A Fairy Tale Rightfully Unpronounced

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I.

There are some fairy tales purposely forgotten

Masked scabbard of the Interferon

Embark me now! Harken deep!

Pincers, heather-gray

residing, in the chaos

of the fay

The scope, the breadth—

freshest are the forceps of

wealth, so forcibly inhaled

Squeeze play…last to first

Squeezing…intensely

Rein in the misgiven logic

harness the bit displayed

bridle order, offer reprieve

To a day, unbeknownst, but veritably

In a somatic state of disarray—

        

II.

Covet the uniform less distinguished

than the dignity displayed so prominently upon the crest

One must love

before they hate

         One must hate

         before they can love

each,

alone,

flawed and frayed—

destitute and drowning-in

a parabola of valor

         affixed and spent

         dignified only

by the wash and wring

In-together

refined in the rough edges met/completely

blent/a merger into one—mixing free—to

a place once lost by me

III.

Music is built upon the foundation of every emotion we possess.  We should carefully consider what melodies possess us full.

No longer have we become isolated

no longer has the interlocutor lost his tongue

proscription, no longer in mask or shaded by

the fear of what is laced within belief—

                          

The opposition grows unbearable

we, haunt the fragments that cluster

in despair—in perilous decree—

then, will understand, will see….

all that is alive in the make-belief

world of inspiration found in song

IV.

There are some things we should never wish for or openly accept without dutiful consideration.

Go back forward

thirsting greater

whet for the knowledge never meant to sate—

hidden amidst the decorations are the words

and agility— of thousand-year-old invisible men

Where ginger henpecks snarl forth

and exaggerated bindings scoff retorts

Where scarlet footfalls shed flaked skin

to dais—ever raising until

gone by

to the sounds

of sepulchral tones

fade…

faded…

fading still…until

awake you grow

resurrected

from your bed—

 of pebbles, topping boulders of stone

V.

The bronzed veil of the squandered dove

attracts our prey and walls the dam

from cracks that call…

Erosion marks,

plated tint

fireflies….alive in glint

yet such a flash, bears the seeds—

That correlate the actions of fessing men—

directing us to the locations where

Attributions are all but lost—

where even the squalors flee

this pathetic excuse for symphony

Enter the hyperstatic repository

built upon the domino’s gradated sweetener

and force-fed mortar—by the shaking hands of tankards

alive, if only to cozen the salivation out from within…

pip to pip it effectively simulates a contagion effect

Burbling are the salivary dreams—

Of cuticles brittle, where bristling trumpets signify

the aloof designs for higher power

Impossibly vacant, yet acting out…

solely to manufacture a reason for

assembling….

A sacrificial toolkit, intent on discovering

the phantasms hovering, closely, near

Where candor has played second fiddle to cowardice…

Now. Vis-à-vis, brazen impudence stutters naught—

boldly affronting the dignity dishonored by such weakening

strife’s…

VI.

If vision is the object of your desire, then sight

shall presently appear…

But be forewarned

you may not won’t like

the images you are now to see!

The reavers are coming—

reapers and raiders, cannibalistic kin—

rising, continuously, from infernal abeyancy

The reavers are coming! The reavers are coming!

to purge both blessed and cursed,

to remind all and every

their scourge and bane

Ensconced abrasions quickly form,

from sentient pockmarks to boils forged

The reavers are here

to burn the bridges built up high

The reavers are coming  

Please pray and hide

Until the strong and proud live freely unafraid,

The results you see will remain the same

Until the worst in man can come out,

To produce the true fear buried deeply south

The reavers will come and seek man out

The ferel beasts will not relent

They’ll destroy without regret,

producing widows and widowers

along their seditious course

The youth are spared,

yet only so the scars can breathe

the foul memory

of their death to come

The reavers have never been defeated

never a casualty to claim

they come and crush

and rattle calm

they brutalize the damned

but bow naught their heads

for the countless innocent’s

they’ve also slain

VII. 

The Final Act is always the most disappointing

Eradication begins….

         when we wedlock our sins

Masked scabbard of the interferon

save me now…

         for I’ve lived a thousand years

                  and, as one might surmise,

                           the years have not been kind.

