A deep gloom
Is your room.
Yet there's none plusher curtained.
Willow-hung.
Heart of sighs
Touched now cries.
Old ripples, therein waking.
Through what's sung.
We walked and talked of promising dreams,
envisioning life fulfilled and fair;
designing grand, elaborate schemes.
We danced and romanced throughout the night.
Silent stillness among curtained air,
patient, waiting morn's revealing light.
We kissed and wished that love forever
rely on our unspoken prayer
that grief or strife can never sever.
We knew and grew bold, unhesitant
secured by Gestalt's context, aware
in our steadfast, eternal instant.
A FACTUAL EMBRACE-:-
locked
curtained
comfort
close
composition
then HIGHLIGHTS& EXPOSED
once
hidden
anonymous
unsubtle
eulogy
SUNG ALOUD
assertively
expressing
humanity's
innate
joy
It’s Saturday night and I’m at home
I’ve been sitting for a while, alone
my hair is a mess, I’m barely dressed, it’s been a long week of nothing but stress.
I hear the doorbell; I walk downstairs (this poor delivery driver is going to catch me, unawares).
Just my luck, he’s a curtained Zeus, he chews his gum and looks bemused at this mess before him.
Crippled with shame, I have myself to blame, climbing the stairs in my Era’s t shirt (my stomach starts to hurt).
It’s Saturday night and they’re all so excited
to go to that party, to which I wasn’t invited for whatever reason. Guess it’s just not my season. I tried all I could, I texted them all but they just can’t fit me in, doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
It’s Saturday night and they’re just too tired, to have to see me, they must be inspired. Guess I’ll try again next week; to myself I’ll speak.
It’s Saturday night, but nearly the morning
I’ve spent the last few hours, just yawning.
What a fun weekend!
Can’t wait to do it all again.
Smooth the day,
seize that curled and tousled head
grease its creased and mottled entrance
come all wailing to a waiting world,
slide from the arms of midwife night
attempt to keep the light
as round and full as well remembered,
bend each hunkered cornered shadow
pull it hook and line
pierce the fish flesh bone
stretched and knotted twine about your fingers
skewer any little patch of dark that lingers on
heavy in that morning scented room,
fling the curtained windows wide
cast that latch aside and breathe,
fill your foggy winter lungs with spring
embrace the gasp and grab yourself
a newly minted season
bursting fresh with sweet unsullied air
this is not a moment,
it’s a revelation
just for you
and one you might not want to share
Do people lie to each other — because —
Truth — is too bright — a Star —
That dazzles — eyes accustomed —
To softer — Shadows — are —
Do people lie — because — they fear —
That naked — Words — might bleed —
Or — Hope — like fragile Porcelain —
Might crack — beneath the need —
Do people lie — to keep — the Peace —
Where Tempests — long — have stirred —
To smooth — the rough — Humanity —
With one — unfaithful Word —
Do people lie — for Love — perhaps —
To guard — another’s Pain —
And — in the tender Falsehood — find —
A mercy — dressed — in Shame —
Yet — Truth — like Morning — patient stands —
Behind — the curtained Sky —
And — one by one — we lift — the Veils —
To see — what cannot — Lie —
Before the Dawn — the Soul awakes —
Within a curtained Room —
No Candle lights the Consciousness —
Yet stirs — within the womb —
A Whisper through the Watery Veil —
A Music — faint — and near —
The Fingers start — the Eyelids dream —
Yet Thought is not — quite clear —
The Chamber — soft — with Silence sways —
Sedation — sweet — as Sleep —
The Mind — unknowing — gently folds —
Its Secrets — yet to keep —
No Ladder yet — from Flesh to Flame —
The Circuits — still not formed —
But now — at Twenty-Six — they weave —
A Tapestry begun —
Reflex — like Petals — open slow —
To greet a foreign Air —
And Consciousness — like Morning Light —
Unfolds — to find it -- there --
Vodka smiles up
from a glass.
Paint me in a garden chair
with nothing in it,
but the swing of white trousers.
Where are my friends,
my wife,
children, grandchildren?
A fat creamy dog licks my toes.
All who ever claimed to know of me
are right here
on the rim of this glass
as the ice slowly melts –
some cling to a slice of lime
that can no longer support them.
The day lengthens,
a shadow returns,
peddling pantomimes
I watch behind heavily curtained lids,
recollect nothing, remember everything,
until a calling moon chimes out.
