A time to rake; to search embers,
to pore over resurrected,
fire-damaged relics.
On an ancient shore
driftwood, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up onto a pyre of time.
After the fire there is a sorting.
a probing for talismans and trinkets.
Before the flames, flesh had hidden them,
in its open wounds.
An iron crucifix; smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the quick flames.
It is held up to the sun,
by a tattered man of woe.
Death’s archeologist
wipes this soot-seared icon,
with a sweat-stained rag.
Other artifacts are long drowned,
they wait for the hands
of fishermen to haul them in,
to return them
to a modern-day Nazareth,
there, Islamic street traders
still sell religious curios
for Israeli shekels.
Categories:
fagots, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A time to rake; to search embers,
for fingerprints and the scorched optics
of the scattered and blind.
After the violence, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up into pyres,
but first the sorting,
the probing for trinkets of flesh.
A silver crucifix, smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the avid impetus
of quick flames, it is held up,
by a tattered man of woe,
he calls out:
"I found something!"
Death's archeologist huddle,
wipe this soot-seared relic
with sweat
laced with new revealed
sorrows.
The recently threshed look upward,
not down. dull eyed, they peer
as though through the bottom of a fishbowl
at the red and bloated
afloat beneath an unblinking sky.
These smithereens of mortality
slowly bob in the ether,
they wait for the hands
of a meek fisherman to haul them in,
to take them away.
Categories:
fagots, poetry,
Form: Free verse
"Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like the barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands."
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tonight a mournful wind
is blowing an endless lament,
accosting me like the sudden gust
that swept hope away.
Wind was once a willing consort;
our careless love echoing
like laughter upon it--
before the jealous blast
of world war demolished you.
How the dreary years have passed,
leaving infant dreams
to the incessant whorls of time.
Categories:
fagots, war,
Form: Free verse
"Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like the barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands."
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tonight a mournful wind
is blowing an endless lament,
accosting me like the sudden gust
that swept hope away.
Wind was once a willing consort;
our careless love echoing
like laughter upon it--
before the jealous blast
of world war demolished you.
How the dreary years have passed,
leaving infant dreams
to the incessant whorls of time.
03/03/2018
Categories:
fagots, loss,
Form: Free verse
i have parched lips dripping on a highway mind
besides your heart i dreamed and see cotton-candy buzzards
so drawn into your love i forgot i cannot go there
into your dead soul-cage heart ~
Gay! Captivating word for this priceless Age !
a world now known for renowned investigators of cellophane
purple umbilical nooses
A dictum of a new world!
And a priceless Miss(believe it or)fagots are a certain young
(fe)male confused in our society no betrays the noose (oh hum)
give me a gun! So Miss(believe it or answer
did (s)he meet the libido or cut that soul of baby breath or
the highness of a higher mind? So time slows down and i give you
a poco purido to contemplate your Pieces out-of-water-fish
dancing dry death -- so they sing, "we don't know what it...
don't know what it means."
:: 01062016 ::
Categories:
fagots, poems, poetry, poets,
Form: Free verse