A Communion Of Souls

Staging and pealing,

Twisting and reeling,

Rolling towards the webbing

Caressing every regret with an ebb-like flow

The striation is a pattern,

A crazy design weaving forth its amber,

A designation ready to remember,

What it means to truly to have a love that can and will only continue to grow

From fore to aft, side to side

An angular procession, blending to and fro

All that is inside and all that forever shall be

Surrounding every memory you forge anew

It’s all a mystery enveloped in a personal,

Yet universally illustrated Mise en scene,

Only polarity can show the frayed and the perfected—

Forever discovering the artistry, what’s already known,

What’s yet to be seen—whether pristine or faded with flaw

The wild hair’s accosting,

Grasping the ventricles of air

The passion fills the tempest

With the most impossible of stares

It’s an airy companion,

Holding true the prophecies of the divine—

Blending history to the present, merging and melding

Yet again, into whatever, however devotion

Will choose to paint tomorrow’s lines

There’s a breeze across the valley

Engulfing the sated and the hungry—(Here’s a secret)—

The craving never stops—yet, the wisdom of the moment,

Is the enchantment that the frozen mind steals from the soul—ever a reminder, to remain open to the thoroughfares of life—whether pretty or demonic, the colorations and the prism’s of attraction, exist if one desires to search—in which, he or she will then proceed to find

The wizardry in wishing,

An automatic cauldron,

Taking chances as it’s misting overflows

Moonbeams and the dewy drops of stars

Holding tight the apprentice

With a glance espied by tenets wide and far,

A portraiture of awe, a sculpture of splendor—artwork

That only the ancient muse dares define

Couldn’t be more romantic

If her eyes ensnared my own,

Invigorating this flora with each vine that love emotes

Casting forth one vision

     Opening a common sensing,

              A sight that’s only present

In a communion of souls

                  Imagine a world where the exterior truly reflects the beauty that is ever there, always and forever near

Over at D'Verse we're discussing the majesty and mystery of all things beautiful.  I'll be hosting Poetics tonight and would love for you to enchant your night by sharing your own work of beauty and reading all the beauty shared by others.  Tonight's a night for the Beautiful, and I can't wait to find out just how the poetry will ignite us with inspiration and the Beauty that is, of course, everywhere and found within every one and every thing.  

A Hierarchy of Angels

Forgive me if I fail to see

The flattery in your Joie de vivre

Correct me if I’m insincere

In disregarding the context of your cheer

What’s left tomorrow is often the rejected

Frames of today

Distinguish yourself through honor

Open your heart to verite and

All the lies will fade away

Forgery of purpose is impossible

If dedication is one’s only vice

Destitution of promise is but

A reflection of internal strife

To calm such seas in tumult

Simply intuit the breath, exhaling

All denials and debilitating thrush

And such is the way

And such is the path

     To delve fully in such direction

     Is to submit to potent tracts

In truth there is forgiveness

In strength one finds the gravity of love

     In harmony there lives a peaceful serenade

     Serenity one could almost touch

As one walks the valleys of the parent

All allegories are revealed

When one accepts all that is as what is served

There will be a hierarchy of angels revealed

Heart Song's Devastation Device

Corridors of ancillary porticos and retractable switchblades, Macrocosmic sentry’s patrolling the scenery’s v-cut scape,

In their boots, the sole is clothed in lathered concrete—

Worn

Sworn

Torn

Devastate

It is but a foundational approach of beheading—An arsenals instrument, still clanging, even on into the post-mortem survey of disciplinarian design.  Shackles are chafing the inner thigh—its lines are brutal and corrupt, bankruptcy in a cauldron of maleficence, proposing nightly, during the encore, upon the stage crafted by a lightning strike—filibusters become the lucre, the damning suet of exsanguinated space

Damned.

Crumbs

Of

Neer-do-alls

Devastate

And then the heart sings, in putrid voices made from crocodile tears. They are all combusting at a euphoric pace, blinding the children and heiresses alike.  With dreams of tomorrow, they thank you for the kindness you share with them now. Their liner notes have since been blurred, recollection transformed into an absurd shade of paste-framed blonde. 

