Reason for Detour

listen to ‘reason for detour’ on Audioboo

You found me in this state

A condition deplorable

And yet you held my hand

 and talked me down

I clutched my heart

And in you

I found

Reason

For

Detour…

I found you in that state askew

A position unenviable

With tears ragged and obtuse

Upon violet pegs you share yourself

every incensed shards of truth

         not knowing which path to walk toward

or how quickly pain absorbs, the delicate insides

                  the repressing pangs of time,

         unaware of what comes next,

                  was impossible to guess

         But as it turned out

         All you needed was someone to care for

                  Somebody to love you to the core

A person, someone

                           Who only needed you, and exactly all of

What you had to offer

        

         And I

So willingly found you

         In mirrored fractures

In mirrored fractures of disheveled decree

But together,

in each other,

each reflection makes the other

as is intended to see

as is intended to see

as is intended to be

Head on over to D'verse and enjoy some of the best poetry anywhere. Will be doing the same myself after a quick nap, but in bed, on the Ipad, so hopefully it won't be too difficult to comment or what not.  OLN is by now three hours old and I can hear the pub rocking from here.  So head on over…

A Principle of Division

table salt—

sodium-chloride

locking in

another flood in wait

cupboard’s dusty—

an extension

of what we keep

for sustenance

in our jars of clay—

tamper-proof—preventing

another early wake

end. point. turn.

a new arithmetic has been observed—it crushes on the physical geometry we just have to learn—an ancillary construction’s hiding space—a distraction, a disgrace—a fake stir of optimism—for a scene based entirely upon pessimistic sets of codes—when discovery disrupts the guise we had formed, it disassembles all the equations we’ve ever known—the only beauty we’ve ever worn—deconstructing our place of home.

a nauseous  epidemic.

anxiety laden nerves. 

paranoid—and rightly so—

an underworld erected—from the trust and freedom love’s allotted us.

From the many we make few—the espionage grows and grows until it tires too—loneliness abounds, even when good hearts surround and the graphed parabolas never fail; they never fall—

self placed Landmines erupt-explode—triggered by the auxiliary education we so foolishly thought we would need to know—because of form, logic lost—a probability gambled upon, one too which the odds we thought we could beat—yet blinded by the arcs and shape—we deemed it a chance we had to take—opportunities like this are rare—amnesia of all we had simply disappears—all that was gets strained then lost— the superficial signs that led us astray—the most negative of causalities—where no one wins and the opportunity to start again—well, that die had been long since tossed—

alone again—first time since, what’s it been? Twenty-five years or so—empty house, empty home—friends grew busy, friends don’t answer their phones—all for what, all for what? Twenty-four-thirty-six-twenty-four—just numbers, random-strange—just memories—what an accomplishment—even if I chose to speak the lore—just look at me, look at me—even I wouldn’t believe a single word—strike that—I’d believe the part about the guy that’s lost it all.

end.

point.

turn-

where?

Of Porcelain and Snow

of bark,

a daggered dress

remains

teacup stains of pearl,

of shard,

a charcoal tint

blessing

marbled stones in gaze

of flame,

a wick—blustered

root—wrenched

tress—stamped to palm 

of clay  

a ruffled wing

plucking

sky-dress tattered pink

of puddle—

rubbered soles

skitter

citrine rippling wake

 Over at D'Verse they're hosting their FormForAll and this week the prompt deals with the connection between classical Chinese and Japanese poetry.  Blue Flute guest posted a tremendous write-up and asked us to compose a piece using tangible imagery.  I did my best here, and not entirely sure how this piece came to be, as  I started writing about fluffy yellow rabbits, easter-eggs and green straw and then somehow this disturbing piece of the uncaring/unseeing eyes of society, ignorant to those desperately in need of help.  Quite frankly, not sure if I should be concerned or not.   

Also, side-note here, I think I fixed the word-verification thing that I guess somehow appeared at my site.  So, if someone could just drop a yes or no in with their comment, if, in-fact, it has been pulled.  Thanks   

Elder States

Polluted tadpole

Cracked and distilled

Jupiter’s child upon

Rings of clay

                  Cantankerous curmudgeonly

                  Broken, record scratches back at

                  The muse.

                  All the while,

                  The repetition reminds us of

                                             Gyrations affixed

                                             Upon sticks of lunar might be

                                             Ribbons of deranged hypotheses

Of forgiveness

Alone, a light

To match, the strike

Of promiscuity away,

From Ecclesiastic rage—where shadows

Meant for the naïve, those wanderers unattended to,

Not intended for, beacon the wayward star-struck, structures

Divulged of both ether and fidelity

So sad, at this, twilit, late stage of night

Where pine promotes its eternal scents,

And the odor of stagnancy,

Fragrances prophetic foreshadow

Wafting amongst unsympathetic heirs

…And the sound, it sounds a little less familiar,

Than how it ought to, as the timeline trails.

Another Tuesday, Another Open Link Night. I Love Tuesdays and if you enjoy poetry you should too.  Head on over to D'Verse, check out some great poetry and share one of your own.  The Pub opens at 3.