Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.221.165.81
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
III.
diamond sky
climbing up into
the mountain,
collecting the
scattered spoils of 
temptation; seeking 
rest from raising 
the green wood
roots of trees,

these broken kingdoms
will also perish, like 
collections of antique skin
to be buried
in the garden
of wonder
(alongside the urns 
containing the ashes 
of apostles).

IV.
clouds rising
out of the earth,
while the lamp
throws fading light;

a demon; catching the
hidden light, touched 
my hand and said
‘please make me clean’,

and an angel; 
in the shape of 
a thistled rose
unfolding,

both returning from 
the southern weather -
from the flaming fruit 
of vipers, from the blood 
of the sapphire sea;

‘master, we have
your nets of tooth and iron.
what now have we to 
do with them? what now
have we to do?’

V. 
this robe of words 
be put to death
in the midst of fever:
a high fire stirs
in skull shaped temples,
and gilded ornaments 
are strung up 
above the sea;

we searched for
ocean flowers
but found none,

we searched for
antique roman coins
but found none,

now we search 
for god-like figurines
to decorate the 
empty walls 
of these temples.

VII.
once, the worms 
were the rulers 
of these dirt hills;

while the master worm
was not looking,
the servant worms
would cut unbelievers

X.
queen of Solomon -
stones gather 
under your wing,
your coiled gardens 
bloom with nested air,
your temples are 
veiled by visions 
of departed saints,

queen of Solomon -
behold these angels 
shedding skin,
behold this withering 
of the golden oak;

behold these departures 
from death’s sleeping kingdoms,
behold these departures
from the earthen womb
that bore the scorpion’s sting, 
behold these departures
from the muted charms of sleep -
essence of the spectre’s
stained glass hours.

XIV.
receive my sight
of this earth swept armor, 
visions of these coral branches
or of the withered fig trees;

receive my sight
of these weeping pearls,
visions of the tongue’s lucid fire
or of the stardust womb;

receive my sight
of turtledoves,
visions of those lost crescent moons 
or of silk spheres drifting -

keepers of 
the celestial ocean
tell nobody
on what hour
they will rekindle 
the forbidden fire 
of paradise.

XVI.
on the hill 
where the first net 
was cast to catch 
the oracle’s sacred flame,
a fluorescent rose grows
out from the bramble bush -

the teeth of the rose
catch the light 
from the broken star.


- excerpts from '18 short poems': http://mercuryjbird.wordpress.com/
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required