Devastate

Alleviate

Pulsate

Palpitate

Crush.

Swing.

Heart-aches

This sculpted axe swings it’s arms short to long. While the pastry chef expands his tonsils, still reddened by the convoluted inhalations that have merged too often with the birth canals of silent screaming.  Squelch. I love that word. It’s influx settles high. Into, and exchanged from without, the assistance of a predisposed effigy, some creature you wish you never had known, all this, during the moment of argh.  The agony of the ecstasy…the shifting sounds of sighing SHHHHHHHH’s!!! And listen, to the highways divided and the sky, as it sends forth its parade of effervescence, one, not yet diluted by life’s hologynic rapture—

Diodes

Implement

Salvation

To those

Of us,

Those among us,

That still cares….

I sing with a vociferous tongue.

My heartstrings are frayed

My range has betrayed my trust

Drawing mute, I reflect and clutch,

Unto a prismatic unveiling,

A claw used to scratch away the damnedest itch..

Simply put

Devastation,

Devastation to,

The most heart-curdling degree

Shared with the outstanding poets at D'verse for the incredibly potent evening of poetry that is Open Link Night.  Haven't had the time to properly spend swimming the seas of poetry lately. I've been in the middle of something and trying to figure things out for myself logistically in the meanwhile.  Writing alone has been much more sparse than I'd like.  I have done a fair share of writing lately, but still far too less than I'd like.  But again, it is something that I'm working on, trying to regain the groove of writing and reading the amazing poetry that is available across the world daily in the poetry blogging universe.  Hopefully things will trend back and soon for me.  However, until the end of the month at least, I doubt I'll get much time online, let alone the time to write and read, as I'll be taking a flight out west for that time and while I'll have my Ipad handy, it's the wifi only kind, so, I'm somewhat at the variable fate of wifi availability.  Anyhow, for those who follow regularly, thanks, I do appreciate it, and again, hopefully I'll get back into a regular routine sooner than later.  Until then, thanks for being there and bearing with me as I attempt to logistically sort things out.

A Mother's Day Poem (True Love Is A Blessing, A Blessing Words Can Not Possibly Give Thanks Enough)

You are my mother

I owe you all

My hair, my eyes

My chin, my brow

I can never repay the debt I owe

A debt you never thought about before

A debt you would most adamantly refuse to spell

For, good or bad,

For right or wrong,

I am that glimmer that can’t be drowned

To you, I am that perfection you’ll always dote upon

              I am the ideal within each your songs

              The only place to feel home when I feel drowned

              The one true space when I feel less than strong

And in you, I see the good in me

You are the mirror, ever showing the best sides of my reality

             And in you, I am told I am the best that’s ever been

You instill belief, which still breeds a possibility,  

That deep beneath my every sin, you’ll only ever see the good within

          

         You are my mother, the only one there could have been

         And I’ve been blessed to be your son

         You are my mother, the best any could ever choose as home

         You’ve given all, all for me

         From the right to breathe, to this flesh and bone

         I can never repay for the life you’ve given,

Nor can I give thanks enough, for teaching me to bet,

The man to which I’ve grown into

And what you’ve given is all you could

My accomplishments, my feats

Owe homage to you deeply,

Yet my maladies are not a burden you can own

Those are on fate and me alone,

And despite the powerlessness in your stare

You still always find a way to push the boundaries in your own flair

Love’s the light that guides the blind

And love’s the thing I think of when I dream

A spotlight on all in life, the power, the gift of mind

A sacred verse never out of sight

A passage and direction, always caring, ever here

You are my mother, a fact I’m blessed to own

The one thing I wouldn’t change if I even could,

A reality so profound, it makes even the darkest of days

A reality clearly understood and entirely well pronounced.

And each night before I close my eyes,

I say an extra prayer, for all the unborn

Children yet to come, to be so lucky

To have a mother who loves them even half as much

As you’ve always showered your love on me.