This grevillea flower
is like a hairy Huntsman spider
lying up-side-down.
Delicate pink appendages,
fuzzed and curled,
make awkward question marks
from those posing bendy legs.
Will the next hairy Huntsman then,
seem a fuzzy flower
with curvy pistil tubes?
Perhaps...
if it is dead...
But, maybe that’s too sad.
It must be fun to run that way:
'BOO' it seems to say to me,
just to make me jump.
She likes to embroider me -
a subjective needlepoint
yet a realistic arts and crafts.
A long relationship
requires some fine stitching.
I see a broken thumb nail,
a hand greasy with engine oil.
A vinaigrette of my silhouette
cleaning grandpa's old revolver
just because I do sometimes,
just because.
A chipped tooth and beat-up nose
the fist that hit it, now nowhere
to be challenged.
A telltale hint of man-boobs
an old man's wrinkly bottom.
Her fingertips are clear-eyed,
but the images are softened
with a patient love.
She also embroiders
hummingbirds, butterflies
and flowers -
a holy trinity to encircle a baldhead,
the dome of which
she kisses each night.
She composes
all these scraps of my reality
on a broad white cloth
that I am happy to wash
my sleep-fuzzed face with
each morning.
How much more comfort than being well buzzed;
clarity and purity still intact!
You offer hope freely, fixing the fuzzed -
gift beyond gleaming gold bullion stacked.
I could almost laugh at my foolish ways,
except for the sharp weapons I'm wielding.
I shall only serve you so many days,
and yet to foul things I have kept yielding!
But your grace and your love are gravity
so much stronger than my idle dark dreams.
When I look honest at depravity -
how drained of meaning are its gaudy gleams.
Lord of light, Son of spring, Breath of fire -
your will shall become my choicest desire.
6 May 2023
the blood scratched upon the fire lit cave
Before
the first inks stained the taut stretched carcass
Before
masters of words and colour
changed the blank screaming page
Before
the shadows burned the glass
and smiles were discouraged
Before
the spinning drum
Cast the trotting horse
Before
black and white
fuzzed assassinations
and leaps upon the moon
Before
colours hues lacked definition
Before
the ambient slip
as we lowly timed or faces
Before
the worlds virtually weren't there
and we hid within the dream
before it all began
was there something to see
You came to me, what a freight
On that lonesome winter night.
Frosted tips and glistening everything white,
I will never forgive you, for taking away my landscape of green suede.
I loved her, growing more, you made her grow less, death in your presence.
You came to me, what a freight,
I watched as your white powder became her play mate.
Trusted you, she indulged-
Until all at once she defecate.
You are not the grim reaper, but you bear sorrow,
My eyes only see white, I miss the colors.
This meadow was filled with my lover.
Her yellow daffodil lips, when parted tasted like jasmine,
Her peach fuzzed moss that framed the temples her forefront,
Her welcoming tree trunks that brought home to those wandering-
BRAVO,
Are you happy?
You covered her, leaving me now, just hollow.
another cluster of blackberries
was fuzzed by a fleet of mad cherries
the thin blue line was herding
as the cities were burning
come morning, old glory was weary
O'er valley and dale
flashed lightning and hail
Brass buttons, glimpses of steel
Soon bullets whizzed by
cringing lads' shell-shocked eyes
Severed heads seen to spin and reel
Peach-fuzzed cheeks without beard
a frantic youth's cry seared
skies the color of blood congealed
Sharp pains split his chest
as he sobbed up the rest
of a life lost to fortune's wheel
thank you Walt Whitman
oh you foolish ones
bordering on change of life
standing still for a moment
before full manhood embraces
how brave and daring
strident, filled with never ending life;
brash colts with tricks and
shameless lures for pretty young things.
exquisite in your urges to hold on
keep childish freedom safe
tucked beneath a wishful heart
in that summer, that blissful summer
came a roar, a grinding metallic clack
shatters down the hills
with siren sounds heard only in melodious tones
by boys about to burst from youth
seasons change, our autumn
reaps in radiant red all of
those peach-fuzzed near men
gone to strange places far from us
this fall harvest takes
it never feeds but grief and loss
as triangle folded flags fill arms
and blue black rifles air their song.
I still hear your laughter
full throated fiercely joyous
bite into winter wind
and echo down the canyon wall.
Flesh is a better word than bone
dried far better than fried
listless better than witless
Verklempt ever so superior to weeping
or am I wrong?
bone is white, lonely, brittle, bleached, stripped, broken?...beached, deserted
Flesh is rich, soft, mushy, tender, supple, pink, pale, peach-ed, and even fuzzed
fried is hot, hard, dissolved, drenched, fattening and frankly frightening
dried, is course, crisp, weathered, worn, reduced, reducted to its bitter sugar sweetness
witless...to be so forsaken and confused
listless, is a bowl of cold soup,a pillow, a couch,a silent room, a overstuffed chair, a rainy day,a clock ticking, a pencil in hand suspended above a white page....dormant with possibility...a chrysalis held captive in time, a photograph
weeping..falling drops of water melted from the snow of soul
Verklempt...honor in sadness, resolve against the high tide of painful truth, speechless, defenseless against the tsunami power of real pain or joy
A moment lost I cry for now. Memories
fuzzed by the event that stole from me. I
long for that moment back to piece together this
shattered self I am. Confusion mounts as I
slowly slip further away. More determine than
ever to regain the time gone. Most know not this
anger I feel. How it comes to life and consumes
my time. It slips further away each time I try.
Failure to receive that memory lost angers me
further to a breaking point. Angry I am I push
away from those who do not understand. Bitter
angers wells inside me to all I am is an emptied
shell. For the stolen moment I remember not.
Sally Garrel is beautiful.
At least, that’s what she should be.
From her family’s looks she remains,
Perhaps most likely-
Fair white skin
Flowing blond hair
Flashing green eyes
Pouty lips moistly tinged rose
However, one can not truly tell,
For she is covered in
One Big Beauty Mark
Blotchy Brown
Fuzzed Hairs
Raised and Greasy
Sally Garrel is beautiful.
At least, that’s what she should be.
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