A Charming Third Time

She reached out, compelled
to place her hand on the spinning wheel.
She trembled toward the blur,
despite the risk, she was unable to resist.

She stopped it on an arrow
whose two points of infinity
changed direction in the light,
no two rays the same color.

She drew back and it spun again
wildly as if it had never stopped.
She noticed the colors blending
but never overlapping the white between.

She looked around to see if anyone else
saw, or had seen the giant wheel
before her, spinning on its own accord
humming in its smooth momentum.

Alone and reckless,
she tried to touch it again,
this time to only grab the blue
but landed her hand on an arrow.

She knew the symbols well,
circles, arrows, points of interest, color codes
but could not decipher the definitions-
clearly, each stood for something.

She watched its speed grow
the longer she waited to ask again,
the more dangerous the choices became
even though they always stayed the same.

She closed her eyes and flung her weight
toward the wheel, groping for anything solid
finding herself on an arrow
not knowing how to hold on, she let go.

She watched the wheel whirl,
murmuring about momentum.
She heard one of the 64 arrows
call her name and whisper, The Way.



Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. East of the Sun West of the Moon, 1922.

To Prey

Perched upon the precipice, putting it out...There

Toes of talons testing

Tensile strength

the weight of gravity’s grip

Knuckles fisted white feathers

circle around palms, swooping ling lines

under current, jet streams, screams

of circles

sees squarely, keen

seen belly dancing

BuTter-f-l-I-e-s

Flutter, stutter, mutter

pinned in air

frozen

tock-only

circles in the sand, out-lines

beat

        ArounD

the                  bush

Tracing the clock

You Are Here.

Composed 3/27/15.
Image By Justin Connaher (https://www.dvidshub.net/image/1695289) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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. 

Bottled Up

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.