The Bones of A Water-Logged Persistence (Swimmer's Lilt)

A hospitable transmutation—

         Converting nature to nature and form to form

A morpheme unexpected

Provides an individuality all it’s own

Where in duodenum, a plurality’s construed

While in jejunum, emptiness is found after death,

The ileum is the tertiary of the small

It connects to the Cecum, a pouch, uniting the small to large

Phenotypic variation is essential

when evolving from shallow to deep

Genetic pools that drown us under—

A quick flushing finds a tide reigning upon sensation

If not for the (sick) gills mutation’s provided

I’d have floated jetsam like the rest—unable to

Find stowage in some (ill-tempered) future’s ark

         Yet I can swim, and I’m free to swim

Even in these predatory seas,

         I still have a chance, I still have chance, water-wings and all

An extremely late entry to this week Open Link Night over at D'Verse.

My niece brought home a nasty cold from day care a few weeks ago, and I had thought I escaped it's wrath, but last Wednesday I awoke feeling quite miserable, which of course I poo-pooed aside, as a case of getting out of bed on the wrong side.  Well, as the day progressed, so did the bug.  Needless to say I got some medicine and for the most part hadn't really left the house too much since then.  Outside of a couple visits to the store for necessities and a foolish jaunt to the movies on Sunday when I was feeling better, (relapse anyone?), pretty much been a sleep fest with a side of chicken soup.  Well, feeling much better now, but not going to make the same mistake twice, going to keep laying low for the next couple of days until I'm confident this bug is gone for good, which I'm able to do.  Funny thing, it's the first case of unemployment actually allotting me anything of benefit:)  

So, anyhow, haven't been writing really much of late.  But I happened to find the framework of the piece I'm posting right now, which I tweaked a little bit right now, as I didn't want to miss out on OLN and the great company of the D'Verse poets.  So, hopefully I'll be up to speed come tomorrow for tomorrow's event.  I am hopeful that'll be the case, as, (knock on wood), -actually knocking-I am actually feeling much better.  Anyhow.  Quit reading this and head on over to D'verse for the last few hours of Open Link Night. Cheers.

Pain, Perfunctory, Resolute

Wisdom walked through endless shadows

plucking virtue from the vineyards that remained

Dancing beguiled, tripping over lantern’s light

searching for every surprise in your attempts to stun the moon

Serendipity scowls, for the lineament is under contempt, in which spasmodic corridors direct forlorn heartbeats.

Despair follows.

Huntress, oh you and your dart, crouching still within that bush, stirring deceptive javelins from a hibernation desperate for a deep sleep, drawing thus the ire of it’s fight

Pain, perfunctory, resolute

Directives Born Deep In

listen to ‘Directives Born Deep In’ on Audioboo

Hip out, gait is locked

Stagger, stagger, throb

Throb, throb, stagger on

Tourniquets separated

Create apartheid tween

The numb and warm

…here flesh be tampered with

trod upon , with heels twisting, twisting

in turn, turning into, such a twisted halt

if where what was, only to at first regain balance,

they grind about still well after, after realizing it

is not the beach that they writhe upon…

The skin’s been known, to

Ever so slowly retract, explode,

As do the granulated bits expunged

From vase to sea…

Fine, fine fragments, found

Broken, templates blurred, then bound,

life lags, lingering long, across the tides and

through the ponds, where waves lament the flooding components of a time torn upon, spun, into a peril, unwound, unwrapped, by the crying wilderness that remains, untamed, to this day, a time untrained, to see beyond the passions of those emotions denying safe passage to and from,

With or without such directives that were to be, so directly implicated into what would be, a vision, THE vision,

and now, that vision is nothing more than a vision, one that has  destructed, distracted many more seamen far, far greater than thee, sailors with visions of their own, dreams, dreams that often rappel the journey’s leg up high, way beyond horizon’s sky, unto those lines, lines that coat the crags and corners of a soon to be, mountain-yet-to-be-scaled and flagged…and, and, and…it still climbs

Past the precipice one can’t peak

Through the tunnels sight can’t see

Within the quivering voice that cannot speak such languages purposely composed as being left intently incomplete as to where it’s words, are words made from sounds, sounds the tongue simply wont learn

And they swirl about,

Through each canal

Down the blockades path,

through the perimeters caged off

and bent.

Yet…. it’s all but noise

You cannot hear the voice

as it never truly says anything

Not until

This moment

Where the lock is picked

And the trellis falls

Leaving vines, vines, various and tall,

They are

Sprouting up

And shooting out

Where duets at dawn

Find the through and through, a down-ward arc, spiral in reverse, noticing the fortifications of a sun yet born, wherein fortifying all it’s every form

By, and with, its trademark limp

you are collected

along with your wavering will,

somewhat assertively, mind you,

Some days we make

Some days we are made

from model clay,

from collages painted

from a palette of images

you’ve been collecting

ever since you first departed the

weaving womb,

here the seamstress sews a carving breath,

ever birthing the unburied banalities

that somehow always freshen the scenes, the scent

that you

and you

alone

tend to

See…

A talisman

One To guide?

              If then, then I ask,

 to where?

Stop on over to D'Verse, where, like every Tuesday, Open Link Night takes over the poetic communities all over the world.  The doors open up at 3 pm, with the first poems being served up shortly after.  Every week is an adventure and a revelation, make sure you stop by and take all the poetry in.  See you there.

