poetry

Life begins as the ending meets #poem

Life begins as the ending meets

Long forgotten stories of Earth’s bosom,

Clouds roll over abandoned streets

 

Burned sunlight refracts and the crust overheats

Gone beyond the last season, descendants of the issam

Life begins as the ending meets

 

Overhead atmospheric trap door to the planet’s oubliettes

Ghost gardens fill the sidewalks with forgotten alyssum

Clouds roll over abandoned streets

Extinct currency, forgotten in digital decomposed spreadsheets

Greed the downfall, possessions the blissom

Life begins as the ending meets

The planet resets the cosmic scales and ends those who mistreats

Too late humanity abandoned the acquisitiveness hymn

Clouds roll over abandoned streets  

Fires burn and oxygen depletes

Dreams abruptly stopped by cataclysm

Life begins as the ending meets

Clouds roll over abandoned streets.

#FinalisFinibusTractus – #scifi – #poetry #TheEntrusted

Alone,

on the oil-soaked beach,

a monk,

in bright orange robes.

and

a respirator

watched as thousands of streams of steam

diffused

in the red smog-choked sky.

 

 

The job had been described as a death sentence.

 

She volunteered.

 

Along with 10,000 machines,

eight hundred monks

and

four hundred scientists

together they

would bring back the garden

called

Earth.

 

~~~

SRWM

~~~

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#OBLITUSVERBA – #AMWRITING #WRITINGPROMPTS

A blue and white checker-board-cloth lay across the grassy knoll.

Green bottle overturned.

Red wine spilled across the checkers staining them purple.

Wicker basket open.

Hard cheese wheel, sun warmed lay on the grass.

Cold bread being explored by a scouting ant half way on the cloth.

The wine lay forgotten.

The cheese lay forgotten.

The picnic forgotten an hour ago.

Two lovers  tasting each other, connoisseurs of romance, connoisseurs of the flesh.

 

Photo Curtesy of #LandPhotographyService

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#OBLITUSVERBA – #AMWRITING #WRITINGPROMPTS

I wish I could say my emotions were under control.

I wish I could say that I am stable as stone, alas stone is unstable.

I wish I could say that my mind was balanced, yet the winds shake tears loose.

I wish I could say that my mood is impassive, however, empathy drives me insane.

Oh to be stolid and solid of will, Sadly I am a mote of dust in a sandstorm.

 

 

Photo Curtesy of #LandPhotographyService

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Muscle Memory

A singular note makes my spine twitch,
sitting on my hands,
begging the muscles to hold still.

With each bar my nerves ignite,
my breath quickens,
my fingers cramp.

Each cord drags my body into the spasm,
movement bursting forth,
unbidden and uncontrolled.

The music bewitches my memory,
each unconscious motion grabbing any passerby,
captivated by the entrancing dance.

Dream Drip Drip Drop #Poetry

The Rain
A slight rumble begins
rattling the windows.
Everyone is made aware
of the environment outside.

It was to be a breathtaking tempest.

Drought had exhausted the land
this was the first water to fall in over a year.

The porch swing creaked,
the screen door slams with a crash
it banged against the house outside.

Electricity fills the air hair prickling
wind sweeps through ancient pecan trees.

Stars are peeking through billowing clouds,
in the distance light flashes every few seconds.

The air thick with humidity
forms droplets of sweat on my brow.

Impatiently I wait.

Crickets and grasshoppers play a soft concerto
while birds caw and thunder rumbles.

The storm rolls in like an icy ghost on the back of our naps.

The wind sweeps over the porch and the intoxicating aroma
of the sky’s spring and wet soil engulfs the air.

The green and yellow leaves shiver
when a gust of wind tries to uproot the tree.

Lightning explodes in the sky
hitting a transformer knocking power out across town.

Refreshing darkness follows.

A night within a night descends.

Total darkness brings on a blindness, heightening senses
interrupted only by the brief blinding flashes of Zeus` furry.

The wind picks up.

Again, lightning strikes,

Like a small child

I count:
one
two
three
BOOM

The thunder’s closer than before.

A soft drizzle falls each of the pit pat of the drops
darken the ground in front of the porch.

The cleansing smell of rainwater
fills the air
the ozone loses its dustiness.

Suddenly the tempest begins.

The rain streams down.

The lightning rips with thunder following almost immediately.

A harsh gust sounding like a banshee’s sorrowful melody
shoots through the rafters.

The storm starts spitting water onto the faces of it’s observers.

Soon all the senses are reeling, the smells of wet earth and lightning,
the sounds of the thunder and rain hitting dirt,
water pooling in small depressions.

The feel of raw power in the air arouses the mind,
while wind and water assuage parched skin,
provoking one further towards something unknown.

As if something in the ether was pulling them
into the oblivion of the rain.

Thor demands us to dance.
Ganymede seduces each of us to spread their arms wide.

The water and the wind begging to cleans away
the grime of the arid climate.

The storm no longer to be ignored wants us to be a part of it.

Slowly for miles around every soul will walk off of their porches into the rain.

