Meandered

A word is worth a thousand pictures

if carved in a knot of magnolia bark

by covalent lovers 'midst the mist

of fog-less farts from man's machines;

and foxes wield mechanisms of defense

in unveiled wooly sports-coats worn

by and by the prophet in shattered carafes 

polished into a frozen lake of mercury;

and Ribble slides to and fro, catching gnats,

sprouting seedless sunflower tender-loins

torn away from sow-less lantern skies

obscuring the pupil black curtain far behind;

and when a blind man trips on fingered feet

dampened in salty dew and mucous fun,

he sees that silence makes those who weep

hear the sobs from echoes' rain-dropped keys

up onto the eminent brows 'n' ridge furrowed furred:

a promontory for truck-driving fleets of crippled use

to warehouses bustling with oily nails and meat;

and vowels tesselate to Persian patterns

seamlessly collected by some suspecting eyes

surprised mid surpluses of decanted meaning

that floats on by like fiery birthday blimps

manned by a trillion cells named Giuseppe;

but what factory made the first factory?

and whose name formed itself first?

by the letter-less alphabet comprised of grunts?

These questions sit ashamed in the corner

wearing still a pointed cap quoting "dunce;"

and so the shell with the infected pistachio nut

cracks open inexplicably and decides

to grow into a salamander's spot–a maze–

constructed by invisible web-coasts called mind.

The Greatest View

For each grained groove in old wisened wood;

for all of the beaches fine specks of sand;

there's that fragment of frail detail that could

outshine the finest things in this fair land

For each ripple shining against the shore;

for each shade of blue found within the sea;

there's not a single sight that could mean more

than what your resplendent smile means to me.

For each ray of sun to pierce sanguine skies;

for each jagged mountain that frames the view;

what's most spectacular to cross my eyes

is the eternal light that shines in you.

What makes this image all the more divine

is the fact I can call your beauty mine.

Pebbles and Paint

A shell

waves swell

worn down

men drown

by time

bells chime

Fleeting

On a dark night

a swan lands 

on a moon reflected lake

it glides in the water

and with a stroke of its wings it’s gone.

The only memories

are the waves it 

left.

Lost by the Interval

Lights flicker as numbers count down

but never make their way to zero. Soon

the blank images are replaced by people

in motion. You can see the sweat of their brow or

the innocence of youth

stolen by codes and wires.

The images continue to flicker

at 16 frames per second.

They come to a standstill at the interval

and then move again. It is a motion

that can be paused

but never stopped.

Missing the Rain

I would shun the chance at a paradise in eternal summer sun

for just one stormy September's day spent with you;

trade the idea of drinking cocktails in the sky clear

to hold your hand through the deluge.

I would drown in the dismal downpour without a frown,

endure the torrent with no qualms.

I could be sitting under any gargantuan wonder

but I would still prefer to be framed by your arms.

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A Short

I saw darkness

and you

opened my eyes.

The Lagoon

There is a beautiful, blue lagoon I know

that is as deep as the oily pupils that draw me in.

Here I have spent many a frescade as spring's knosps vesuviate

and the shock of her gelid grasp makes me vociferate.

The glacial water is a welcome rest from the unsubtle sun

but there is an ominous dread that ripples on her surface

that makes me stop short and merely dip my timidly trembling toes;

a mutual fear that leaves me feeling exposed.

I hear tales of men being lured by her irrecusable charm,

and falling in to a liquid lysis, never to be seen again.

Yet I know that I'm a strong swimmer, a match for her pernicious pull;

how could such serenity be harmful?

Legend says that the lagoon is so perilous

because she doesn't want those lovers and lazers to leave.

Those fears are allayed by my intense admiration for her gentle tact

and a desire to stay in her loving grasp.

Besides, it is a fact that water is vital

and her dulcifluous drops are the only ones I'd ever long for.

Despite unwarranted worry's repines, her resplendence is a refulgent refuge

that deserves more than a response of a subterfuge.

And so I dive in, with a cerulean coalescion

looking past the caliginous fear to the depths,

and once in, the depths become diaphonous that the eidolon I see

is merely the internecine fear that resonates in me.

My lecanoscopic love will not lacerate my lungs

nor will my constant craving cause kraurosis.

