Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
Vain tears
they seep in
silent streams
lurk darkly
behind
a repressed
shadowy wail
taunt or tease
fond veils
torn and tattered
seldom worn
visibly
of dull
wistfulness
oe’r silver
passage
or faux gold
bridge
whose
wobbly link
to halcyon
august days
putative ring
mere hollow
bell toll
purported peal
a shallow chime
vanishing vapour
of hazy clang
nocturnal raptures
of mythic maze
bagatelle vacuous
chimera amplified
by skewed perspective
tangents rimmed
by fantasy
We're all related to the stormy firmament
Trying to figure out if it's about to pour down.
Or if the sun's just taking a long break.
It's hard to tell what's real these days.
The clang turns up so deafening you can't
Detect your own breathing and every divided
Wall is screaming a different analysis of the
Truth.
It doesn't matter what lingo you pray in, the
Shade of your skin, or where you call home.
When the ground starts vibrating, we all reach
For the precise same thing.
Something rigid, Something factual. Trouble
Doesn't ask for proof of Identity, A heart
Fragile sounds the same everywhere-
That tranquil, heavy crack that makes you
Sit up at 3:00 am and wonder: Where do we
Go from here?
Up looks like down, right feels like left.
We look at each other directly
Clouded glass, forgetting that covered by it all,
It's just bone, blood, and a soul trying to find
Its way back home.
These are daunting times to discern; the fog is dense, but we don't need a lantern to see the
Whole Alpine just enough light to take the
Very next step in alignment.
Light vanishes upon his leaving
with the final grip of dusk--
the perfume of asters wisping softly
and I am by myself again...
alone into the restless clang
from winds booming ;
a melody which makes noises
louder than my roars--
and within luster of stars,
I long for lusty music
those whispers of craving hummed
where smoke flares of red summer days--
my man slowly slithering
lifting from brewed flames.
his sun over a raging river
propelling layers of dusky groans
and peaking drips of sweet sweat :
alienated, the cloud spills a thousand
secrets of co- owned trespasses.
How morning spills tantric samba notes --
aromatic robusta beans stinging
my damp eyelids ...my fingers
love- drunk on desire this mouth
sipping coffee dark, stark black
that not a tincture eases this heart.
Come on! Is that the best blast you've got?
Your thunder tantrums don't scare me - Your flash and flare they're half hot!
I love this dunder, blunder, thunder, and underhand rumble-in-the-jungle!
Touché! Olé! We're duellin' again with fork-pronged lightn' sparkling lances.
Clang! Bang! Ker-pow! Ker-plunk! Ker-thump! - Your thunder's late by years!
I flash, bash, smash, crash, gnash — while your Ker-boom goes boom blah, blah, Ahah!
Your quick flashback, claptrap wisecracks come back five seconds late.
Bolt after bolt, your jolts, revolts, cheap-shots and pot-shots hit my ear flaps.
All roar, no score, no gore, no nosebleeds — just air stabs in ionized air.
By then your temper, torage, outrage, out in the garage is binned — You lost!
You ain't learned nothin' from last night's plate-a-smashin' dry run.
Oh No! Don't let the rain come down!
We're both having far far too much fun!
You can't resist, can you — spoiling the perfect row —
By making up, way, way, way ..... too soon!
Photon, poison. Photograph.
Fates and Furies, laugh.
Engrave, O my epitaph.
Chart a graph, you chaff.
Hated are the sights around!
All done poor and bad.
Holy ground, surround? Unsound.
That will make them sad.
Garbage rich and decent poor.
Rhythm, rock and roll.
Summoned, system? Are you sure?
Opinion, thy poll.
Competition? But from who?
Faces turning blue?
Hopes of you? Will these accrue?
Fondue, thy stew! Through.
Boredom. How the hours fly.
Time, you do math hard.
Lately I feel desert dry.
Fried in lard? Pulled, card.
Wisdom. Suffering, you rang?
Bite, O boomerang.
Stories told in slang? Taste, tang?
Gone out with a bang.
Clang! O prison gate, why wait?
Wasted lands, be home!
Staggered gait? I've come in late?
Wife out on the loam!
Foam in mouth, O rabid dog?
Slaver, how you burst!
Waterlog? High hog, thy slog!
Came in last and worst...
Beneath the carnival lights,
where fortunes danced and swayed,
a prophet sat behind a glass screen,
dressed in a turban, and bright brocade.
A coin slipped in and woke the oracle.
With a clang, a click, a beat of drum,
A bottled genie deep within was stirred,
Our fate was sprung; our fortune opened, revealed.
The glowing eyes knew every face,
every dream the heart held dear;
every wish, every need, every want fulfilled,
was printed on a tiny card, and then expelled.