Hair is soaked heavy within seconds.
Skin feels like polished slick stone,
cold
yet warm all at once.

Lashes glisten with heavens tears, the taste of rain on lips is intoxicating
the wind chilling the body stands unmoving.

Clothes feel bulky and unnatural,
strip them off and become a part of the rain.

The soul begs for the redemption only water can fulfill,
it screams for peace, cleansing only a thunderous storm can accomplish.

Wishing the rain would go on forever
to cool and purify every nuance of existence
it seems juvenile but wished for none the less

The rain craves the earth
just as mere mortals crave the water
the power of the mighty storms is intoxicating.

As one begins to move to sway with the wind
rock with the rain and the raw power is felt.

Soaked hair vain-fully tries to stand on end.

Lightning strikes mere yards away.
The thunder is deafening.

The silence following the strike speaks more than the strike itself.

The ground is scorched the smell of burning loam
mixes with the smell of falling water.

Rain pours harder.

As quickly as it commenced
the rain began to ebb.

The clouds rolled away.
The sky clears.

Diana shines in all her luminous glory.

The stars which had peaked through the clouds at different intervals
now meditate in the puddles on the ground.

The grass glistens as if kissed by the pearl necklaces.

The storm rages under the pecans canopies.

Thunder rumbles gently in the distance.

I awake in my bed soaked in sweat.

Just a dream?

Yet it felt so real!

A pile of clothes sit in a soaking puddle
on the floor next to the window

Perhaps it wasn’t a dream after all.

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Enter at Your Own Risk – #poetry #TABOO

2013
Enter at Your Own Risk – a poem
Naked or Nude?

Make me feel something.
Make me feel nothing.
Let Me Feel
something and nothing

Truth be told
music starts
a mix tape of desire

Touch me.
Hold me.
Caress me.

Wool and leather cuffs
hands shackled to a cross.

a gentle stroke
a heavy flogger

Lick my hide with leather.
Stroke my skin with rope.

make me mew.
make me moan.
make me murmur.

Ecstasy and Agony,
The shadow of my words.

Make me climb the cross,
Scrutinize my response
Watch my heaving breasts
Monitor my dance
Note my breath
Read the sounds
Witness no distress
Discover excess empathy
Observe in silence

The Cruciation

Oh silly children
in bodies old and worn
in bodies young and new,

Watch the actress
modulate her voice
pain experienced
pleasure escapes.

Pain…

Pain is the interesting thing.

I live in agony.

Mental dolor,
a past oft recalled.

Recreational torture,
a respite of nerves.

Physical suffering,
a body broken.

Healing tenderness*,
a body mending.

Which do you see on this actress?
Which?

Scale the cross,
hands unbound
others escape the room

gentle hands caress
warm bodies cuddle
cool oil spread

warm blanket engulfs

endearment flows

petting
stroking
kissing

embraced on either side
stand
the hot tub awaits

floating
warm water surrounds
stars twinkle above

cold nipply air salutes
warm white robe envelopes

reality descends
nerves calm
performance ended

I feel nothing
sweet relief
agony abated
for now…

*archaic use – meaning painful and or sore

#DeathsTeaParty #poetry

Death why do you hold my hand and walk with me as a lover?

Can I not hold fast in my life..?

Do you not know that I hold as much in the way as I hold past the string of the present.

Would not the mind falter and crumble under the weight and knowledge of the life I know and the life I hold? 

 

My moments are precious and fleeting so why Dear Death,

why do you hold fast my hand and caress my lips like a lover?

 

Butterfly’s Kiss #Poetry

A butterfly’s kiss is a terrible beauty to behold.
When the heat has abated.
Life will never be the same.

A truthful lovers kiss
passed and forgotten
till now…

A gentile touch
a soul arriving
kissed through the skin.

A quickening
truth dawns while the lover is gone
a new existences origin.

The cycle begins anew.

The butterfly lays its eggs
full of souls to be.
Hatch the caterpillars do
to eat
to ponder the life
the future body they will hold.

Fat satiated and contemplative
each a chrysalis to weave
metamorphosis begins.

Within its bed it will think again of life
to begin anew in search of fertile female
to bestow its soul.

Dedicated to Robin.

Tea with Death #poetry #DeathsTeaParty

Death knocks upon my door
wishing to have tea and cake
to be regaled with stories and laughter

Azrael wishes to depart from doldrums
honeyed chamomile washing away solicitations
chocolate cake and tales read aloud drown bereavement

Cù-Sìth lounge across my grassy yard
snapping flies with their braided tails
following Yama downs the streets upon departure

The Reaper seems to be my friend
he courts me incessantly
not yet to cross with the ferryman

I am still alive
I am a pleasant distraction
the loneliness of his existence ebbs

One day I know I will don a veil with scythe and bull
to cross from mortality to another plain
but today I bake and brew to entertain Thanatos

May-hap on that day of transition
I will have tea with my Angel Grim
at his home on his plates

Oh my
It seems I care
for dear Death