Storm-Vein

The sap from the trees—everywhere this morning—the midnight storm did a number—Governor is calling for a state of emergency.

“…What about the vagrants? (Why in God’s good name, are those panhandlers positioning themselves at the forefront of my mind, infiltrating my most personal of personal thoughts)”

“got no idea’r dare, couldn’t care less neither, surprise you be askin’”

         “Yeah, me too”

Scattered everywhere—punctured tires from branches—prematurely broken from their mother’s veins.

“This debris’ all o’er the place, we ain’t doin’ shit today, lets see if we can’t make it to Downunder for a cupla cole ones—God, sure hope’s still dare—hope damage din’t make It that nort”

(in a daze, mesmerized by how a simple storm can alter both the familiar and one's ability to perceive abstractly), “yeah… 

...sure hope not”

Head on over to D'Verse, where Open Link Night is in full swing.

Verdict A-Pox-Be

Steel charisma broken free

Congregate amongst

A gaggling of sums

If hope concludes prior to verdict,

Does eternity rest entirely?

Upon such darkened days,

 A judge, man, pretender, garbed in silk—

 Unveils judgments, predicated by mortal law,

As spoken by a chorus of peers

Crowds, the stimulus deprived, crash-watchers

Merge with the anti, all in the name of show

Beneath the guise of justice,

Saunter stands in arrival formation,

Gathering amongst their sects,

There, at such time,

Outside the courthouse—

Beneath its steps,

Chants spew forth—

And the names of the devoutly fallen,

Echo, well prior to any announcement

or final rendering, promoting the semblance

of relation, where deities easily strike a similarity of fear through

Transformation as evinced from bolts flung from clouded cover

In such episodes of regression,

Fate appears predetermined,

Perhaps a cyclicality of prophecy

Shall flood the mental indices

So easily man casts man

Under condemnable outlines

Skirts of what once Is

The color of blood stirring under flesh

Means nothing

The accuracy of ruling is secondary

To the corralling of public sentiment

For the face of the betrayed

Shall eventually watch his last hours dwindle past

Shall eventually see that last mile strolled

Until the color of blood stirring under flesh

Mingles with serum made by flesh

Thus ending any visual reminder

Of the judgments we once crawled begging for

Justice and her scales

May as well reconstruct the garden labyrinth

I’d assume the beast found there

Will lend much more just an ear

Good Ole' Boy

I got a four-door Silverado, and it’s painted black,

Just a good ole boy, detailed front-to-back

Rambling rebel,

Freeway, ninety-to-hell

My flag’s a-been a flying way up there,

About, in that dusty air of my rearview

The fun don’t start a-playing

Till’ you get them rollers stirred

Off-road, on-course

Mud-flaps, of course,

Spinning out and jumping mounds

This damn beast here can do so much more than drive

Branch and bark, part the path

When they see my grill, Chrome’s a-come hunkerin’ down

Trouncing brush at dawn and trampling root at night

Nature coughs to my delight

I got a four-door Silverado, and it’s painted black,

Just a good ole boy, detailed front-to-back

 Just a bit on the lighter side today.  Ever since the Diverse Prompt about getting into the mindset of someone else, I've been doing a bunch of smaller sketches, most are steeped in the humor of personality, this is one of those.

Upon the Battlefields

Surface to air

Contact wounds

Amassing in clots,

Clustered epoxy,

Seeping, from flesh to soul

A revelation amongst balderdash

Revealing the jakes of war-

Chariots afire, travail the thieving scape

While asphalt and cumulus collide in view then break

…and the visions continue

Watercolors and botanicals

Both angles bountiful

Yet inhospitable,

to those who never spoke their tongue

Limbs. Torsos. Sternums. Tibias. Fibulas. Ulnas. Radii

Huddled jigsaws. Amassing carts.

Victor would have a field day in such anarchy of body

This world is inhabitable.

Air is filled with musket fodder

Water contaminated by what keeps us living

The truth materializes within each image

Pituitary cloaks, in division

Possibility, leashed by feral strands

And bounties clipped upon…

Things no man was meant to see.   

Another Tuesday has made it's way.  Another Open Link Night is itching to play.  3 pm the links will appear.  All poets will chant their cheer. Another Pint, Another Poem, Tuesday Night, D'verse owns.  So yes, please join everyone over at D'Verse, for their weekly Open Link Night, where you can submit your offering while enjoying those shared by others.  So hope to see you all there, starting at 3pm.