Infernal Curiosity

Got an itch, got an itch

Fire-red brightly shines

Like a shock of culture in a

Numbing state—Quake

Erupt, embellish the truth and

Watch it rust, flash to dust

Watch it rust, flash to dust

Nightly neon, galactic dolls

Shake their triumphs down the halls

Broken record, playing loud

Blasting forward, dismissing sound

Got an itch, got an itch

Scratching the fever from beneath the skin

Digging deep, deep down in

Digging deep, deep down in

Flamethrower, nitro-sun, blazing bright, blazing bright

Elapsed inferno, tin-tied tongue, shedding light, shed it’s light

Conflagrating fire, burning flames within

Heat is rising; sky’s ablaze, blackening earth, searing skin

Waiting on salvation, praying, that this bug’s been tamed

Waiting for salvation, hoping it’ll end this infernal pain

Temperatures are rising; smokescreen’s filling frame

Hoping for a flashflood, a drowning man’s beckoned

Hoping for a flashflood, to quench the thirst this fire’s sprung

Praying for the rain to come, MAKE IT RAIN, MAKE IT RAIN

To wash away temptation, to alleviate the flames

To damper down the charring and drench the thirst we crave

Douse and spin, Douse and spin

Heaviest downpour, Ferocious wind

Takes away the fire, absolves us from the sin

All comes to a standstill, a silent time for all

Everything’s grown quiet, no motion, no more calls

But it only takes one spark to smolder

Just one drop to light another, to ignite and stir

The accelerant at play, erupting forth, riling up flame’s astray

All to burn and burn again—for mankind’s fire’s yet been slain

Central Waters

listen to ‘Central Waters’ on Audioboo

A varied strain upon forgetful sins

where therapeutic measurements

may strangely dictate, a stance of

protracted ignorance when deep

bruising’s unearth— It is often

sage advice, to shatter all and any,

large to shard, splices of contradiction

that could undermine the shared experience

of the truthful tone—

Breaking this façade, where all time heals old wounds, in

mental mannerisms bound to suffering, is but a known agitation of

the scars of ones past, buried, interred well beyond what

even surface logic could detect, is but a diviner of internal

justice, foretelling the honesty that pervades this directionless

mass of indiscretion, known, to this point, as the last known remnants

of what was but a partially-lived, previous existence.

Vague perimeters are constructed,

shielding feral interference from indiscriminately rearing its unwelcomed range of questioning—the signals spike when patterns of

detrimental discourse are urged before a susceptible crowd….we ask not, what eventually becomes of such words….

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to see what you could find

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

with deception burdening your mind

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to see if still a light could shine

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

yet the lies have bound you blind

To discover what is delivering concurrent

is but a vestige of re-creation, a smiting taste

of the venom, in which forced us from our homes

Unknowingly this led us in search of new terrain,

offering many tears to shed, for the boundaries blurred before

yet, in spite of intent, you re-acclimate the buried strains

siring futures laced by burden; inciting…an advanced discourse of pain 

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to find yourself a home

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

to evade those forces unopposed

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

for the promise of rebirth

You came to CENTRAL WATERS
for the lore spoken of in poem

Instead of finding freedom

you’ve spread the shackles of disdain

despite the promise spoken of in verse

your presence has once again, awoken forth this curse

They took you in, they cleansed your wounds and made

you, a stranger, one of their own—only to become a facsimile of the place you’ve tried run from

Where at first promise flourished amidst your grasp,

all seemed deistic to such the whetted glance—but

paradise, to an infectious scourge, is but a wealth for

this virus to explore—

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

thinking the past had been disowned

You came to CENTRAL WATERS

with only the best intentions planned

Yet, as is the case with purity,

it only takes but a singular encounter

to forever redefine its form

Yet, as is the case with poetry,

it harvests all emotion, as the tempest’s seeds be sown

where infliction redresses its viral chords

bludgeoning the innocent’s chaste accord

with an evil…an evil distinctly your own…

Another Tuesday is upon us, and the lovely Natasha is tending bar over at D'Verse for Open Link Night.  Make sure you stop on by and enjoy the amazing poetry that permeates the night.  

On a side note, been kind of out of it the past few days, really didn't get much of anything accomplished.  I did get a chance to read, Manic Daily's wonderful posting about the "Unexpected," she wrote for this past Saturday's Poetics though. 

I also read through many of the poems linked up, and have to say, I just didn't have it in me to reply, to do much of anything really, but out of the twenty or thirty poems I personally was able to read, outstanding is the word that consistently came to mind.   It was a great theme, and I actually spent a good deal of time pondering it, to which, sparked an idea for a short story.  For those with the time and care to read, I did post it over at my wordpress site.

On Our Walk

Stop on over to the New World Creative Union for their Wednesday Wake Up Call.  It's great creative fun that you'll look forward to each week.  This week we're prompted to return to our comfort zones.  They're also discussing fairy tales, nursery rhymes and the lot.  All in celebration of Pat's newest Book.

I wrote this a while back, but I think it fits in with this week's Wake-Up theme.  Well, anyhow...


Please listen to the recording, to get the full flavor of the piece.

listen to ‘On our Walk’ on Audioboo

I went for a walk with my nieces two…

Down the street and by the school…

The three of us watching all there was to see

‘twas when appeared the first so free

little birdie spoke to we

tweet, tweet, tweet

and so our little walk grew to four

the girls said they hoped for more

until we glanced a monkey in a tree

tossing banana peels with glee

…..ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

The bird returned and spoke its mind

Tweet, tweet, tweet

And now our little walk had climbed to five

The girls loved how the group thrived

And on we went a little more

‘twas when we met a little cat

who thought he was so mighty fat

Meow he called to us

To which the monkey and the bird replied

And now our little walk grew to six

The girls loved the mix

Until there came a cow so tame,

It chimed its bell and spoke it’s name

Moo, moo, moo

And the bird replied in kind

The monkey chose to speak its mind

The cat went meow

And so our little walk turned to seven

The girls thought this was animal heaven

Until we saw duck

Quack, quack, quack

The cow said hello

The monkey then did bellow

While the bird went tweet

And the cat meowed with intent

As our little walk became eight

The girls thought this was so great

Until we saw a frog,

ribbit

Playing games on his log

They said hello, but the monkey yawned

The cat meowed and the bird went tweet

The cow was quiet, but soon he did greet

While the duck simply quacked by its feet

what began as three was now nine

The girls thought this walk was mighty fine

Until we came to a little dog

Chained up still barking a song

And the Cat went Meow

The Bird did tweet

The monkey spoke

And the frog took a poke

Then the cow went moo

While the duck always kept his cool

As our little walk became ten

the girls have always loved our walks since then 

For those of you that enjoy children's stories, I highly recommend you stopping by Pat Hatt's Site, where he has links, or simply going to Amazon and searching for his name.  You'll find a series of kiddie books, which are all very good, enjoyable for kids and adults alike.

The Thirst

listen to ‘The Thirst (Parts I-III)’ on Audioboo

listen to ‘The Thirst (Parts IV and V)’ on Audioboo

I.

I’d drink you as you are

         Nonpareil

All tastes, contoured evermore

                  Paragon

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—

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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…

V.

Years past and centuries too

Cups have been overfed

And yet…for granted

Man has taken

All that the

Lord has

Given

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

Again