The Colosseum sits~
a fractured crown,
its arches a circlet of light
where jeweled sun gathers,
I walk its perimeter,
my fingers grazing limestone
warm as living skin.
Dust rises~
a faint ghost of applause, of fear,
of spectacle braided with longing.
History here is not distant;
it presses close,
grainy and intimate.
The broken tiers curve
like a half-remembered sentence,
one the empire began,
but time insisted on finishing.
Grass grows where violence once bloomed;
the sky claims the open roof
as if to remind the ruin
that even power must answer to light.
I feel a strange tenderness:
noting how even magnificence erodes,
how power becomes dust,
how what remains is not violence
but vulnerability~
the open sky pouring through
what once was sealed.
The Colosseum reminds me
that time builds and erases in the same breath,
and that beauty endures most fiercely
in the places where the world
has already learned how to break.
The Crown,
Where roost the winged idyllic dream
Diadem of power and the eternal gleam
Worn aloft the heart and mind
Marking such wayward vessels refined
Raising awareness of a being ascended
Today and henceforth befitting of a throne
No longer the stuff of mere flesh and bone
But the whim of divine law descended
Transcending mortal throw
Beacon of the people's heart
Banner of the people's mind
Flagged Pinnacle of their highest hope
The almighty triadic circlet of kings
Where sleeps the rarer compassion of loving queens
Carrying the weighty burden of prosperity
Bearing it ever forward and into eternity
Novgorod’s primeval pearl, white circlet of the free
Once lost and forgotten in the Kievan sea
Veiled in millennium old shells, made from wax and birch
Grave of pure souls liberated, cast from the church
Of those forgotten who followed Father Alexandra
Revered soldier of Christ, from the house of Laodicea
Obedient, splitting the world into darkness and light
Dedicated to the Christian faith’s light and plight
“Coveting nothing, leaving villages and kin
O Father Alexandra, please forgive every sin
Defender, save our spirits from the flesh of skin
Evil, death and sin were born before the world we see"
X was their guiding moon, in that Kievan sea
Luminous miscellaneous adorn my crown,
Frills and strawberries,
Thorny circlet dusted with a light layer of twinkle,
As my eyes hysteric with confusion
muse on this loss.
I gather the lumps of loaf
crossing the border of light
toddling and traversing through the hues
of bent butter beauties
drooping into the worn old stone
one foot forward of the other
two stayed peering past
my grandfather built all this.
silver lick of hair stuck to his brow
that little rhythm in his hands
trembling like the trickles of water
heaved, trodden, beat and brandished
by the river rover.
oxidized poles decorated with patched quilts and marked clothes
trodden through top soil
of the hearth of the earth
will i even sense this again?
this burrowing thing inside of me
borrowed from ages long past their prime
will i too become another fleck on the sun scorched sill ?
She wears a gown of saffron silk
bordered with black leaf lace,
the moon her silver circlet clasp
with sparkling stars encased;
she dips satin slippers in the sea,
we her opalescent footprints trace.
March 16, 2022
Bite Size Poem No. 40 Poetry Contest
Words_ in my garden@ the edge of thorns.
Population cultivation of shrapneled bones.
My thoughts, mine, alone.
My as she helixed the change
of elixired kool aid and iced earth,
Ayahuasca tea to drink under the crystal sun;
To be or not to be undone.
Dangled as a charm over my eyes,
walled popularity,
that rivit ring resurrection machine gun
@A rising force of risen suns,
from the sea of emptiness
@circlet chain fire testing this blue toothed,
teething proofs of brainwashing that is being done.
Cutting me tooths on techlobotomy future suturies,
filling with bad blood,
of milk undone into channels of soured diversities.
Blasphemies abreast of Bathory, Borden,
Mystopheles.
Metaspinions on bile for birth of strange aeons and late night gerd.
Storied olde.
Waking death, rebirth, federation,
mental masturbation, folly, jolly rogered
as if it depends on.
A friend, so I have heard,
fair weather turns cold.
Circlet
is the head piece
I wear in a wedding
while I'm being a flower child
crowning
The redwoods’ fairy ring, wall in a family secret
Only, not all roots dig as deep…
Parched, some shrivel, loosening the circlet
Shush….the tallest ones whisper steep
Elegance alas, the needy ones, have lost…
Chafed, bitter barks scatter cones they can’t keep
Raging fires sear heartwood of dearest cost
Enduring burns gape trunk-wide scars…
The remnant wall shrinks tauter, visible as vapored frost
(10/2/20: '87 Tiara 3600 Convertible; DMS)
Under glowing heaven
and the sound of birds flutter and quarrel.
A path to a bush of roses and blue forget-me-not
to a circlet etch bench, couple sit.
Her sweet beauty bewitching,
he lifts his left hand and cup her face.
She tilts her face into his hands
her gaze curious and seeking.
Unable to help himself,
he bent and placed his lips over hers.
She wraps her arms around him
and sank into the kiss.
9/12/2017
When Rome ruled the world,power was king,
A freedman proudly unveiled his iron ring;
In later years of olde,
The forefinger,the preference of the bold;
The middle by the prudent and discrete
Such dignity now appears polite & so effete;
A loop upon the littlest,show a masterful mind,
The circlet on the third,one of a different kind;
Love& affection,wed as one,to bind & then remind
Just like old times there's her familiar features
Peeking shyly up from the snow-clad earth,
Hair adorned with circlet of dainty flowers.
Beautiful Springtime.
Against a browning hill
oak trees' bleeding limbs are stretched;
some drops release to softly fall
some cling to dry encrusted scars.
A few short months and we will walk
beneath the springing trees
marking their swords of thinnest green
stabbing at the stars.
And so, life seasons make their rounds
in nature and in men
the flower wilts, the rose is pruned,
the leaves must fall again.
Everything of lasting worth
contains a seed of loss;
on young love's throbbing circlet
hangs a bitter cross.
We will walk life's lanes together,
cherishing this pain we share
for spring will come tomorrow
and bloom on our despair.
Copyright, November 11, 2014
.
In the time of dead leaves,
when wide-eyed things
frowned at sound,
and snow fell through fog,
a red berry circlet
crowned her hair.
When hunger stilled infants
and frost shrouded ancients,
wrinkled laughter dappled
forests, glades, fens.
Her talons clawed
life through death,
veil through veil.
Mother. Hag. Virgin whore.
Giver, taker, wise before
gods' birth.
In the time of black robes,
when men killed
for one mouth of meat,
she walked naked
on frozen fields,
and the earth
shuddered
its young
upwards.
Mother. Midwife. Woman.
She was breathtaking.
.
The red of crescent moon
Blushing on sky's mantle,
A sacred moment to swoon
She, rising high in bliss gentle.
Fascinated by woman's spirit
He offers purple garlands
Grace within floral circlet
Sailing together in cloud's garden.
Here is where my hurt heart
finds rest:
beneath emerald canopies
at the park
where a pebbly pathway meanders
and widens
into a circlet with a fountain refreshing,
gushing;
softly splashing, a busy birdbath here,
a turtle pond there.
With such solace, light as a feather
my soul is.
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