So I ask to madefy my desire to swim, and in turn I shall pacify her fear

hoping that her hesychastic heart shall keep me near.

Written Off

The clouds are closing in

like terrible teeth from the jaws of the mountain,

clenching down onto the dour day.

A thousand little footsteps patter through the tiles

unsure of their direction,

fading away into those lowly confines

that we reserve for everything that has served its use;

buried in the ground.

In Your Curls

The shore beckons, 

waves hurl their shells 

empty, they leave impermanent prints 

before being wiped by the pull

and the push of rising waters.

Glide

A petal tumbles through the air

though, slowly, not quickly

as if suspended from somewhere.

Its course confusing but destination determined;

so easy to see, yet hard to explain

like the stone to which it travels

to join the rest; dying, darkening, dead.

Tension on Twelve

The doors kissed to mark the start

of another trip to the ground floor.

Soft jazz battles with the burlap silence 

of a man and woman alone together.

Thoughts stay home to hum, tap, and sigh

at the sight of another missed opportunity.

First Date

I squeezed conversation out

like near empty toothpaste;

coarse, uneven, and not enough.

Her ice was melting fast,

and I was the empty glass

as we both sipped and stared.

Reflections Refracted

The bus passes by

reflecting my visage in its windows.

My countenance shifts and changes

as though on a pond

disturbed by a pebble.

Yet the fish are still and placid.

The Beauty in Music

In every song I hear your name,

a melliflous frisson.

I pray that it's not just a refrain

but a life-defining reason.

For I feel that I have found my key
and that this harmony will not change
in all the notes of soft Ebony
together we have found our range.

Autumn's Brevity

Autumn seems incredibly
                                                                                                    ABRUPT.
A
     b     r     i     d     g     e                  b     e     t     w     e     e     n
life
                                               and                                               death.

Hospitals

Sterilised and stifling;

Bleach soaked and hot.

I leave your arms with ailments

That before I knew I'd not.

The air continues to surround

I'm squandering all the strength I've got

So I stand in the entrance for a minute

Where others' lungs can rot.

Anther

To a slither of broken moon

fragile half-wrist

small polished fragment

of bone

archaeologist universe

dusting off his aged timepiece.

Folacious Memories

A life is measured

not by its number of years

but the number of souls that it has touched,

and just as a tree

may lose the verdure of its leaves

the soothing influence of its magnificent frame remains.

So folacious memories

will flower fondly even in Winter

with a deep flocculation of variegated love,

and those deep roots

that made such a strong impression, will long

outlast the Southern virason with the opening of each neanic knosp.

Of your Light...

That I should not find you as a mirage of the mind, 

a figment of my fancy

is a phantom of the finely fathomable.

You are a phosphorescent light

that undeniably gives both credence and confidence 

in the direction all paths must lead

through the blackest of nights.

To say that your radiance is a fallacy

created by my dark isolation

would be dim indeed,

and would disregard the iridescence

that outshines both the Sun and Moon in equal measure,

and has no need for parting shift nor break

for your light has no desire to spurn

half of its shine in shadow.

Evening Elation

Whistling winds wander throughout the cracks,

the crevices,

the in-betweens, in that of a wisp.

A wisp, a wisp of locks, your hair which lies above you;

possibly the only thing which does,

streams a beautiful brown,

baring your soul

and catching my eye.

They are gates to the great, gorgeous soul within you;

at times graceful, others golden,

but always in some way glorious,

and they bear the burden of temptation towards belief, which buries me.

If bright, white lights are to be expected at time's end,

they are to travel through your hair.

And I,

trembling,

near broken

and cold, stand in awe of the smile surrounding.

Morning Coffee Breath

A morning of caffeine and reflection

helped to dampen my dejection

and stain my fingertips and teeth. 

But the tip of my tongue still blunders

 when my mind meanders and wonders

to a blighted and beleaguered belief.

Invalid

Mild-mannered and morose; close to comatose.

 The only thing I could convey 

was a lack of confidence; and you your dismay.

Und wieder werden es nicht am gehen 

wenn nichts ab mein will konnte geschehen. 

So muss es sein; dieses worten mein nur sorgen.

Truths

I seek sincerity

in my sadness

and so I search

for situations

were my singularity

can be sustained

as isolation.