Happy Gravesites

Hearts in a hive,

those stinging bites

once made of flame

aged down to stone,

anew—in part—

enough of you—

returns—

every second’s an hour—

every hour, days

Hearts in a swarm

That tingling bliss

Sensation, bleeds plush again

With Each nibble, the more you leave,

happy gravesites—artifacts—

of what used to be—intact

and no longer can the cold of stone,

affect the warmth inside. 

The Mephistophelian Provocation

Well, I'm a bit late to the pub this week, but I'm thankful that Claudia kept the doors open as I definitely needed a poetry fix.  And that of course means that, as is the case for every Tuesday, Open Link Night is up and in effect over at D'Verse.  Stop on by, read some terrific poetry and while there, link up a poem of your own for others to enjoy.  Cheers!


I. CAGE OF SIN

In this age of terminal belligerency

A hex, a pox is placed upon thee—

Tingeing forth the pummeled plant

pressing through the groveling glass—

Thine heirs be slain,

in judgment for thy sins,

Each those chosen prior to

and the ones yet coming to pass

Silence these ne’er-do-wells

housed enslaved, voicing perditions

for which man’s inner weakness craves

Dwell in the aged moment’s freeze in time

linger long ere thy dreams clash therein

Fore in such a place, amidst the blinded vermin,

friends be replaced by the slithering tongue,

within the wretched serpent’s cage of sin

II. A Signature upon Shedding Skin

Beware the pomegranate kind—

sacrificing winter, for a fleeting summer’s moonlight dance

Bathe long in thy sweated skin—

before ye blood hath spilt upon demon’s pact

Return ye shan’t; regret falls moot

for what has waxed, will surely wane—

Returning all thy suffering—from fathoms deep

to an ever weeping flame charred sky

When debt comes due,

redress accrues the interest kept

III. Forcing the Hand of God

While thy prayers be pronounced,

And thy annunciation understood—

  

The heavens must flood forth its tears,

flowing forward, despite—because

of God’s ever-existing paternal love

Yet—because thy scrolls be scribed

by bloodied pen:

Thy penitence must be denied,

Thy soul, to Hell, must be sent,

And such is the price one pays

for abandoning:

Thy belief in ye self,

Trust in God’s will

Thy Faith—Thy wisdom—

That God shalt keep ye safe

And such is the fate,

of men who:

                           Fraternize with unholy beasts—

                           Break bread at demonic feasts—

And there is no saving

A man consumed by deicide

A Dream about Winning

Well, this came to me yesterday.  I was going to write it up as a poem, but obviously I reconsidered and thought it would best be told via the short story medium.  Anyhow, this is one of those rare occasions, when I post something other than poetry on this blog.  Hope all enjoy.

I had the most vivid of dreams last night.  I awoke fully believing I had just won the lottery.  In the dream there was then the waking dream, the kind that you transform into a zone unbreakable, where all the fantasies of change come fully to life.  The feeling was beyond comprehension, except for those who’ve perhaps been blessed by a similar fate. 

I paced my room looking for the ticket, tossing papers from drawers, checking books to see if I had used it as a placeholder, outturned pockets in the laundry bin, praying those numbers I would then find.  Then, in the mirror, I noticed the ticket was somehow stuck to my forehead.  A smile so wide filled my cheeks as I pulled it from my brow.  I held it up, lauding all it represented, seemingly for hours, as time simply stayed motionless before me there. 

I grabbed my keys, hopped in the car, pajamas still on, hair still tousled.  The streets were perfectly empty as I took the short journey to the downtown lottery office, heart racing the entire time.  When I arrived at the building the doors were locked.  Nobody could be seen anywhere.  It had all the qualities of a ghost town, a place void of life. It was then, when I reached for my phone, that I realized that it was Sunday.  I couldn’t go home, not yet, not back to bed, not now. 

It was then that I happened to notice a church offering service, to which I gladly entered, completely ignorant of what my appearance could or would project.  The pastor read his readings and filled the tiny room with the greatest passion I’d ever seen.  There were but a dozen people in there.  I was the only one not in a suit-coat or a Sunday-dress, but nobody cast a judgmental eye upon me, not a single one.  But, really, how could they, when this preacher was beyond anything anyone, well okay, more than I, had ever seen before.  I was once again filled with the same joy I had experienced just a few hours earlier, yet none of the franticness filled me, not even in the slightest degree.  The man in God’s cloak came to each of us there, shook each by the hand, placing an arm, tenderly upon a shoulder.  He looked us in the eyes, and said some words, words so moving, so beautiful that I could not remember any of them at all, not a single one. 

As the service was concluding, another man came down from behind the, up until then, sealed doors behind the pulpit, carrying a long wire-mesh basket, asking, without speaking, for anything we could give, to help.  At such a moment, seconds before this man looked me in the eye, speaking nothing, just looking at me, I realized I didn’t have my wallet, I didn’t have anything on me except my keys.  He looked at me, not in disgust, but instead with compassionate eyes of understanding.  As he walked away, I realized something and called back to him.  While making the short trip back to me, I met him half the way.  I looked him in the eye, and without a moment of hesitancy, not a single one, I placed a solitary piece of paper in that meshed basket, to which he replied, “bless you sir.”

I then awoke, for real.  I sat there in my darkened room.  It certainly was Sunday.  I calmly went to my wallet and pulled out the lottery ticket from within from where I always kept them.  I sat at the computer and went to the state’s website.  I checked the numbers, realizing I didn’t have a single one of them.  I sighed, but not as long as I would have expected. 

I hopped in the shower.  I put on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.  I pulled back the curtains and opened the blinds.  Light rushed in and the dogs jumped quickly atop the bed, as they always do.   I let them both kiss me on the nose and told them I’d be back soon.  I got in my car and reversed out of my driveway.  I had to stop right at the end, as many cars happened to be travelling past my house.  It was then I saw a large man and a thin man walking a small golden retriever.  As they approached me, I realized these were the men from my dream.  I noticed the dog’s collar said Jesus.  As they got closer I waved to them, and the thinner man simply said, “and bless you sir.” 

Tumult's Kin

tumult’s kin

angry. angry again

soft. soft-peeled

pare of rind

I don’t know what I need to know.

I don’t need to know what I haven’t learned

I know what I don’t know.

Dry-eraser chalks the walls.

bliss.  bliss from a far

and through the windows,

out past the field

daydream drifters flutter still

At ease in the tall grass

giggling.  giggling with glee.

being so close, watching the playful

nature within the day-to-day gestures

of adolescent faeries

Well, the Prompt D'verse provided yesterday got me looking through some of my older Fairy Tale/Folk Story pieces I've written and from that, I had the inspiration to write this one, probably due, in part to some kids down the street just enjoying this unbelievable and extremely rare stretch of weather we've had here.  A string of 75 degree days in a place that doesn't typically get over 50 for another month or so- That, in itself is something resembling a fairy tale setting. Anyhow, thought I'd write another one.