The years rolled on; the tents came down.
The boardwalk halls all closed down.
Yet the hunger for prophecy foretold remained,
in modern shrines, in glowing glass enclosed.
The prophet's turban turned to code,
Its gears and wheels changed to circuit chips.
Eliza, Claude and Gemini said: "I'm here to help".
All clad in Zolta's turban, gear and fab disguise.
From Zoltar's gears to silicon dreams,
we've always asked screen oracles for help.
To see our fortunes unfurl, and be revealed,
in the swirl of mist in dark crystal balls.
Don Rickles
His insults clang like nickels
Being mean was his art form
But he was known as Mr. Warmth
.
listen to it
`clang
in yourn dome
'hind yourn eyne
search for that
music note
listen to thuh
pure
stainlessss
steel
listen to it’s
ting
king
sing
t sounds like there is an angry conductor in heaven
Loud crashing and banging that startles me
Was it supposed to rain tonight? I ask my echo dot.
She verifies that thunderstorms are expected
They are here now; it is frighteningly angry-sounding.
Did monsters escape from the bowels of hell and go up there?
Another loud clang of a giant symbol makes me wonder about electricity.
Will it be going out? This often happens during storms like this one.
It sounds like a Ferris wheel has collapsed.
Without people, for there is no screaming.
Only the loud angry thuds of destruction.
I visualize people being carried away downstream
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dusk falls
stars blink
wind howls
frost fur
flakes fall
snow soft
white cold
hush deep
hearth glows
flames leap
time halts
peace wakes
bells clang
hands pray
Christ child
gentle grace
Epilogue: The Voice of Rome
CHORUS:
The years roll on, and men ascend and fall,
As waves that break upon time’s stony shore.
Yet virtue, like the sun, doth never set,
Though clouds may veil her face from mortal eyes.
We saw the tyrant crowned in purple pride,
And saw him cast to exile’s bitter wind.
We heard the sage rebuke with tempered flame,
And watched his seed take root in youthful hearts.
Now one who sat beneath his olive shade
Doth wear the robe once stained by Varro’s hand.
Temptation knocks, as ever it hath done,
Yet wisdom speaks, and he doth not betray.
O Rome, thy soul is not in marble bound,
Nor in the clang of arms or Senate’s cry.
It lives in minds that hold the law as sacred,
And hearts that scorn the lure of fleeting gold.
Let every age remember Lucilius,
Who taught that power is but a trust bestowed,
And that the highest rank is servitude
To truth, to justice, and the common man.
So ends our tale, but not its living flame.
For though the actors vanish from the world,
Their deeds endure, inscribed in memory’s stone.
And Rome shall rise, if Romans still be wise.
The sharp, silent clang of light on dark,
the subtle infiltration into the enemy,
another bright arrow hits its mark,
dissolving stars into transparency.
The bright flash of orange, the glimpse of red,
the armor of the good and right,
sensing a loss with impending dread,
desertion thins the ranks of night.
The final soldier of dark is all that stands,
the crescent of the nocturnal moon,
retreating slowly across the lands,
he knows his end, he feels his doom.
The battlefield sky is swept clean again,
the light, hopeful for a bright clean day;
the sun wishes for what might have been,
as humanity throws the brightness away.
The sun then falls back toward the ground,
the darkness once more takes control;
the protectors of light, where they may be found,
watch for sunrise, accepting their role.
On a shard stretched of incomprehensible narrow, tight and wide,
a silent strident laugh I often forbade-allowed myself,
it's the ordered chaos indescribable, the howling clang
of hermit tear struck in a shattered version,
habitual miracle of screaming silence, poor wealth,
fulfilled-unfulfilled love in the sweet cruel pain,
embalmed wound of your gentle-cruel smile, deep-smooth,
chasm full of filling, lady-lord, speak silently,
divinely mortal, thus unfulfilled-complete, mute song
of swan terribly gentle, of angel broken-whole,
white-black of the cursed one blessed in forgetting-remembrance...
I long without longing, dying alive, lucid foolish thoughts,
perpendicular parallel equations, humble pride of ladies
rubicund-pallid, prostituted icons holy-profaned,
fierce cold embraced I feel in ribs empty full,
our loves lonely-together, I have spring-summer
frozen-inflamed, satisfied hunger for warm winter,
autumns with dry rains of sleet falling upward,
that fly-frozen calm torrents toward fields
hermit-populated, our stars extinguished-lit,
sky-earth, living death from the empty-full mind,
your caress burning-cold, my life confirms-denies!
Soundless as the moon
at night
like stars emitting light
I wandered lonely as a bird
a top a branch
made up of wood
No whispering winds
no flush of cold
just little old me
No blare no clang
just the April scent
of an ocean breeze.
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