Loss, thy bitter luster.
Pain, rip each heart in twain.
Blanketing blizzard, thy bluster.
Red run, O my rain.
Chaos, entropy, ripcord.
Pull thy chute and fall.
Mother Sin, thy flaming sword.
Blanching light, thy pall.
Moon, thy storm. Hornet, thy swarm.
Flickering in form.
Dam that river? Getting warm.
Volcanos a-dorm.
Love, are you to last? Past? Fast?
Trickery, thy mist.
Fate and fury, what ye hast!
Fortune, twist thy wrist!
Charm and chain, forever?
Rekindle and release?
Spindle, grow dull never!
Gold, thy mold. Fire, fleece.
Blossom, O opossum?
How awesome would that be?
In a cage we toss them?
Then sink them in the sea.
Sun, thy sum. Bright beams to come.
Strike the bastards dumb.
Reality, how you hum!
Better us than some!
Game of patient waiting?
O heart of mine, thy throb.
Well, that's no second-rating.
Hope, you've lost your job...
I have some fruit trees in my backyard.
Cooler dawns we ripely say hello, sweet
and sour occasions~ the lemons you know.
With a little cooperation, fertilizer, a bit
more water when dry, I find mostly sand can
be quite agreeable, even in a desert.
Diverted irrigation, flooding the property
every 2 weeks is a big help. Salt River
our wet angel. Occasionally the blanching Sun does feign
sympathy: a bit Less luster, grace enough that allows
clouding for a blessed evening drench. Now and
then on rising, a gentler gleam, for lingering morning dew
that does not go unnoticed and appreciated. At times occurs
a suspicious, easier on the eyes, toning down of
fiery afternoon skies~ maybe courtesy of UFO’s? I don’t know.
This time of year, in Phoenix, very predictable
temperatures: Half past hot or a quarter to Hell.
The glass once lucid
now deflects glow differently.
A chuckle clenched in the wind,
blanching and flaming.
Where were we?
Footprints echo, retreat, advance
sagging floor, missing nails.
Not long enough--
like a wheeze folding in and out,
a beam of light held in a still moment.
Sagging floor, nails missing,
steps forth, then retreat.
Where were we,
blanching and flaming,
a chuckle loosed in the wind—
now the glass, no longer lucid,
deflects the glow differently.
Iridescent crow wings
scatter ice particles, patches of air clatter.
Grackle claws engrave the frozen creek,
small owls emerge from blanching shadows,
fieldmice burrow into snow drifts.
A small stir in the flappable; facets
dazzle a dazed daylight.
A newly unearthed sky pauses to blink
life stutters, shimmers back
twice as bright.
Cold choice, listen to the voice!
Waver filleth all!
He who suffers Sin annoys?
Blanching light, thy pall.
Hated minutes of each day!
Flickering in time!
Doubt belies all disarray!
Drop and drop, O dime!
Slickened hatchet, cudgel black!
Blood along the back!
Stuff the world down bitter crack!
What then profits? Stack?
Weather, winter, splinter!
Shredder, call the storm!
Brutal blight, art beginner?
Blizzard, keep us warm!
Swarm of locust, come like frost!
Hie, O holocaust!
Bargain devil, get me Faust!
Nil regard the crossed!
Ghoul of ancient story;
Where will this dark tale go?
Morning, hast thou glory?
Walk well behind the row!
Yellow king in city vast!
Hang then all from mast!
Rule of law, thy just repast!
End Times, fast! Ye hast...
Summer rain from darkened clouds pouring
Like the windows of heaven have opened
After the blasting heat, so welcomed, adoring,
Waves of hell from Satan’s seething broken,
No lightning striking, no thunderous booming
A gentle, steady rain like a mother’s soothing
Whispers o’er the hurting tears all-consuming,
Steady summer rain is God’s way of approving.
Relief from the blanching dryness in the field
Wilting blossoms lift their heads refreshingly,
Drink from the cup of heaven’s gracious yield
Like an afternoon sip of freshly-made sun tea.
Written August 7, 2022
Edited November 7, 2022
submitted to "Rainy Day" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
A stone in the backyard,
roughly cratered like the moon,
a black stone
heavy with ancient cinders –
fire chipped.
