Water bearer

The gargoyle has a better

vantage point,

which explains the smirk.

Tho' he'll never tell

what goes on

over our heads,

while we lie

in bed

wandering in dreams

it seems...

'Twas Medusa that said,

Look at me, wait right here for me,

I will give you eternity-

and after a while

of peering at the gargoyles smile

clear as day

the words

came dripping out,

Try

first

to be happy

as you are

just in case 

this is your final face,

and then it began

to rain again. 

Image By Patchy at de.wikipedia (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

To know and not show

I have a little crimson rage

who gathers his little demi-gods 

inciting a violent riot

assembled in order

to exact 

his welled-up wrath.

His rants and blames

sharply

backed up by 

observable trajectory

aimed and arched for the heart.

You missed you fool.

Penetrating rampage,

the bull sees red and enacts

his death charge

allegedly, no more time

to explain.

Veins bulge, blood boils, 

frothing at the surface.

The hide and skin

sizzling volcanic 

and tectonic.

Flying plates,

slamming doors, 

shattering windows,

shards skim

a schism.

Under his direction,

beneath falling debris, 

buried under all sense

of which way is up.

Ungrounded accusations,

underhanded maneuvers

defy gravity, suspended;

a salve of dali 

makes sense.

The Truth 

will always sink 

(in).

Image of drawing by By Julio Ruelas (1870 - 1907) (Mexican) (Painter, Details of artist on Google Art Project) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Glimmering See

There is something I need to say but I simply cannot seem to do more than cross out not the way to say, how to phrase a blind beacon, a muted murmur translated subject, object
to say exactly
everything together
by letters as one
Force what it is, stab at it with a pen, draw it out like language, hone out the sharpest point, push it forward like blowing your nose, or even better sneeze it
when it feels like sex
you will know you nailed it
and that is worth it
freely, better than giving up or saying shoulda, or mistaking desire for a dream and doing what one shoulda-for some one else's cause, affecting none, be cause was lost on you, charitable lending of your ear listens to the echo for future gains of generations, all ways
that is your legacy
shining star in flight
will fall silently
orchestrated in a way that you listen to every wrinkle in time waiting for your name, miss taken with the world, waiting on a line.



Image by Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis (1875-1911) SILENCE [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Poem form Haibun experiment. 

Tide & True

The ebb and flow of tricky desire

peaking on crests

crashing loud and rolling calm

the horizon line wearies the eyes

taking in forever

a panoramic view

a scene in a moment with you.

Trudging against rocky seas

tip-toeing on the glassy surface

touching the liquid mirror

and licking the salt

of savory endings.

What does a wave want

more than release?

To rise and become more

than itself.

A glimpse of glistening face

in a marine metropolis

under the melting sky

gathering all the glow

and casting it back

in a reflection of the

whole whirled.

Image by By Amada44 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Your Gues(t)s

There,
where you are
I can see me
being shown
around by you
native trees and path
ways you cross
while I notice
the shade of the sky
unable to grasp
the name
the word
the color
or any delicate phrase
to turn
to say
the way the crisp air
nibbles on my nose
before piercing my ear
lobes with sugar frosted
sentiments thick with lust
lingering over us
like clouds
getting there
some time
where ever
There
is.



Image by Carl Moll, watercolor c. 1901-1902, Stroll in the gardens of Votivkirche, Vienna [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Just take a chance

The games we play

occupy our attention,

give us chance,

to entertain and refrain us

from certainties. We gamble

to participate in our fate

in the end, the outcome,

the odds

on us, against loss.

We leverage the inevitable,

predict the unfathomable

and recognize our own home range,

stable-steady,

gait in the headlong stride

of the dark horse.

-just to see-

We dance with destiny

then trip on our own shod

limbs that lead to

breaking those lucky legs

and just chalk it up to the chance

we lost.

Image is of a wood engraving by W.L. Sheppard (drawn by W.B. Meyers), Harpers Weekly October 1870, Betting on the Favorite.

Best Bend Forward

By bend and nose
by eyes and toes

we can only
go a head
of ourselves
instead

of looking up
stopping to stoop
and smell a beauty
that eyes cannot spell

what others don't see
what we cannot tell
about the roses in your past
kneeling eyes downcast

By not being Here
By smelling your own Fear.



Image of painting by John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, The Soul of a Rose, 1908.