The brightest flame is most doomed.
It arrives like clean gravity, sudden.
A flare in the hollow chest,
clockwork chewing the wick of hours.
It makes ruin look like scripture.
It gilds dust, names it heaven.
It teaches the dark to blink,
then laughs porcelain teeth, shattered.
We gather, rugged witnesses, alone,
palms open under ember rain.
We swear it will not vanish.
We speak vows into static walls.
But fire is a feral engine.
It eats its own oxygen, tenderly.
Marvel bleeds; the self is prison.
Release comes bright, then brutal.
O brief seraph of heat,
you governed our pulse with light.
You made the void feel mortal.
You made our names ring, once.
Now ash repeats your outline.
Stillness spins, merciless, patient.
Nothing stops. Nothing starts.
Only a glow, remembering collapse.
Let this elegy hold your flare:
a scream folded inside brightness.
Trust grew fanged, loyalty grew wings.
Then soot, soft mercy closed your mouth.
Yellow-as-the-sun encompassing featherless ride.
Craning necks, orange flame is lit, twilight sighed.
If only Autumn Days , were this good , all again
as golden mellow paintings, visual hearts, all explained
as a child walked slate paths, covered in splatters of rain
where he picked purple berries, from muddy , puddled lanes
and his cheeks were as red , as fallen Apples, all new
stuffed in his pockets, his found treasures, a few
he saw the Cottage spiral smoke, for mothers baking bread
smelt wood shavings sweet, from fathers, work shed
for this , is Country Childs World, of 1842
and the 4 year olds wishes, on Dandilion seeds, that he blew
now his mud covered trousers , from ginger cat, who's alone
to the lace covered windows, to the safety
to the safety,
called home
Broken shards on her
Like a shattered sawblade
Stuck deep in her body
Deep enough to reach beyond
And hurt her "was, is and will be"
Yet she chooses the light reflected on her
Instead of her mutilated image
Glass on me , but-
Am I a sculpture in glass?
delicate to touch
Fractured just from the fragility
Or molten sand poured on skin
Like a bandaid
Covering my burned skin
Fragile or Masked
Wounded or not
I may never know
Cause my glass never allowed me
To see myself as a whole
Saw meets me
For its reflection to see
Shards may dig her flesh
But the beauty in flesh still clear
She hugs me-
It hurts to share the shards
Like spears impaling both of us
For once pain was not only hers
For once I had real glass to blame
CEDAR
Magnificent cedar
Struck by lightning
Sap bubbling
Survives
Scarred
Changed forever
Barking Madly at the Shore
The early morning wakes to find
the sun struggling above the horizon,
offering what warmth it can,
to a shivering sweep of sky
that is blue with cold.
Below, the sea whispers secrets,
playfully licking at the shoreline
while litter starts to sprint the beach
and jigsaw pieces of cloud
slowly smudge-grey the sky.
Before long, the sea has gained
a mischievous glint in its watery eye
and is barking madly at the shore
as it sends waves to froth and foam
around a finger of lighthouse.
As the day ages, the sea rhythms on
while distant ships slip and slide by
and the occasional winged seagull,
like a torn piece of white paper,
is ripped from the scene.
Eventually as a distant hand
throws darkness all around,
the lighthouse can be seen
silvering the moonless sea;
a detective on its latest case.
Ian Souter
I dwell within a vault of seasoned pine,
Where cedar ribs trace curves of spine,
A cavern arched with honey-colored wood,
The quietest home a creature ever could.
Above my head, a rosette carved in lace,
Filters the daylight into one small space,
A golden circle painted on the floor,
Where giant fingers stretch and start to soar.
Then wakes the giant—sweeping arm and hand,
Striking the chords above this hidden land;
And every wire becomes a brazen beam,
Shaking the rafters of my hollow dream.
The notes crash down like thunder from the sky,
Making the air vibrate, the dust motes fly,
A tidal wave of brass and silver sound,
That pins me softly to the maple ground.
And when they rest their palms against the waist,
The roaring ocean dies in breathless haste;
I curl up warm beneath the bridge’s arc,
A tiny tenant sleeping in the dark.
