[x]

MatrixIt is not how I thought of you
at the moment of your admission
which one might see as terrible
in the darkness you confide,
but as moonless in its secrecy

where my perfume cannot reach-
tumbling over black cataracts,
blood-flecked and rabid; guided,
albeit momentarily seduced,

to be lead behind
eroding bulwarks of atrocity,
climaxing into this matrix dome,
the head of a spear through a noose-

but am I not merely a bandit;
bereaved by calamity at the
pinnacle of my desire gone awry?

Or in reality, a sinister paradox
unwelcome, borne of my
own darkness, that begs you stay.

Everly

everly will my heart feel you
and keep you everly everly

utterly how I long for you
to cradle me utterly utterly

lovingly whispering words of
your love for me lovingly lovingly

tenderly comes your voice to me
receiving you tenderly tenderly

everly will my heart feel you
and keep you everly everly

little stirrings XI: wreckage

rain showers soothe,
leaving reflections
upon my skin

the wreckage
within
untouched, unclean

never mind the pain,
when you are near
how sweet the rain

Migrations"Migrations" (haibun)

Facing the ocean with the afternoon growing old, I listlessly watch beyond this living, heaving sight for hours, until the sunlight burns through, turning into undulating yellow savanna for as far as I can see. Herds of wildebeests, co-mingling with zebra, their black and white stripes interchange with the sea of tall grass. They move toward the ancient riverbeds still yet to be engorged from distant storm clouds that won’t give up their precious cargo for another month. Breezes come off the surf with the scent of a kill I hear out of range.

It's as if the entire curve of the earth from end to end has c

Full Frontal"Full Frontal"

to escape the seasonal heat
I urgently seek sanctuary
in the shadows of
one of those museums

where pillars of marble
and stained glass domes
rival the hallowed halls
of Saint Paul's cathedral

instantly confronted with
smooth-skinned nude statues,
surrounded by
full-frontal views

pale, erect and tall,
adonis faces turned profile,
all the while sprouting
oak leaves in early fall

it must be true what is said
that the eyes of a statue
are quite dead, yet
not so other regions

little stirrings VIII: species

dolphins play, circling riptides
spouting their curiosity
next to me and from behind

blowholes that rise from
the rolling hills of deep ocean,
carrying me through fields

where their young cling
to each other, laughing aloud
at how much a plaything

they see my species is
so out of my depths
even as they welcome me

Lightthe feeling of
freefalling off the edge
from the test results
on the phone alone-

always knowing that
nothing is certain except
for the bond between
us keeping vigil afar;

he offers to be near
all the same
no matter what that means,
or the sacrifice made-

I'm moved to tears,
how foolish I am
to apologize for the litany
of fears that befall me-

he judges not at all,
yet shames me with
the beauty of his caring,
shushing me when I fret;

I won't look pretty
by the deathwatch light
of a hospital room,
but I'm not there yet;

I'd rather he see me
by the radiance of
a winter's full moon
or a golden afternoon,

Deja Vuscrub:

I don't remember
but
I've been here before

I can't recall
though
my body feels it

your eyes dwell
deep
in recognition

it undoes me
without
knowing how or why

I'm at a loss
without
feeling lost

it doesn't surprise me
when
you take my hand

I wait to recoil
while
time beats askew

the door locks itself
rolling
me like a thief

lying like a fish
gutted-
the steam rises up

your face so close,
shining
from the open maw

I watch from afar
unable
to make eye contact

the timbre of your sobs
sounds familiar

you should be strong
because
I can't cry for you

I've been here before
but
I don't remember

little stirrings IX: heart

you on the carousel, out there
on the wind-swept prairie
racing past, galloping

your cropped hair flying
making my head spin,
never stopping-

how do you always manage
to lean over,
reaching, reaching, and gotcha!-

capture the brass ring that is my heart

GiftThe withering summer had overstayed its welcome
till I stepped out into the balm of a lost love,
its breath parting the overcast of my garment,
making me almost forget the long struggle
by the rustlings of dying bounty released-

so moved am I from the first gift of your return
in spite of my singed wings and lost hope for
the wait of a new beginning, of rebirth,
unable to fly to the outposts projected on
silhouettes of fragile bone- then came your second gift,

raising me up within my thoughts where
I hang paper lanterns to illuminate
the impossible of what I shall never have,
to watch the conflagration no matter how

Wicker HorsesAcross a scattered galactic arm arcing,
the false peace of stars clings to
the curve of the earth,
stillborn in a celestial rock garden

and I in its soil with limbs
pruned and trained,
until set into motion the undone slumber,

a kiss on the lips of a maiden
under glass for a thousand years,
whose kingdom succumbs to wicker horses,
their manes atrophied in mid flight--

the meaning of hieroglyphs hang
like wind chimes,

pairs of sandals from many souls
line the steps to the entrance
of a monk's hut through which I've passed
uncharted many times,
to shake off the earthbound

'til I start to miss oranges again,
and blue

Natural

An acoustic string was gently plucked
reverberating through the chambers
of my life's cage when I saw you.

