a point, soon I do think,
Where the drought will paint these goblets a wretched dry—
Leaving their bellies parched and dead

A fiasco stands alone
Where, if lucky, a caster may,
Sprinkle respites to the day

Ponies, Magnums, Pilsners—dark
Beakers, phials, tubes—testing ‘til there grows a spark

Flagons, Flasks, tumblers, Noggins, steins
Vessels a-beached upon arid lands
With structures where but dead soldiers stand

Demijohns and Decanters, Ewers, carafes
So much room inside, a disparaging remembrance
Of where we are and in what we lack

And so, our prayers are sent up high
Wishing our cups would fill soon and nigh

With the darkness already breaching the day
We need not drop the blinds or fold the drapes
But simply bow our head and hope our dreams ascend

Chalices and grails
Kneel for wine
Cruets and Ampullas
Holding fast for the altar still

Awaiting an alembic purity
To bestow us a gift; yes we understand we ask too much
And now, in such dire straits of barren thirst, I do believe
This time, we shall make our promises work… I do so pray

Please…please afford us this one last chance
…and although it shan’t be myself… at least offer alms
upon those that have given thanks in prayer…please…please
do not make them suffer for the cruelty that the others wear…


Years past and centuries too
Cups have been overfed
And yet…for granted
Man has taken
All that the
Lord has

A last splash of wet
Whets the sandy shores

A final drop of rain
Blesses the burning pavement’s coals

And the earthenware’s crushed
The adobe walls have collapsed
Argil, baked—sundried clay
In ruins again

Perhaps one day
Our potsherds will
Be found

If only our ancestors
Learn to pray…

Perhaps then
The children shall
Play in the moisture
Of the day

And perhaps
The crystals
will shine



  1. nice...i am an oddball today...i like the odd stanzas the best...the first, i love how you engage the senses early on and this one speaks of love...the third, way to start with a killer opening couplet....and then the call in the last that maybe our next generation will get it better than us...nice....enjoyed the listen as well, nice kinda gravel in your voice...

  2. Great spin around from beginning to end, the sin and a little hope trend. Another fine job here at your sea and now it's back to NY for me.