A bittersweet taste of isolation grips
while ambling into our unlit attic,
escorted by a window's glassy beam ...
And I notice a disarray
of your keepsakes...history books,
stale cigars, antiques In fluted trunk
all muddily undone:
Somehow, clouds turn deep violet
where I uncover a file of private notes
intimate as your very skin, your breath
marking our years' affectionate episodes--
Till my dire soliloquy, my ached calls
hide beneath an ocean of black stars ,
recalling now, your gentle caresses
that I wake within the rose wilderness
of your arms...forlorn:
Tonight, I fetch a Sauvignon
warming a rainy October dusk --
yet a mirage of sirens greets me
deafened by Fate's ending I cannot hold,
this room swallowing me
In total vaqueness as my lungs pine
for your name I can only hear...
I beseech the sun to undress
the stars, but could my plea
be more strong than theiving time?
How midnight groans like a widow for this loss.
"May is the month of expectation, the month of wishes, the month of hope." - Emily Brontë
May, in the heart of spring,
Is a kaleidoscope-palette landscape.
A "Flowering Moon" with the mingling
Abundance of blooms and variety
Of scents escorted by the presence
And performance melody
Of nature's public music.
May's sun shining brighter, promising
And nurturing hope with longer days.
Embracing beauty of the magnitude.
A grieved pace in a meadow
Haunting last whilst a breeze flows,
Drenched in dried, feverish sweat
Etched on furrowed memories.
A labyrinthine weak heart
Escorted out in the dawn
Alone in an unfeigned world.
I went walking with an angel
and entered heaven with a stride.
She came in through a window
and escorted me outside.
Her feet barely touched the ground.
Her hair gave the sun back its light.
Her form brightened and fluttered
as day changed into night.
Encircled in her presence,
I felt heaven in my heart,
and the smile with which she kissed me
gave my life a brand new start.
I went walking with an angel
and entered heaven with a stride.
Now my footsteps are accompanied
by my eternal bride.
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
POTD : 12.2.26
First Placing: Standard Contest
Sponsor : JCB Brul
Daisies could not bloom bound by debt of Time
we tried to unknot ropes tied across dimes
by deeds proceeding of their own accord
songs not written by either of us unfree
as white petals fell dropping one by one
Hours of tasting, smelling, touching lost
on battlefields, in barracks when away
you had to haste with epaulettes torn
I rooted a chasing escape, sweat dripping
tied to wheat fields watching babes chaste
Bald eagles soared above winelands stolen
gulls and albatross escorted galleon laden with longing ~ South to North, winds gushing
your wishes driven by wrenching penalties
seals then oceans carried lips and knees
Your breastbone turned from an unborn world
too pregnant in fluid womb of clocks chiming
fled you from aching loss of Love’s caged raging
stoic in withholding fist of sacrifice, away you got
drowning throbbing Heart in my own bleeding
_________________________________
The man in the elevator was free
So, he escorted a beautiful lady
They’d whole day window shopping
Just a mall to malls hopping
Her sweet company was his salary.
That man in the elevator was cool
Looking after the safety of people
Assisting them up and down
Seeing her again, he frowned
Exhausting at malls… I wanted my stool.
Vineyard discovery
Winery cellar somewhere in Pennsylvania
It was an Escorted Tour by Defuncted BISS TOURS
We tasted several wines
The alcoholic Apple Pie wine caught my attention
The blend of ingredient
No nutrient
Senses of aroma opened and taste
I am no wine drinker
I was intrigued in the Apple Pie wine
It was genuine
No bake nor oven
Quality at its best
From the very first sip
That was my tip
Brought a bottle of the Apple Pie wine to take home
Remember and always will of that wine
Didn’t get drunk
First time hearing of Apple Pie wine
Compelling name
No shame
Only the taste taking aim
Two of us on a sixties hippie trip
to see if our gears would slip or mesh
innocent but wary yet wide-eyed
to the Imperial city of Marrakech
she perfumed with patchouli
me I traveled totally tie-dyed
all around was peace and love
we teamed to a tee and seemed
a fit the perfect hand in glove
but not long later it was deemed
as it was commonplace to see
in the medina not strapped for cash
kif from the Rif sellers
in the souk smoking hash
the country lacked law and order
no sooner said than escorted
back to Ceuta across the border
funny now in retrospect but not then
how when we blew out on the Sirocco
tho' we hadn't gone so far as the kasbah or bazaar
were deported without ceremony from Morocco
Once upon a time
I set out to write a story
about going to north Africa
arriving in Ceuta
things were all in order
but no sooner on the bus
than detected reported
ejected from escorted to
and deported 'cross the border
it was to be an expensive
soft leather-covered book
and altho' I took
more than one look
I could not find the words
would fill a tome
and so
tho' second-best
I settled for less
and instead
I wrote this pome
I remember the grief in Samuel
when Saul failed,
like the grief in Nile
when blood crept into it —
just like it creeps into the bones of
this earth.