Could it be a meteorite
or maybe a bit of cold star-fire?
It’s so very old,
utterly lost
even though
it is now placed here in my hand -
placed for an iota of time.
Lots of rocks in the black
pock-marked yonder-
in the star quarry,
Then there is this blind pebble
between my fingers.
The stars are mad.
They glare down upon me
as night lets go of Ohio.
Perhaps the stars miss
this piece of endless night
in my hand?
Dawn is racing
over hedgerows.
A lingering starlight
glints on the hard ground,
the blanching gleams
seem angry,
even psychotic.
A boy on a pedal bike
throws a morning newspaper.
The daylight rattles
as if shaking off a dream.
Sol rolls the earth over
its violent core, rekindles
our eyes.
I take the stone back indoors.
I’m not sure why,
maybe I’ll write a poem about it.
Life Choices
Written: by Tom Wright.
7-20-2016
Tangible success or inner gratification,
Were the choices in life that I once faced.
My life could remain just an aberration,
And the family name, become disgraced;
Then I arrived at my road’s branching,
Firmly entrenched, I faced a life choice.
Trembling, I stood, with color blanching,
Jesus had given me cause to now rejoice.
Every night I lay here alone,
remembering; wailing.
I love the night shadows:
it’s all about the stillness.
There are no stars out tonight,
only a lonely, empty sky.
The hue-less wind passes,
and it cries un-seen.
Trembling elm trees nod at the moon,
that floods the field with shallow, blanching light.
Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky,
this mortal scene stands aloft in wisdom.
Then the anguish of my heart,
absolves my eyes.
And my shrouded body starts quivering,
and my mirthless cries rake the enchanted night…
No truer truths can take me too far from here
Myself alone now viewing what I see as true
Torn from within an inner sepulcher once caked with fear
Made truer now by old offences now found few
I shake the must that's oozed into my adjacent earth
And ask of what borders will I dwell if seen above
The blanching soil that marks the mete of any birth
And ends in essays drawn from hell or love
When all is done, as now, there'll be a quiet end
As the mind's appetite winds down its furious grind
Substantiating proof that there's no better friend
Than one's ideas freed from a safer life confined
Give me love then, and spare the perplexing test
That challenges what in the heart is known best
Now nowhere near
Dazzle dream dear
Oops options oil
Boom blanching boils
Prize pretty pace
Symbols steer space
Query quaint quest
Feel flashy fest
Rich ripples rouse
Bright blessings browse
See setting sun
Play precious pun
Touch tensile truth
Ply puzzle proof
Use umpteen urge
Seek spiral surge
Voice vibrant verge
Mingle meek merge
Work wise words well
Thrill tasty tell
eXpress eXtra
Count clear contra
Yield yesterday yes
List laughter less
Zoom zany zest
Jazzy joy jests
Leon Enriquez
14 September 2017
Singapore
As blossoms come forth
from covered seeds,
by blanching the shell of self
in time
the dawn of true understanding
will brighten effortlessly
from within-
rising high,
transforming to Light
the dark
of all our
bleakly imagined horizons....
'...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness.'
-Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and grey,
the day is dying;
my way is dark and dismal,
the night jar's distant cry
my only solace
as I wander washed
in reveries of you and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
(Note: an exercise in alliteration and assonance...
short 'a,' long 'a,' long 'i,' short 'i,' short 'o' assonance.
'b,' 's,' 'd,' 'w' alliteration.
Poetry is music... similar sounds and a deliberate rhythm.)
'...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness.'
-Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and grey,
the day is dying;
my way is dark and dismal,
the night jar's distant cry
my only solace
as I wander washed
in reveries of her and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
Heart is gathering dust from the past
Out of the blue comes the mast of sea
Blanching foam covetous ream
Words burst like ghosts on me a miscast
And they write in a good seam
Under the gleam of stage fools around
Under the gleam of stage my hands are browned
In the crib of life under lock and key.
Heart is gathering dust from the past
I must see they're not gathering rust
In the gatherings of wild talks hushed
Between you and me.
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