         I’ve never had to beg

                  so please do not make me now

Bear me my golden veil

         for without,

I fear

this reign

will be short-lived

To Rise Again (Greater Heights Have Been Scaled)

Slew foot polygon—a gross manipulator

one in the same—as facts—details—skew the page

for all the ins and outs—

for all the feral symmetry—

for all the finite skills suppressed—

for all the jungle operations hunkered

down—

So deep, that vacuous well—

forever locked—up, down, side x side—

jaw draped—from the random parallels—

between awe—and the every word spoken against, 

in spell—

in prisms—

of polarities—dualities—

beacons—cadmium contrition’s—

acting out—

for the veil of false pretense—

for the guise of diction—

for the holographic mark of time—

for the itch turned untimely cue—

Fate breathers,

henchmen to the idle ones—

content to float through belligerencies—

within broken vessels— meant for

toys, not for man

But who should cast such blame?

Is it he who skips the perfect stone?

Is it she, wielding such a silvered tongue?

or perhaps, it’s just those that need not sweat

yet are still the ones who always get?

the everyman sitting there—

on hands, on knees—trying to find

whatever comes naturally—trying to discover

whatever may come to mind?

—anything, something, anything please—

but what can be done?

but what else is there to do—

when we are many and they are few?

until the skies shift and the tides can turn

we cannot protect against the subsets spurn

when voices meet but never blend

and until they do and we can

 it seems the facts remain the same

that Everyman doesn’t stand a chance

As conditions can’t change

until one voice is heard

as progress can’t begin

until Everyman gathers ears

and states its case

   

The history of mankind is overrun with tales of ordinary men and women fighting the odds and climbing out from the deepest and darkest of pits.  The precedents are right there in the record books, it has been done and can be done again.    

Properties of Being/ A Swallowing Force

I.

Calcium,

Phosphorus,

Sodium,

Collagen, et al…

Three hundred and fifty,

more or less,

internal/external

complexities fuse; connect

   to form the shell

neural pathways spark

firing in rhythmic frustration

There is more; there is much more,

all of which can be explained,

rearranged and explained again

But there is always a question to explore,

what’s & how’s flood the premise, and

most probably will, for forever more.

II.

a mass of

this element or that

irresistible force,

impossible To outlast

repetitive and automatic,

circumstantially unknown

the spiral column embraces visibility

process of removal by aspiration, by force

an action, a condition, an unfortunate attraction,

attracting all items within its force-filled path,

 by a differential in pressure, bringing towards,

around and around and around, spinning

water, fire and/or wind

whirling…Whirling…

forcefully whirling

Vortex, eddy, tourbillion

ravaging, ravaging

impossible

to avoid

Maelstroms’

agitated, ever-agitated

all consuming

whirlwind

Caste Contrast

An occupation, a career

In some sets

Truly do, make the man

Apollonian skylines

Contrast the turbulent thrash

Within the waves of Dionysian tides

Argots, each, them all

Burnt petals

Scattering threads of sole

Seedlings linger now

They are strewn to sow,

         Within some other soiled bed:

And hence, wherewithal corrodes calabash

While papyrus stains

 That which shall be penned

Regardless—

A blue book for the common

Cheaply proffered

Deeply resonating in

The karmic flesh Of disillusioned kin

The Hunters, they hunt

The Farmer’s acreage wide

As the Love’s

Play promiscuity—in games of lust aside

In the barns and cathedrals,

In the fields unsowed

In the trees above horizon lines

In the alleys and sewers beneath

Born unto a surname

Inflicted with its toil

An inheritance of talents—

         You pray never to need

Centuries ripple blistered deep

Freshly painted eyes still see

The same ills at folly,

Yet play…has grown a conscious too

Those men and children sleeping

Shivering in their makeshifts

Relying on the roving self-titled Samaritans,

To bear alms

Instead of spittle from gnashing teeth

All the while the maidens in stockings blue,

Prepare diligently

For the feasts their soirees expect them

to keep

 It's another Tuesday and as seems to be the trend these past few weeks I've had periods of one thing or another come and hamper me. Anyhow, Tuesday has become a sacred day, a day for Poetry, therefore, try we must.

Head on over to D'Verse, where Open Link Night is in full effect.  Check out the number of outstanding contributors and even submit a poem of your own.  It's a great time for any who deeply appreciate the art of poetics.

Knowledge and Logic Walk Into a Bar...

Pyrotechnics

Flames profound

Instrumental

Sounds surround

Linguistic

Words abound

Paradoxical

Worlds allowed

Scientific

Strands alone

Knowledge

The breadth of form

Technical

Codes are found

Rotational

Spits turn round

Vertical

Ups and downs

Logic

And where it takes me

Radical

Shields erect

Rationale

Teasing tricks

Symphonic

Harmonies in bliss

Seasonal

Spirits align

Knowledge

Abreast in form