A Love Like This

listen to ‘A Love Like This (Poetry)’ on Audioboo

Under deepest pretense I watch the rippling tears, of opaque denial smiling askew, their echoes unleash lost memories and frayed forgiveness’s to which I’ve ever clutched to tight, yet release they do now as my heart’s seen, submerged in the tidal pools that stream forth from the spillage cast from rivers in your eyes

So long’s been the search, and to culminate in such a fashion I must default to the pathetic state, where arrangements of aperture-stops obliquely serrate the futures light, stinging subtly the stylus song in the familiar chords of doubt and dread

Hysteria you’ve bred in me, a sacristy, where unlike the cruelty found in the offerings of others, I find it impossible to dissect, difficult to release, myself, my being and all the reflections compartmentalized deep inside

I hesitate, second-guessing the sweetness you’ve showered unto me— for without castration, and lacking all traces of a scarring probability, I must cling upon caution’s wings, to protect and defend from the pain the usual cruelty brings

Where the all well too known poignant daubing drapes across this tattered stretch of canvassed flesh, where the only proof, the only residue to exist, is the signature of the artist, scratching deep below the chest, invisible yet it’s deadly ink persists

Scintillating moments, two irons, pressing heat upon heat, ready to combust at first peak, yet holding out, simply to maximize the extent of steam and scent.  I’m embarrassed to admit that this is all unusual to my repertoire, I’m having difficulty grasping hold of what might come next, and this, alone, paints me vulnerable, when alone with you

Expurgated are the demon’s and their kin evicted from my soul, and chastised, severely, for the roles they’ve played in keeping me so far from your side. And exiled are the damaged songs, each replaced by the savage innocence personified by you

Under deepest pretense, I surrender wholly unto you.  I pray you will be all my imagination makes you out to be, where love is but a word, a term to give definition to, the combinatory blending of souls, alive, adrift upon a deeply profound and bountiful sea.

In French:

Sous le plus profond prétexte, je regarde les larmes ondoyantes de déni opaque, sourire de travers, leurs échos libérer souvenirs perdus et le pardon effiloché, à laquelle je n'ai jamais embrayé sur serré, encore libérer ils le font maintenant, que mon cœur a vu, submergée, dans le les bassins de marée qui afflue du déversement jette-le loin des rivières dans tes yeux

Donc, est depuis longtemps la recherche, et d'aboutir à un tel mode, je dois par défaut à l'état pathétique, où des dispositions de l'ouverture-arrêt oblique dentelées la lumière à terme, de picotement subtilement la chanson stylet, dans les accords familiers de doute et de crainte

Hysteria vous avez élevés en moi, une sacristie, où la différence de la cruauté dans les offres des autres, il m'est impossible de disséquer, difficile de dégager, moi, mon être et toutes les réflexions cloisonnées profondément à l'intérieur

J'hésite, deuxième deviner la douceur que vous avez comblé à moi, car sans la castration et manquant toutes les traces d'une probabilité de cicatrices, je dois raccrocher sur les ailes de prudence, afin de protéger et de défendre de la douleur à la cruauté habituelle apporte

Lorsque le bien du tout connus poignantes rideaux barbouiller à travers ce tronçon lambeaux de chair sollicité, où la seule preuve, le seul résidu d'exister, est la signature de l'artiste, en se grattant profondément au-dessous de la poitrine, invisible et pourtant c'est l'encre mortelle persiste

Moments scintillantes, deux fers à repasser, en appuyant sur la chaleur sur la chaleur, prêt à brûler, à premier pic, mais la tenue, il vous suffit de maximiser la mesure de la vapeur et l'odeur. Je suis gêné d'admettre, que tout cela est inhabituel de mon répertoire, je vais avoir des difficultés à saisir la main sur ce qui pourrait venir après, et ce, seul, peint moi vulnérables, quand il est seul avec vous

Expurgée sont de démon et leurs parents, expulsés de mon âme, et châtié, sévèrement, pour les rôles qu'ils ont joués, me gardant bien loin de votre côté. Et en exil sont les chansons endommagés, chacun remplacés par l'innocence sauvage incarné par vous

Sous prétexte le plus profond, je me rends entièrement à vous. Je prie pour vous serez tout mon imagination vous fait avéré, où l'amour n'est qu'un mot, un terme de donner une définition à la combinatoire de mélange des âmes, vivant, à la dérive sur une mer profonde et généreuse profondément

Kind of been out of it the past few weeks, if you all couldn't tell, but  even though I missed out on the party, I still wanted to contribute to yesterday's Poetics over at D'Verse, who thought it more than appropriate to dine on some French Poetic Cuisine.  Led by the wonderful Manic Daily, who, if you do nothing else, please stop on by and read her amazing write up, but why stop there, see what the poets composed, and perhaps keep that old French dictionary handy :)   

Undone, Yet Well Enough To Understand

Assiduous, never ceasing

obsolescence and

the winds of shifting tides

to which, our bounties

beam attractions for

tinnitus and the ringing

quarks of life

Dysphasia grows as

lucidity’s slain

in the assignation

parting songbirds make

Promissory lines

of transverse fates

communicate the lines

of boundary, to teem

then break

Apart as whole,

in crumbles spread,

across the canvass

dysethesia bled