The stream (all workshops)
.
lay beneath the crest of a dream
troposphere grave
glean of a hot scene
the frost fire sheen
I
Oft there comes a wind to tell a tale,
and oft am I without the wherewithal,
to set my ship on voyage forth to sail
beyond the sight of sheets, where ink will fall.
But now, I must recite in measured verse
a tale, yet famous, but in me sublime.
I hope I do not make this tale too terse’
and spoil a song in less majestic mime.
So shall I tell the tale of Inklindon,
of merry inky folk and of their cares,
and when at length, my verse is spent and done,
I shall move on and leave you with my wares.
Do birds still sing at Gettysburg
in fields where Pickett made his charge
or is the weight of history there
.............too large?
I can't imagine cheerful quail
or scornful mocking birds
are tolerated at that place
where brave men screamed their final words.
And meadow larks don't belong there
where crows still silently fly by
recalling souls carried to elsewhere
by their forebears with tired sigh.
RITES OF PASSAGE
in the front parlor
on heavy purple
worn and bare
he sat
legs dangling
in the air
silent cries in dresses
sequenced black
passing by
wooden floors
that cracked
cigars and pin stripe
whispering in the back
blue chiffon and organza
in a mist sickening red
empty stomachs
stale coffee on the breath….
the touch of death.
Once there was a lovely land
'twas specifically so grand,
where a king ruled, with his queen, and the couple's prince;
they lived their lives without a care
for an even hand ruled so "fair",
such a great king had not ruled, ever since!
The young prince was coming of age
and minus squires and, his page,
he was given a quest to accomplish, on his own;
after there were two more 'morrows
he'd find the pond of double sorrows,
thus proving, he was now completely grown.
The passing…
As his head was writing of battles,
his heart ached for peace. He
longed for the comforts of his
mother’s Serge.
The Divas had eyes of reddest red,
they danced on the bodies of those
who were to be dead.
Stiletto heels scarred the skin so
horribly tight, their dance would
last well through this coldest night.
Glad you told us twas an acrostic
I was about to my a neck stick
but beauty lies in poetry
emotion ...
who says it must always rhyme
while composing an acrostic
you commit no crime
rhyme or no rhyme
it was acrostic
I wrote for quite some time
till someone told me
you are...
that is..
I was
an expert of the kind
now you all follow
the free verse
of Loved's mind...
KDT
outside lava throwing fire
deep inside a little girl bent like wire though she hides
She fell once
I offered my hand
Her tears pressed too thin
to see
but she reached for me
she laid me down upon the gravel
we joined at the chest
and shared.......something
voudoun, darkness
I have never been the same
elaborate fog tendril
moves as it pleases
it hunts for those marked
upon hot summer breezes
Don't you remember,
All those long classes that felt too short?
Giggling at the teacher as she enthusiastically spoke of moss sex?
The deep intimate note we passed, an the secrets we shared?
Surely she knew of what we spoke,
Taboo and new.
She never minded though, because we were her stars
in the black night of public school.
We formed a bond as tight as the nucleotides that we studied.
Adenine, thymine, guanine, cytosine.
Steadfast friends, and maybe more?
Until you went away.
Conventional cloudy rainfall
Along with visible thick haze
Inundated sea disappeared
The greens were as hard to locate
As the short airstrip of Sprigs Payne
Belated voice from the tower
Hollered thus, “Man you’re too high”
But the eagle dived and landed
With a rebounding touchdown jig
Lost a third of the squat runway
Travelers’ fate rolled helplessly
Tumbled on sandy plain below
Emergency briefed on exits
Bits and pieces left in the holds
For the spark that ended in fire
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