The rage in grief is distant but distinct,
escorted by bits of frozen nuts
and wizened grains of desert sand,
white assembly of killing spectres in
a background of black eclipse with
lunar talons
and swords of claws
and jars of cold tears.
Oh, how Samuel grieved for Saul!
The mourning is immense . . .
Sempervirence fossilised
along abbeys forayed with hot silt
and Dane guns of lewd hunters
Pulsations and acrid fever,
with the disease of camels, are frequented by
a recrudescence of the mastodon,
In liaison with his extended kinsmen the dinosaurs.
We are livid with mourning,
for the soul of a toothless one
gone from us
this grey day of elegy
and season of potent grief.
Fetters exist, and persist, swinging in
our faces like treasures of hell
where we hear that bug-ridden mats
are spread for us;
there, chants of elegy
hoot,
and black furnaces boil
and smelt
the repast we are to devour.
they arrived not in one car, bringing three
overkill I thought, a scare tactic
the entire neighborhood was watching
behind flimsy curtains, peeking between blinds
who was it going to be?
most of us had at least one relative who could be taken
I held my breath as they headed toward my house.
Was it Uncle Jesus? I let my breath go as they passed me.
No. Not Mrs. Rodreguez. She has three children in school.
And their father has been long gone.
We neighbors watched as they escorted her down the block.
She was sobbing.
We were all sobbing, silently.
Which one of us would take care of her children?
The neighbor on the other side of me caught my eyes.
We had never met before this day.
But I knew at this moment we were in this together.
We would take care of the children.
The leaves were changing as I walked my way,
All different colors they were today.
I felt a calm presence I’ve felt before.
A feeling of peace I couldn’t ignore.
Colorful leaves fell from the tall oak trees,
The flowers were alive with buzzing bees.
The life in nature seemed a part of me.
The creation from God for all to see.
I saw the Creator, through creation.
A woven spectacle of interrelation.
Colors blended without hesitation,
Brought a feeling of exhilaration.
Every year they fall before the first freeze,
Soon they will be escorted by the breeze.
Slowly loosening their grip from the trees,
I must dance and twirl with the swirling leaves.
With an ingenuine saccharine la-di-da
The hoity toity woman said “hi” to ma
A want to be royal, an aristocrat
stated poser, false Sheila name of Pat
My brother was smitten right away
He gave her his best times of day
Pat could have been a clock tower shooter
He did not see this at all, my brother Tooter
She is so refined and fashionable!
I thought a narcist too and really dull
She is so pretty and genteel
I did not think so, and here’s the deal…
I knew William, her ex, a wonderful man
She stole all his stuff except for a fan
At her sale she refused to sell to him
He was escorted out by her new friend Tim
Will’s dog was sad, she had him staked out mean
Putting on airs like a Victorian Queen
Pat married my brother Tooter of course
Arrived in a carriage with a rented horse
We may have lost him I said to my ma
Just like your daddy, she said, referring to Pa
For Pa had run away with a scoundrel too
She took all his money and possessions in ’82.
I hope you don’t mind, but I renamed your dog, Beau
This came from a neighborhood girl I just met; name of Flo.
She had escorted my dogs home from a mile away.
How she accomplished this I honestly can say.
My dogs love children, they will follow them anywhere.
If you don’t believe, bring a child here, yes, please do dare….
My dog’s new name is White Marshmallow, he’s an Irish Cream
A retriever of sorts, kind of a powder puff, his bark is quite mean.
My heart is breaking
as the fire wins,
An elemental only doing
What its nature demands:
Eat, heat, repeat.
Some spirits walk on
As the fire fights
Any efforts to defy its nature.
We count, one by one,
those escorted by fire
To the edge of understanding:
bitter taste of pain on one side,
On the other, wholly unimaginable
to us. Holy. And unimaginable.
We are slow to learn their names,
To understand the holes
Burned in families, communities.
The wind is doing
what it's designed to do:
Feed the fire,
to do what its nature demands:
Eat, heat, repeat.
My heart is doing what it's designed to do:
Break.
Break, for the powerful presence
Of absence.
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