Shards of Mankind Broken

Nostalgia burns a fever

In the caustic river’s eye

Tidal boundaries shatter, flooding shores,

forcing debris to swim, well before it's learnt to drift

Ill-equipped thoughts addle. Matted wings resign to weight.  

Flailing, it all feels like flailing….  

The crows nest dangles. It's broken pole slivers.

Remnants linger upon distressful seas.

Venial thoughts are left to stew. Eventually weariness ripens.

The polished and hewn wilts alike.

Overwrought. Ambushed. Daylight is truncated. Evening falls to Stygian design….to those daring enough to dream.

Danger paints a dragnet from your plaster. Hunger feeds the gluttonous rill. Currents, replete with paroxysms, commiserate.

Tragedies offer casualties alone.  In such moments, mankind as a unity is shattered.  All we have is grief and mourning. 

And a river born from sorrow.

Addendum:

If you believe the vortices will calm their vehement swirl, I pray the shoreline shackle heel to sand.

If you believe absolution will quickly cast it's net, I fear that catch shall never breathe again beyond it's gnarled mesh.

If you fear that time will not heal such lacerations, I pray support is ever by your side.

Of Porcelain and Snow

of bark,

a daggered dress

remains

teacup stains of pearl,

of shard,

a charcoal tint

blessing

marbled stones in gaze

of flame,

a wick—blustered

root—wrenched

tress—stamped to palm 

of clay  

a ruffled wing

plucking

sky-dress tattered pink

of puddle—

rubbered soles

skitter

citrine rippling wake

 Over at D'Verse they're hosting their FormForAll and this week the prompt deals with the connection between classical Chinese and Japanese poetry.  Blue Flute guest posted a tremendous write-up and asked us to compose a piece using tangible imagery.  I did my best here, and not entirely sure how this piece came to be, as  I started writing about fluffy yellow rabbits, easter-eggs and green straw and then somehow this disturbing piece of the uncaring/unseeing eyes of society, ignorant to those desperately in need of help.  Quite frankly, not sure if I should be concerned or not.   

Also, side-note here, I think I fixed the word-verification thing that I guess somehow appeared at my site.  So, if someone could just drop a yes or no in with their comment, if, in-fact, it has been pulled.  Thanks   

Contract Killer

She took the hilt

Between the teeth

Twisting round

Pushing leather deep

Unsheathed, raw steel shines alive

At the casualty of sound to come

Syncopations rhythm grows

Primal surge, crescendo

Under the mask of day

Collides the guise of night

Under the cutest grin

A smile’s born in sin

Constriction tightens its clutch

That’s when her eyes rolled to touch

Squirming from anguished horizon

Into a chalice of trust

Flora ignites the pleasured scent

As the poppy’s milk skews sense numb

From a frenzied savagery

Ascension crests,

A transformation through thrashing

Sinews debased: Corporeal, feral,

As spindrifts snuff

In unison

Yet…

Rise she does

In deepest gleam,

Forcing rancor to the forefront of gaze

Pausing…

She took the hilt

Between her fists

With violence descending quick

And soon the sternum breaks

Unsheathed, raw steel’s a dull grey

As a casualty of lust, trust’s betrayed

Gasping; flailing incoherent

She places finger upon lip

Whispers the darkness comes quick

Forever stained with the wash of her

Never to bathe again

…And she redresses

Knowing the soul’s lingering

Eyes watch as she pens

Three words into still smooth flesh

DO NOT RESUSCITATE

Near a freshly painted paneling

There’s a window that leads out

Through the paper-thin screen

A reddened daybreak can be seen

Illuminating what remains of last night

 I don't know where this one came from, but thought it an interesting idea and decided to roll with it, of course blurring the lines a bit.

Rule 3 Violation

Pop the trunk,

It’s been a week,

Remove the contents,

Aerate the moisture and the stench,

Allow the red to break away,

And if moments pass,

Yet still the suffering is not through,

In such instance, by any means,

Do, do what you must do,

At this point you may grow pale,

Syncope may woo your being,

Or collected you could just remember,

It’s but a job, a job that you must do,

There may come another hesitation,

In where you question how this point became,

You may try connecting points A to B,

Let me remind you of your duty,

Finish the assignment.  Collect.  Repent.  Recoil.

