Muttered The Muse...

Pain scale

The bottom bass drum throbs*_*_*_*

catching its reverberating rhythm…echoes in your bones.

Pangs wail unsteady*by back-feed screams**nails scratch black slate.

Rips jagged jerks

muscle movements spasm

---and tense-letting briefly a sense

-a single gasp, a breath- before coming through.

(Inside again),

trembling upon return inevitable cool rushes waterfalls through hot veins

hit icy boulders,

white raging waters--direct and dictate

the dermal, thermal, rising

skin, pouring forth

in urgency of some release!

A pressure valve, a double boiler, the kettle calls black______***

incessantly nagging in angry notes.

(I can only whisper in whimpers)

Struck- dumb, now-I refrain somehow

unable to take any more
-pain.

Composed 9/9/15.

Image of painting By Sir Charles Bell [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Patient suffering from tetanus.

I took your advice
and put a cork in it.
Silence!
(on repeat)
Compression under strict repression,
taut me tension.
When you said
Keep your lid on,
it went flat anyway.
Impatience spoils the fizz…
Bite your lip-
Don't speak when being listened to!
We thirst as one must lust for
quenching and regurgitation.

I heard you the first time-
Flinch it back and glimpse
-Potential-
Here,
Anything explodes
amidst the churning sea of noise
a message contained
in a clear bottle

is shaken.

Composed 12/26/15.
Image by Juan Gris [Public domain], Jar, Bottle and Glass, c. 1911, via Wikimedia Commons.

Stairwell

Heavy were my legs

and blistered were my souls

as I climbed

dropping stones and sweat

as I went.

An ascent, the carrot grew

sweetly downward

in your striking light

I rose to the events

put in my path.

Sequentially steeper

pushing me down

the air thins

and blood chills

glimpses in steam.

Packed and thrown

the key, precious ego sinks

reaping its slaughtered pleasures

deflowered by appetite

famished and sated.

Starvation and salvation

the lighter the load

only to reach

destiny's plateau

wilted and near weary.

Well, I didn't know

as good as it gets

is nowhere near Yet

Grace has wings

on Time she flies

passively Bye.

Image by Caspar David Friedrich [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Owl on grave c. 1836.

Eclipsing circles

The sky cracked

its crusty eye of

blue bags, purple circles

in a sign of deprived time.

The sun yawns,

peaks over the treetops,

energized and light.

The stars resign

their flares drown

to day.

The shining sea

crumples its satin sheet,

white-cap crumbs strewn

atop the surface.

The earth smokes

after a torrid night

promiscuous and still

perspiring.

The human hurries

for his mask.

Mistaken for a dream

the pale moon takes it all in.

Composed 9/26/15.

Image By Donald Davis [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1970's, NASA ID AC75-1920.

About Clouds and Me to Your Ology

As the pressure builds

high and low confront,

trapping in between them a compression and

depression, folded in thick layers.

A cumulus of collective thoughts

gather gem-like crystalline

shards that slice through thin air.

In a Doppler of cirrus

the stratus changes, morphing into

unstable mutatus Mother clouds,

hovering, heavy and thick with milk,

curdling and separating their wheys and way

lost, aloft out of focus like mist and blur

ragged ropes, pull and bind, fraying edges as taut by

knuckles under the pull of Virga.

Then-

letting it all go,

unnoticed into oblivion, minute like tears

reigning in sheets

down Fallstreak holes

through the ceiling

that bears an air of Nacreous ether up there, apart and

weighted by the moody swing fronts

of days and nights.

The phases fade, leaving

traces of birefringent dreams, seems like

floating behind the Fisher King and moon man,

who overcast

his holy net, his wind we felt

mingled with water

we breathe.

1st composed 8/5/15-edited multiple times.
Image By Sensenmann (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Clouds over Yucatan, Mexico.

Phantastic Piano Performance

It was during the intermission
we watched the best performance.
It was out in open the courtyard
during a Metromaniacs matinee,
on a sunny winter Saturday.

The public streamed through
the park with iphones out
snapping selfies and photo-
bombing against the facade of
replicated architecture, others lines,
inspired fed and resaid by other centuries
countries and similies reproduced.

When just then at the break-
a balding, middle-aged, frumpy man
with a black backpack, thick rectangle
glasses, wearing immaculate white tennis shoes
took a seat on the bench at a public piano
painted like our nearest galaxy
covered ephemeral stars.

And he began to play
and play feverishly,
and he plays himself away.
His head hung limp and
gently swayed, his shoulders
carried the notes.
Heavy wafts of ivory notes,
smoke and perfume danced.
And while he played
people paused
For it
was
Intermission-when
over, he knew, winding up
keying down, the piano man
stood quietly as he came,
and wordlessly shuffled himself away
taking his notes
with hymn.

Image of painting by Thomas Dewing, The Spinet c. 1929 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Composed 2/25/16.

Anchors I weigh

When I showed up

I learned from living on top of time

I was not welcome anywhere,

but hospitality persists

itself like religion

everywhere

there’s room.

My timing not convenient.

A detour is never the fastest path,

unless the destinations are the same.

It is safer submerged, underwater

where whims wont push you around

I found

After holding my breath so long.

She could have killed me.

I know she tried, more than once,

placing her baby bundle on the bow

rock-a-bye, like they do,

rolling for the wake to take me back

Her bare hands would be too brutal

and accidents are blameless

What doesn't kill you

lets you live exhausted

torch smothered.

Insisting on myself

I remain

S.O.S.

tethered to the life raft

that was never attached

to Her.

Composed 10/24/15.

Image by By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.