The seasons of many years
reduced to the sound of the sea,
the breeze of which was hardly noticed;

so natural it all seemed to me.

rendercedar smoke spires from off
fossil-strewn horizons,
ruching the length of sky-

dampness persisting more
deeply, never to
fully cure, only to warp

through the lining of
myself, a rubric
keeping this soul imbued

and disrobed, to drift
away from the fires where
all others mull and follow

and gather unaware
in a languishment
to render their tallow

the scent of rindwhile segmenting an orange
as I absent mindedly walk the garden

a waxing crescent moon ascends
for the third day in a row

racing the juice
that runs up my arms

my mind unchanging in spite of
the day's unrelenting heat

that has turned into night
and too warm to wear it down

faint light hooks the ends of
my hair at that moment

and how lovely the scent of rind
won't wash off of me for days

GhostYou offer me your ghost-shirt
for warmth, as I stand
in permanent free fall
before the two dippers-

I have no tears with which to weep,
they won't last beyond
the first touch of
thin air in this high place

where trees never grew
or felt the tension of gut sinew
when I lost my eyes
staring into the sun, and

how its dried breath of
ancient rain and elk horn
has left the moon an orphan.

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Where a Poem Once Was IIit was happening more and more,
when new words would crush my pulp
and scuttle my validations-

the erosion of runoff from your bow echo,
and how my underpinnings would rot free,
washed away as afterthoughts

no longer a land-bound cell,
but disconnected and aloof;
a scavenger bird, a lesser gull

to wave me off by your annoyance
in spite of your need, to take pity
if only you had learned

reduced as I was to accepting scraps;
to forage
only when your back was turned

Where a Poem Once Wasall I said, all I've ever said
was rotted candied webs and fluff,

embryonic thought, stupefyingly
lightweight, naive and bluff,

I knew the moment I descended
from the feign of high spirits

as your random acts reprimanded
all the tarps of resignation from

highboys and wing chairs, showing
the jest of moldering shutters-

in a season of loons going
dormant, and so too my memory,

always trusting while throwing
caution to winds of extinction

for time to challenge,
rattling in an uneasy truce-

each fortnight remained taut,
reverberating from a pluck

on the rim, snapping loose
to whip violently back

seeking retrib

Kannabisyou've drawn me into your purity
corrupting your harbors until
only I remain pure,
a bitter truth in disbelief-

sub-shadows blurring
become intolerant, the more
voracious your midnights
despite the pleasuring reef-

there's always more that must be
said, too numb and never sure,
intoxicating your devotion;
denial of this grief-

to realize all delusions
while waiting for the answers
that you will never know
from the inhalations of my leaf

little stirrings XVII: reach

scenting the currents
of everything I feel for you
and yet
how delicately fickle

when your lashes and
your fingertips and
your playful tongue
reach out to caress and tickle

songkeep me here with you
even when I'm not near
keep me here with you forever

don't worry that the tide will take me,
my heart beats with the lunar pull

you claim how selfish is your heart
while seeking shellfish in the sand, to

keep me here with you
even when I'm not near
keep me here with you forever

the lazy breezes pull us close
and wash away our footpaths

you tell me listen, hear the song
that comes from memories of me
that reads in every book you have, to

keep me here with you
even when I'm not near
keep me here with you forever

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The Baths of Eros

by `jade-pandora, Jul 25, 2012, 11:52:33 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Lit by the gold of an afternoon
from the skylight,
a slight and barefoot servant girl,
her plaited hair bound up and
secured with a lyre's harp,
moves from guest to guest, who wait
and mime in the reception hall
of an Athenian bathhouse.

She, bending low, holding a tray
where each man takes a cup to sip from,
peering over the rim,
musing at the heat underfoot from
the fires beneath the stone works,
as a lesser fire stokes those who
watch her with eyes steaming,
melting their cynicism.

Drawn to and leaning forward,
feeling like the beguiling child
who sees his reflection
in the sweet water of a deep well
before falling in without a sound--
the neckline of her tunic folds open,
unspooling her fragrance,
evoking visions of its offerings.