Metallurgy

Forged and tempered
condensed under fire
morphed and reduced
pressurized and pupled
sardonic sap ooze
intense with vision-
nary-a mans' hands
mother of molten invention
Creationist
Industrialist
Building with erect
magnetisms strings
Come and Conquer
with rigid out lines
straight and arrow
piercing certitude
fall in line
blurred beings and things
blending tornadoes
structural heaps
painted windows
look the same
archaic beasts churning
chugging with spent desire
laced with sepia tones
antiquely reminiscent
of times gone by
stories trapped in parallel tracks
stopping at no stations
for souls places
thrown from its determined path
screaming shrieks of fire
boasting in blasts
barrelling nowhere
and everywhere in between
mocking anthropology
and days that shall pass
in concrete jungles
the lions share
essentially barren
scrapped to metal
ore never to remain
one and the same.




Image By Hieronymus Reusner; Franciscus Epimetheus (Chemical Heritage Foundation) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Pandora (1582) 

Deed of Trust

We need tangible evidence
I was Here
Yours and Mine, between a fence
divides-or so it would appear

An apparition of ownership
Show me proof
stamped passports on lifes' trip
permanent shelters roof
squatters in refrain
draping the blind
boxing up pain
folios filed for someone to find

Piled and stacked in the archives
condensed for space-
How many lives
leave just this inky trace?

Illegible orders of Legality
Protecting acts of Perjury
Insuring civilized Morality
(forestalling fatuous worry)
Stained and signed as true
leashed in language, in black or blue

Your Name on the blotted line
as it says right here
(acquired this year)
that's Yours and this is Mine

A house, a car, husband or a wife
credit cards of the indebted life
my interest low, with rates on high

numerically figured dollars with time flies by

Save your wealth
Plan for the future, Learn from the Past
Protect your health, 
a stone is cast...

The stories are the same
Hansel and Gretel of the fairytale
if You and I were instead the name
leaving our moneyed paper trail

These precious paper treasures
acquired or borrowed
temporal needs, passing pleasures
carbon copied or dittoed
verified and proven, seeking restitution
as Possessor of said Property
indebted stay of execution
bartered pages of equality

scrolls through antiquity
long labours of lost legacy
smudges and smears
seen through ink blurred tears

Ancestry evoking ancient history
made from fibers of the family tree
linking lineage
from cleared forests
kinfolk of foliage
cherry picking the best, tossing the rest

Breaking the bow
swinging push and pull
I live Here now
Now void and null

But against me someone makes a claim
(with the wrong name)
This is what you owe!
(Please) Pay the balance before you go...



Image courtesy of Wikimedia, (Public Domain) By Orange County, NC (County Courthouse) 'February 13th, 1804 Marriage certificate'

Fruit Cake

A phenomenon
or so they said
What does that even mean
but surreal
hyper cognizant
carefree and currently
on the Pineapple Express
a subarctic flow
riding a-board
flimsy-flappy metal wings
waving to resistance
strapped in between
that I dutifully volunteer
taking the bumpy path
turbulence cloaked with care
we will get there
jumps jacks and jerks
brace and buckle up
Folks
terrential terrestrial
walking on water
a prevention of petulance
generational circumstance
companions of Will and Able
who facilitate the festivities
with Candy Canes and Christmas Cheer
recycling the seasonal year
a salvation per annum
the shedding of a starry tear
of remembrance
lightening striken resemblance
a resurgence
witnessing the same anew
in glorious saturated pools
reaching shores of home
on board ships of self
who face
into the wind
cut with embrace
on a haphazardly hemispherical
holiday
with fruit cakes
served best
in the Pineapple Express
Remember who you are
when you're no longer the old you
looking back-steadfast
miles between the tips and the roots
reaching tall, trying not to fall
whining against the wind of weary
who pushes too far
and gets carried away
in the Pineapple Express.



This image is of a Norway Spruce branch with three developing 'Pineapple Galls' caused by an aphid. Provided via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain) by Rosser 1954.