The dawn will arrive with a dew
as fresh as tears.
Twilight tiptoes through curtained clover leaves
Spotless starlings flighty thank mighty Lord
spindly legs shake spritely on light breeze
chirping remind us day is just a chord
achievements complete marked confirming hours
manifesting with both hands and clear head
paper and pencil danced in neat bower
patterned sensations twirled needle and thread
silent hymn I await bright sickle moon
Spirit dissolves wanton wispy wishes
lotus blossoms, liberating mind a boon
intentions flowing with flimsy swishes
Moment to moment tasks tangent complete
every twilight heralds a morrow sweet !
____________________________________
[howmanysyllables.com : 140]
Apparently,
I was a naughty boy
At three,
Disappearing in a shopping centre,
Lost for what felt like hours.
Legend has it,
The infant siren song caught air-conditioned wind
And led the search party to a curtained grotto.
She tells me, there, they found
My talent on display,
A song and dance before a giant mirror,
While curious stranger neighbours
Changed their clothes.
I don’t believe the myth,
I had no talent then and precious little now, I think.
But it sure sounds fun.
Rumour has it, the best days are behind us.
Though my young’un’s on her way
into legend now.
Loves that tale.
*
*
"Snowbound"
*
For days winter's freezing winds and snow raged
cold windows now curtained white
but, my rooms whisper peace *
*
*
*
*
*
There were special places
where the mind could hide,
way up in the branches
of a tall tree, safe within
a ball of leaves,
halfway to heaven.
Or on a bike aimlessly riding
streets when the hypnotic
hum of tyres and the constant
rhythm broke through
and sent me
into a pleasant trance
as if the body was floating
free of the ground.
Then there were places
where you couldn't hide,
dark and musty hollows
they called holy places
populated with legions
of dead souls sniffling
their sorrows
in the candlelit air.
Dark cubicles carrying
the odor of sin,
the sour breath of absolution
filtering through
a curtained grill.
And all around, images
of pain plastered on walls
pressing a claim
for love under the threat
of everlasting fire
just for refusal.
It all sounds silly now,
the hellish props stacked away
in an unused corner
covered in ash.
Discarded remnants
of an ill informed past.
And yet at times, I am sure,
I can feel something small
still twitch on the end
of a severed nerve.
I call out. But nobody
seems to be there.
They are like two beam lights that claim the stage
on a hot summer eve in the middle of a makeshift
floor parkette made of wood, varnish, and lights that aim
They are more than two American dollies dressed
in French lace and boudoir lipsticks
They are idols of the theater talking through
cables and conductive material.
The imagination of the viewers soar as they lose themselves
in the dark curtained stage, where reality has gone dormant
The only sound they hear is the tingly sounds
of unfolding fans made of feather and paper,
by the old vintage theater Madammes who cluck and gossip
in hushed tones when the first dolly gives the other dolly,
a soft kiss.
The End.
I remember it well- the old Broadway
My city celebrated years ago;
So nicely paved and lined with special stores
And curtained windows, seen in rooms above.
Where we would walk and shop with family;
Attend parades and honor holidays
With decorations and fun spots to meet,
Like the old coffee shop or ice cream bar.
The highlight of our city- old Broadway-
When times were simple- city pride was loved.
Fast forward fifty years- my heart is sad.
A vision now of ruins it's become.
What stores are left- now draped with iron gates,
Or since abandoned, left in disrepair.
Apartment windows gape like hollow eyes,
And litter paves the entrances and curbs.
Not good to walk the streets- daytime or night.
Glories to ruins- Broadway has become;
Now blights the memory of simple days-
When the community clutched love and pride.
I have a light within
that I've somehow curtained,
put something in its way.
I cast a shadow across
everything. It is no defect
of the eye but of the spirit,
a flaw I have in me,
a dimming I pass on to settle
the scene and rob color
of its intensity.
I've gotten used
to the dull glaze I bring
that now it appears
the natural state of things.
Even water speared
by the sun bleeds a muted sheen,
no bright splinters of light
ricochet off to be caught
by eyes having to hide
behind a squint, I can take
my reflections straight.
There are moments
when I can feel a tightening
and something within me
stretch and tear the stitching
on a seam. Light pours out
and affixes a patch of life
in a blinding beam, too bright
to hold or keep except
for the afterglow it leaves
on a page or lingering
for awhile on the horizons
of a dream.
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