No one is home.
The address is returned to sender.
The user you desire to speak is no longer available.
To send a numeric page please press five now.
Ferment in the waiting room of life.
The catacombs of the mind are empty.
From the grave they will not rise.
The life you once knew is now fleeted.
You're out of time.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale again.
False memory is not gospel.
Queue the piano, and bring in some coffee to go.
Crack a smile.
Adjust your tie.
Goodbye.
The heaviest sound lays us to rest
Tied to the steak and eats our heart out
Composure fixed to the evening sky
Swivel the scenery then throw me away when I am colored dead
Let's all pose then fall down the well together
Understudies for the part we weren't meant to play
Courage for cowards in the rewriter's chair beating the around the rose bush
Sink thirty thousand feet into the shoes too narrow for human feats.
Back to factory settings until you can learn how to sing let alone speak our names
Caution tape leashes the struggle bus in gear on your best days
One step further than slipping up on a Monday, blue and battered
I wake up to the sight of the out of boundaries shred to pieces
Water for the pills stuck in swallowing fashion
Wings tied to the bed abstract as ever
We dreamt of the rise and fall of the house of us
Blueprints of further disappointment with marble inlays to hold onto this moment
Shock jocks of jealous siblings gnashing at ankles going home
Nostalgic for chaos and that bitter root
I didn't know that I was this obvious
Innocence donated with and without the will to live
I left the curtains open for you
Just in case you decide to visit
If you ever decide you want to see how things are going,
I left the curtains open for you.
If you ever want to see how far I’ve come since we last spoke
I left the curtains open for you
The curtains are always open
But the window is locked.
And so is the door
I don’t want you to come back in
I didn’t want you to know you were welcome
The curtains are always open
Even though I doubt you’ll ever pass by the window.
Lover, Lover
The nighttime sings our names
Ballads of the figurative Juliet
Radios hiss hearts spilled the shadows hide naked ambition stilled
Neglected emotional hills wafts through valleys of past lives
Karmic backlogs review their closing percentages
Futures flood the floors hold the line between fate and tears
Shadow people alone in the twilight
Illuminated letters, walls woed to sleep
Dreams from the shoreline as phantom vessels waltz on the silver linings
Postures of stable footing, top of the line, kings and queens of value
Thumbs circle the knuckles, bone kisses bone, the familiar taste of home
Haunted hems lines explored in tribal pursuits
Please keep me waiting
The specter of tender frames evaporates
Morning ghosts caress the memory in travel
Neckties versus deadlines
Power brokered, breath that betrays the dream
Folded napkins
Cocktail napkin epitaphs
Check please
The eyes are the gateway to the soul
But hers was a hell I never expected
A tragedy so deep, I couldn't help but fall
A cut so deep, I couldn't pull the knife
A love story so tragic, it became bestseller
But I still couldn't stay away
I got so entranced that her name was synonymous with mine
I couldn't help but stay.
When the night whispers your name
The silence between heartbeats
Dreams woven with stardust
Under the light of the milky moon
Every sunrise holds a promise
When the wind carries secrets
Lost in the echoes of time
Shadows dance under the moonlight
When the ocean meets the sky
In the quiet of the morning dew
The warmth of forgotten memories
In the arms of a gentle storm
When raindrops tell their stories
Lightning whispers across the sky
Embraced by the first snowfall
Under a sky painted with dreams
The melody of a distant past
When love blooms in silence
Through the lens of a fading photograph
Where do we end?
With a new beginning.
lofty pines
encircle
the opal pool
surreal shades
of blue
shimmer through
shining
swimmers’ inspiration
skies elevation
IN AND OF CELESTIAL CANVASSING
(Apropos Of A Five Haiku Free Flow)
Sad sky shedding tears;
The steaming sun consoles her:
Curving a rainbow:-
We are as the sky,
When shedding sad tears to God:
Rainbow healings sent:-
The inspiring sky,
Reflects so much of God’s grace,
And rainbowing love:-
So parabolic,
Our canvassing sky can be,
In its reflections:-
Day or night, our sky
Is so allegorical,
In canvassing life:-
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