Sacrifice

i was a bird

tried to launch from a balcony

but you saw the calamitous skies

rendered opaque in my eyes

and grabbed my gnarly wings

feathers fell: funereal offerings

.

when I was a python

i had a serpentine aspiration

to contort and twist into suffocation

but you distracted me with quail eggs,

juggled by a roguish marmoset

cajoled by such tomfoolery, I forget

.

then I was a leopard

i slipped away into the night

camouflaged in shadows

to a covert carnage site

later, to discover in defiant disarray

pierced through by arrow of curare

at last …. my own lifeless prey

Poetry Knows

and what does poetry know?

how precious a grain of dirt you are in souless soils

sui generis; sacrosanct

how unique words tumble

in cryptic interludes with frantic gasps of reason

and you surface under the millstone of everyday

 

what does poetry know?

 to cast a saturnine stare

hoping someone might be there

to marvel the mess

of words, dishevelled, undressed

fused with bile, froth, despair

to show the you of gems

tentative, uncut

 

what does poetry know?

that you are lacquered

over volatile brush strokes

raw umber light with flecked red ochre

on a mildewed canvas

still needing time to cure

 

give yourself to the place by the window and breathe

my beloved…

poetry knows

Content

Melpomene* drums her fingers on my temples

and bites my lip with potent intent

observes my penury of writing

from her dour dominion of dissent

.

she reminds me of past anguish

rancid rhymes of fervid ferment

a melange of acrid reveries

bursting dams of dark lament

.

how then to explain, oh muse

a pen now dulled, infrequent

i’ve grown weary of the tumult

sybarite surrenders; senescent

this dearth of inspiration

corollary consolation

I am loved , I am content….

.

.

.

*melpomene is the Muse of tragedy

Interlude

i linger in wistful reverie

lacquered luminary layers of mind

and to the clashing soundtrack of the sea

i contemplate

the possibility

of we

.

my gaze falls into the apocryphal azure

of our mutual sky

what if the answers are there….

on high

in the random scatter of the gulls

or in splintered fragments of shells

sifted in fingertips…

in prolonged silences

vacuum distilled defiances

in eyes dampened by distant reminiscences

of

you

.

Bound

gently rest these craven chains

on furtive marks of ferrous stains

and arching ribs are stepping stones

for fingertips

so curve the bones

conceal the gossamer undertones

..

loosely clench the cuffs of steel

bound we stifle what we feel

bound and mute, lest we reveal

the reticent ramifications

of self imposed fortifications

such redolent ramparts of stale repress

 a crestfallen Delphic fortress ..

 

The Bride

I wait, betrothed to the earth

the desolate dolomite cliffs

jagged peaks; tectonic shifts

my wedding veil…the alpine mists

.

consummate with rhythmic tide

so heedful of the hesitant bride

gentle, soon the waves subside

cleaving to the cave inside

.

decades pass, and fiery gust

shall scorch the fields to barren rust

henceforth shall I only trust

a matrimony of decay and dust

The Weathervane

i can promise nothing

i am a rusted weathervane

atop a crumbling church spire

spinning with random gusts

tethered tenuously by tangled wire

..

the shingles below marked by ferruginous stain

a sparrow shelter…a splintered domain

frail fledgling filoplumes gather

in the shadow of a chicane

..

i know not which way I will turn

aligning east, yet… how I yearn

to be free of memory’s corrosive burn

as sunset’s halycon hues

will my flaked metal

suffuse

..

 

I am the "little armored one", moving gently through life. Hoping to safeguard my sensitivities with layers of words and the expression of thought. Shielding my mirror neurons at times, or tasting music and spinning till I'm dizzy. Every moment here is a gift.