unforeseen and out of character
when you released me
i soared high; i spun
shimmer saunter, aloft
taunting tassels at the sun
.
rainbow shadow skipping over ground
chase it, heed the fluttering sound
rich reveries release
and a polish on palm remained
friction fused memories
a scar there ingrained
plastic tattered trailing
crucified on splintering frame
to soar and dip
in giddy refrain
.
predisposed to lure of flight
spiral of slackening string
i am a kite
with spindles bosky and silhouette
we perforate the sky, such brittle regret
yet once we stood crookedly proud
resplendent with leaf
so elegantly bowed
.
do you recall when our roots first touched?
you shivered
sending squirrel from covert lair
wooden glances; your arborous armour
barked “beware”
yet I advanced with patient seasons at my side
supporting nest of solitary wren
a foliage crested bride
where once I was a field of wildflowers
shaded cool near open plain
caressed by breath of winsome breeze
cooled by kiss of springtime rain
.
summer saw me serried and root bound
in servitude of crumbled ground
oh that you, young traveller
should find me, found
.
patiently in seraphic state
a scintilla of self, I did but wait
with drifting seeds
and scion stretch
yet autumn wasted
to weed…such wretch
.
for the dark, duplicitous skies
disturbed the dance of butterflies
and lured away, through savannah grass
far from my field
you then did pass
oh yes I can whip the words
bring them to their knees
crack the cat ‘o nine tails
across syllables, diseased
observe the line break
conjugate, then subjugate
.
submerge them under bobbing apples
will they float as oily residue?
or settle into the murk where they belong
leaden lyrics of a funereal song
.
so swirl dust whispers in an airless room
letters catching the crack of light
then rest with mold on parchment tomb
lost of worth…
a translational plight
such volatile vapors
vexed by night
.
when words are shreds , untrue,obtuse
prepare the gallows
unfurl the noose
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
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
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
..