(In)Security

Who are the meek

Who only see the bleak

Whom we are told

as they shrink old

shall be heirs to the Earth

but do not know its worth

Whose silence is golden

with footprints heavy and beholden

waver their doubts

while their inner voice shouts

snickers and sneers

when gathered amongst peers

self-doubt casts out

the need to belong

Whom are all wrong

Who are posed in preposition

hanging in there by a thread

breathing in the toxic air of dread

hearing the loudest voice

falling for the fallacies

Who makes the choice

to glance in the mirror

projecting prisms of fear

Who do not see the good

Who have misunderstood

the value of life and self-worth

were gifts given to us at birth

which grows interest

in those whom feel most blest

doubt is a dump

a fetid hump

an intrusive and destructive

conniving ally-bearer

of the blinding white lie

twisted tongues tell tales

but the proud prevails

Whose sacred truths

are not spent on the youths

Who hide among the flock

afraid to step aside and walk

to the beat of ones own drum

waiting for confidence to come

Who is just a heartbeat away

unafraid to speak up and say

I wouldn't want me any other way.

Photo (Public Domain) By Vinc3PaulS (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

It's a cryin' rain...

We had a gentle storm

(not quite the norm),

It was only visiting, meaning no harm,

not intending to cause alarm.

She softly blew in-

without making a din.

Tip toeing in, tapping outside

whispering wind unable to hide

Blessings for the desert parch,

weather comes in a March,

lining up for a show

as Natures spigot sets the flow.

Today, as we can unclearly see

just kissing full droplets, delicately.

She's in no hurry-

too warm to flurry,

in this tropical geography,

of maternal meteorology.

Silently saturating,

drip irrigating, saving,

seasonal wrath,

for a different path.

Anger saved for another place

as we accept her gentle mist in trace.

Rolling down cheeks,

pointing out leaks,

dripping from the eaves,

quieting the leaves.

Sparkles glittering on the grass

prisms of tears reflecting en masse.

Composed 12/5/14.

Image of painting by Robert Henri [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "Misty Paris" 1890.

If I was there (as pictured)

You

can see

The Forest

                                                                                                                        Over there-

Hills bent like knees, folded and prickled with trees, textured tones of green shadowed by their own darkness unseen. Lush in mossy folds of exploding ripe oxygen with spores sparking their sperm of wild plumage fans its layered feathers blurred in flight, this sight you can see-

Wherein,

          fawn and stag trample broken arms under hoof…a trail, a scent, a nymph of notion. (Not I)

                                                                                    Smoke of an obscured roof floats billowing

a periwinkle blanket of Big open skies under Venus’ belt, who tucks in the sprawling landscape-or tries. Soaring in sacred circles on the crown of canopy raptors released, flying cage free.

Blurs of sweeping leaves, fingertips brushing the panoramic pastels, strokes of infinite-wait-

What-

Was

That sound-                                                                                                 Did you hear?

Just a raccoon, bat, owl, opossum, puma or deer…falling down-playing dead, maybe.

Things echo in cathedrals.

Sounds are carried, strung together in symbols, the pin drops but the sewers eyes are sewn shut.

Fears flourishing outlined with dread.

Can you see? Inside, where the trees hide and words disappear-I cannot see, I was not here.

Image by Anna Ramsburg, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service via Wikimedia Commons, (public domain).

The Mourning of Day

Morning all day

furrowed in grey

Under the weather,

scents of wet leather,

                      splashing in puddles getting the mail.

Slapping drops smack-

in an aerial attack

stinging flesh of face

in which We are Out of place

                        amidst hurling whetted hail.

Sullen skies abide,

concrete curtains hide

the radiant sun,

sharing warmth with none-

                         displaced by mist and gale.

Trumpets pipe passing by

panes, whistling on windows, leaves fly-

blurred in the forgotten hour,

fixed and framed in a seasonal shower,

                          setting the stage for a winters' tale.

Image photo by Terry Korte via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain), 2006