Category Archives: poetry

Retract

if i arch my back, just so

you will hear the gutteral crack

of ribs splaying

and thunder peal

confined to a distant canyon

 

observe the blood rivulet flow

tinted crimson

from rhodonite glow

 

did you think of yourself as some indelible mark on my being?

how easily I’ve erased your ochred pigments

from my crumbled cave walls

 

Lascaux?

indeed no

 

you were only the sharpest point of the trident

ending some turgid trilogy of torment

 

so stand back

drop the Finochietto*

little blood, no gore

though you expected more

your surgical precision

met with

phlegmatic derision

 

 

*a type of surgical retractor designed to separate ribs in chest surgery. Named after Argentinian surgeon Enrique Finochietto

Blood Letting

it began the day we met

although that day we refuse to mark in time

for you say you were ever mine

unnoticed at first

tender words tumbled

settling on leaves, crumbled

kicked by gleeful children

easily buried

as common patois

as the weeks passed

my heart passively filled

and words emptied

in systematic blood letting

a ritual even Galen would deem

surprisingly extreme

with flooding gush

from sharpened fleam

so when i say i’m lost for words

i mean my words are lost from me

my exsanguinated self

in speechless stirrings

stutters

to a final, single, syllable

till here, so render me

your silent soliloquy

………………………………….

Galen of Pergamum (129-200 AD) was a proponent of the practice of bloodletting. Disease was thought of as an imbalance of the four “humors” : blood, phlegm, black bile; yellow bile. Declaring blood as the most dominant humor, bloodletting was often the gory answer!

Fleam: bloodletting implement with multiple blades of different sizes folded into a case.

What I see

the story, largely untold

in hollow eyes, dare i behold ?

as we pass in the street

at a common hour

them two

and i

an unwilling wallflower

 

this is the telling of averted gaze

sharp glimpses, in acid haze

where passion once dared to tread

it’s distant echo, a severed thread

 

this is the telling of hope emaciated

stumbling forward, duty bound

finger mark bruises at cuff link edge

a destiny soured, scarred, uncrowned

 

this is the telling

of closed doors, midnight yelling

glass shards of anguish there dwelling

 

my wallflower imagination

ever trembling

 

Thanks to S.G for this challenge …to write about a ¬†random topic: “a couple I saw on my way home from work.” Much harder to complete than I had originally thought. And the more I imagined them, the more dark the writing became.

A seed

did it rain all day …

did the clouds not part their lead

loaded grey?

your heart mud heavy in the moist

your spirit soaked

in need of hoist

oh how I wanted to be your shelter

but at first i could barely raise

a rusted umbrella frame

my own self in search

of enfeebled ovule to reclaim

a seed set swirlward to shallow drain

till our fingers meshed there

to sieve and save

ourselves

this union, we crave

your name … so shall I engrave

in the dry ground tomorrow

 

My life as a play

i have lost my taste for the everyday

a maudlin, empty theatre play

scenes dehydrate…

the set walls slide away

and

dramatic briskness falls bland

exit directed by a lone stage hand

doors bolted

 

seeking solace instead

i seek a grander outdoor stage

my soul bindle wrapped tight

grasping firmly, this new page

so captivating a script

 

in which

I wander along barren sands

an enlightened journey to me

as ocean laps, rubbing stones to shine

a hand reaches ever gently for mine

and we walk

untethered to place

and time

us two, centre stage

under warm spotlight shine

Webbed Feet

in the reflection of trees

leaves blurred, branches muted

the pond is stagnant, without shimmer

monochrome serenity

movement

a sole duckling

abandoned, though unaware

dashes over a lily bed

feathered impatience with webbed feet askew

watched by a dragonfly

atop nearby bamboo

such youthful exuberance

of breathless bursts and pond dashing!

I am the duckling

my immature wings as yet cannot soar

vestigial at best

(for now, let’s ignore)

but I can walk on water my love

eager in my yellow bright

flap, splash come I

toward your

wholesome sunlight

Blossoming

chill me

with ice-tipped fingers

tracing, teasing

tempering …heat from within

and every unspoken whim

attended

 

warm me

with an urgency pressed

between dawn’s fleeting pages

petals reveal

in quivering stages

 

burn me

with passionate phrase

acid etched, irrevocably spoken

in fired whispers

an indelible tattoo, a token

to recall at a late hour

 

with half smile

and full knowing