Visions from Another Place ( The Conduit Volume Three-Subset I)

image by Manu Pombrol

The wicked tempests devour whole,

Yet these “savages” 
are neither restless nor retired,

On an island nation much different than our own

a palace stands still

Despite walls of crumbling stone,

A "king" rules with scepter high

upon a throne salvaged from 

citizens, denizens and constituencies

Being no match for the monkeys,
that dangle and swing
from those decapitated trees of dream

a prince cannot conspire
like the ne’er-do-well 
who's ever quick to swallow,

w
o
r
d
s    un
          spoken
                     
Yet they each have their own
semblance of faith, 
that,
when deconstructed
illustrates potential
possibilities 
as to how

Some things still
remain stronger  
than the pervasive
howls and oppressively
toned splintering
screams

of slivers-

etched and tuned,
the unreachable palaces
housing those
delinquencies within

Some call it shrapnel
others karma

I say relief,
for the print could be
much smaller and


the level could've risen higher

The king breathes shallow
as ink dries to skin


this tumbled tomb
paints parables
of irony

For it was the medic
 who's back turned wayside

a distance from events 
and shame-less-

He stands, as a leader should,

preaching to minions 
who just happened to be


a people much stronger 
than the illness he freed


This is a poem I originally posted last March.  I've reissued it, with a few changes and have linked to the Fortresses, Castles, Palaces and Royal Houses prompt for Poetry Picnic Week 33


as well as for Magpie Tales 115

One Transgression (The Conduit Volume Three)

Too weak to wallow

Too broke, too shallow

The deep end never looked so promiscuous

As it does when the preservers were set to sea,

One note sold the lot

One word healed the clot

One dynamic turnaround

One transgression brought it all down,

Weakness and poverty,

Which is the chicken, and whom the egg?

Is one a condition of the other?

Or cast-off from a plot much more diverse,

Are all these thoughts minor?

Should I care even, or

Should I allow them all to go forgotten?

Salvation is internal

Pity is external

Seeking redemption is steeped in between the two

Slicker ( The Conduit Volume Two)

Slicker for a misty morn

Slicker in the afternoon

Than the drive on in,

Coastal plains

And high tide rising,

Disparaged looks

Mesmerizing

A pock upon a legacy

Once proud in the command they sought

Now soured from a pain it brought

Boughs and rafters

Complex and terrible

Side-winding lobbyists

With knees composed of blisters

Slicker than the day before

The moments after the ones prior

Alive a gust blew, alive it tore

Out from the mouth, into the pyre

I do not command these vocal Socrates

I am but a man, trapped within the shell of another man

From which visions are spoken to other men

Stained Brick ( The Conduit Volume One)

Marrow stained along the wall

Words entrusted to us all

Dank and dreary

Dark and scary

The life of a conduit

Sometimes the message is misinterpreted

When it was written to be understood

There’s violence in the wind

Tall and thin, stout or miniscule

Each developing link

Connects to the chain before,

Facial muscles twitch

Inspired to believe

Bodies tremble

Quakes, shakes, tics and tremors

They like I

Wish to know,

To understand

Who it is that speaks, who the words are intended for?

Before The Aftershock (The Conduit-Prequel)

Conduit I’ve been called,

The words I cannot recall,

Many thoughts rush vapidly

Many hearts beat in synchronicity

The rhythm patter

The fluidity

My mind processes the information much too slowly

Deep inside I drift away

Eyes roll back

Witnessing the observations to be had within,

Then for a varying length of time, each different,

All consciousness is lost,

What happens during this frame of time?

I have no recollection,

I dare not attempt,

The warnings were not meant for me