You cannot change who you are,

Nor can you change the things you’ve done,

The only items in your hands,

Are what you will do next, and what you’ll become

On The Lamb: Art reassembled

Preaching to the converted many,

Is like a venture into varied conversation with a chosen few,

For all the malice you’ve subdued,

One wrong word, a dissenting sound or awkward vibe,

Shall have constituted the execution; providing no defense of your good name,

One gun may be all that’s pointing, but in truth the victims shall be plenty,

You knew the possibilities that this could start,

But in the irony of this tale, you crawled to me regardless,

A suffering bastard, staggering, in search of arms outstretched,

You offered, through suffering extension;  In your own words reciting:

“Omerta, my truest friend,

A devil is here in God’s country now,

This fake messiah awaits 11^th hour , when both pariah and

Saracen unite in arms, preparing to die for this prophets’ name,

Omerta, my dearest friend,

 Everything shall soon be nothing, salvation lost & reclamation laid to rest,

In the absence of the sacred, not a warning, no remorse for the wicked or the dead,

It all will fall, each of us dying alone, as forgotten men, lost angels rotting in unholy graves

 As the palaces burn above the sky, the earth descending beneath

 Another nail set for pushing,

 In your case, perhaps the final, in the coffin,  a place you once called home.

Hurry and decide, the hourglass, it empties quick,

 Swifter yet, is the faded line, that withered thread, keeping us entwined,

Let us arise again, let us rekindle youth,

 Do not force my lips, to remind your ears

The damage the lies of autumn revealed” 

You are correct in this assumption, but do not travel back that far,

Do not make me retrace, all the steps we've wandered from,

Do you forget so easily, Do you not remember Kansas City?




Never, did my brother's tongue lay dormant before me; A nuance reserved for prey, the last words they would not hear.  Apparently it has reached that point...

So it’s clear then; Your foot desires placement upon my throat,

If that is your wish, then be done with it, crush the larynx mute,

I’ve nothing left, nothing in me worth to give,

Look at me, standing lame before you now,

I am pathetic, really it all is now, 


To think of those men, those warriors, we both once were,

Those Gods could not be defeated, yet we cast them aside, 


All because of embers, the ashes at her wake

“We swore as brothers, never again, to speak of Grace, ”

Yes, yes we did, and now you insist a reclamation of those thrones,


Like these puppet shells, can be willed away so easily, 


No! I won’t help you now. I cannot, no longer do I know how, 


This Was all I could muster, before salty remnants burned down my face,

With lamenting swagger, all pacing ceased.  A somber pause to lift his head:

“What I’ve become is undesirable considering all notions prior.  Was it a poor life choice?

I do not know, however, Incessant whining will not return those years.

We were men of honor, living  by code, a creed between man & god; kin to kin,

Do you remember the simple pleasure, in waking early, providing more time for the kill?

Omerta, you know all this, it lives within, but listen, listen now, 

We may be lesser men than our elder selves would boast to be,

However, we are still mighty, mightier than those to perish if we fail or refuse to try.

The two of us possess a unique skill-set; we are well versed, in the subtle art of murder

and persuasion, we know full well, how to blacken the cursed sun, and we are most adept 

in the letting of blood.  I extend my arm to you,  one final time.   Let’s take our broken 

hands & ravaged flesh, becoming Contractors once again.  Let us take fever in the passing 

that shall surely come; Let us walk to deaths’ door and beat it down.  I can only wage war 

upon demons, if you stand by my side.  Together, we are invincible, I remember & still 

believe.  We are capable men, able to sow with dead seeds alone,

Purify tainted rivers & swim the drowning safely cross its shore. 

We alone are capable, to issue a warning; to instruct the scribe to pen the tale, convince 

him to ink with his very blood.  Let us now complete our tale.   Dust off your armor, un-

sheathe proud blade, tonight our final vigil begins.

Walk with me in hell, one more time,

Omerta,… Now you’ve got something to die for.”

A Fictional Excerpt From The Hassan Trial

What he’s done seems crystal clear,

Yet it is his right, to plead his case in a court of peers,

And so the jury takes their seats,

Listening intently for burden of proof,

One after the next, a witness is swears,

To answer questions with honesty, and to which they speak the truth,

Frustrated and confused, as each witness descends the stand,

The gravedigger appears to soon have himself another plot of land,

The defendant states his side firmly but not so clear,

Saying his actions were reasonable as he only acted out of fear,

Confessing his lady abused him day and night,

Even in those last moments, forty-six behind her,

She would not die and up until the forty-seventh, his wife continued to fight,

The prosecutor repeated the events, deploring the brutality,

But for the sake of justice he requested Hassan explain with clarity,

To which the defendant stutter-stepped the question with obscure reasoning,

Repeating he felt his actions justified, that things like this happen all the time,

Perhaps he should be thankful,

This trial is not being heard elsewhere, some other country,

To rise and face a jury, to see the lack of sympathy in their eyes,

As the verdict is described, Hassan turns a bright blood red,

To which the Judge does declare, “Off with his head.”