The stream (all workshops)
All somber, those who stand around
this wound cut deep into the ground
beside a box so square and stout
as if they fear you might get out
but from the casket there's no sound
The preacher murmurs on unheard
my attention's fixed upon a bird
a hawk soaring nearly out of sight
within a sky so clear and bright
as if nothing special had occurred
In your hands, a potter's wheel,
shaping substance into form
the physics of involution:
broken shards along a
caravan longing a
sweet alchemy, precise
fingers on snow
In the desert bloom.
I weep your nearness.
You have made a fine vessel.
Fill me with sunrise.
Power surging twisting and dipping
Poleaxing and reviving me
Currents travelling to the brain
Joy a sense of well being
Pleasure untamed
Limbs and body thrashing out of control
Lurching undulating driving me insane
Shocks of pure terror
A loneliness remains
Draining my will
Going for the kill
Driving home the thin sharp blade
Lacerating my soul
All Is calm filled with mind numbing boredom
Unrelenting strain
Smears of neon, glistening light
streak across my blurry sight
Swiftly the wipers push aside
the colored raindrops come to ride
High flying geese in their vees
Trees in brightly colored leaves
The crack of dawn, I see it come
and Summer seems to be all done
Motor sounds and tires shussssh
driving through the puddled slush
Pale yellow light from the sun
I think that Autumn has finally come
lean
feel the range of your spine
close to the surface
the dark shadows beneath the green predator pupil
the mascara lick
candyfloss lipstick
Heels stark loud
against the lonely walls
such lovely legs
in their reach
from there to there
Love Bandits
stealing knifes edge
each kiss a dulling
draw on our firestone
hearts
night is rivetted with
pain
and we swallow our thirsts
with drowning sorrows
she wished for them
to feast upon
little green apples
with tiny brown worms
residing inside
while she should feast
upon the mackintosh
they wore jewled rings
on every finger
precious and expensive stones
while she wore a
single simple band
of silver on one hand
their clothes were of
the latest designer ilk
they sported expensive fashions
decked out from head to toe
her garments were hand me downs
they were willowy and graceful
blond and beautiful
she was petite
It doesn't really make the world go 'round
but, it may be what the world needs, now;
I'm not completely convinced it's either patient, or kind
but, it's heartaches are too much to allow.
It can assist one in finding their soul mate
that is, if indeed we all each have a soul;
it's questionable if it'll keep us all together
but, if it existed not, it would sure take it's toll.
Mon, 2011-09-12 10:53
China Blue's picture
re write
Passion is the tides
Surge, ebb and flow
The roar of an approaching storm
The flame of desire's
Burning heat
A lion’s hunger
When on the prowl
To the ocean’s depth
It is felt
Lust never fulfilled
Love is a comfort zone
An unconditional giving
Where no boundary lines are drawn
A knowing without a whisper
A reading of the signs
Love always fulfilled
Cocktail strangers sit at the banquet table
make some polite dinner conversation,
quite by chance, forbidden topics are introduced
and long sharp fangs come out of hiding,
then gorging ourselves on one another
like vampires feasting in daylight hours
we spit out kernels of truth
choke on what is denied,
vomiting the hideous curse of human hunger
like self-indulgent vultures
picking, picking on the curvature of scabs
and lightning ligaments
like libertine lies learned in the cradle and the womb
As dawn breaks the world is still,
no breeze disturbing woods or rill,
while I sit on this hill thinking,
motionless also, nearly unblinking,
of peace and quiet I've my fill.
Many leaves have fallen down.
Their vivid shards adorn the ground
on this frosty autumn morn
when all the hay fields now are shorn.
A few squirrels start to leap around.
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.