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
How lustrous the first of morning
When my river spreads her brocade
Laced tassels weave through daylight's ring--
As she swivels on dappled qlade:
While midstream, tree tops decorate
This harbor lined with tulips red;
In vivid inlays quite ornate
Till birdsong explodes... overhead.
Imbued by some godly delight
My bouyant musings shine aloft--
That l, in gentle hum of night
Lay half- awake ... on grasses, soft.
Beguiled by waves streaming freely,
Her wisp of haven breathes in me.
QUEEN Afareen designed a perfume bottle
she herself exuded a scent of untainted ambergris, orris wafted as her heavenly cue
lime with jasmine spritz her exuberant brew
a black swan neck curved crystal female form
this bottle crafted in alexandrite, mirroring her
pharaoh shaped silhouette, gold sun rays embedded facade, stopper of opal warm
ruby inlays rested languidly at bottle base
slivers of pearl and aquamarine laced
replica of Aphrodite she encased in Myanmar teak, sculpted with elk ivory, reclining bottle
in Muga silk before a river lilting lily wattle
then gifted herself her own bottle, liquid tomb
nimble fingers twisting opal top for perfume
her unique irreplaceable exuding essence
imperceptibly drifting reverent presence
drinking the last undistilled drops from
edenic perfume bottle, QUEEN Afareen
extinguished herself gracefully into muscled
arms of Adonis, as bottle drifted downstream
towards turquoise ocean emptied, beamed
a sorrowed counterploy buried, it screamed
____________
A camelot on the horizon, ending a Viet Nam war, fallen walls and Soviet Union collapse, while the people dreamed on, in the midst of food shortages, starvation and death, loss of home and hearth and the promises of change amidst the Afghan push and independent rule for land and possessions, tighting the hold over the popukace.
People though, are creatures of habit, wealth comes at a cost, then power and greed seek more control until... one party rule without obstacles alone survive the intimadation and lie, truth ground to dust, given in to the ruling class, the loudest voice, self centered, preserved by the dollar sign, the elephants in the room.
A golden age, full of golden dreams and hopes of golden years,
promiseof streets paved with gold inlays and paths worthy of taking,
possibilities that faded with the times, mere memories now
of what could have been, would have been, should have been
had we only stayed the course.
My ramblings on the changing times.
Tinsel smiles that bridge the mile in Holiday style
cookie dishes full of sweet little things worthwhile
Bauble rubies, jolly Santa, and magic make believes
red shiny sleighs and garland inlays, for Christmas !
Beautiful music
Caress my neck softly
Hold my body close to yours
Tempt these sweet chord progressions
Acoustic desired freestyle
Finger my frets with delicate touches
Mother of pearl inlays sweat
Bend my vibrating strings
Crank my volume knob high
Sliding capos moan
Play lead in poetic rifts
Soundhole oozes sensual melodies
Gouging pickguard’s scars
Tune me in the key of love
Strum me hard…
Let’s make beautiful music together
From my guitar’s point of view. : )
Don't cover me with a mantle of glitter
For a circus parade that flaunts
A pretentious kaleidoscopic dream,
Where I am tricked to enchant an audience
Paying hard-earned bills while I roll on a tyke--
Or use my ivory as decor for varnished tables,
Chests and even antique inlays on narra beds:
And my furry skin you peel, turn into
Stilettos, even haute- couture labels designed
Only for those vain magnates...how impertinent!
I am the spirit of the wild forest,
The towering giant of peace on a roam
Where my ears listen to children's fables
As they mount on my back through a landscape
Bathed in night's purple glow... a mystique
Setting a ride into a dazzled starlight,
While we strut away, unmindful of how
dense mankind can be in this journey
Soothed by fresh murmuring of a breeze...
If I were an elephant, let me rock, indulge
On a sacred place made innocent
By the gods who created playful, grassy trails.
For Rob Carmack's Screwed XV1 Contest
Submitted 3/01/2017
-----------------------
Originally Written 12..13..2016
Caress my neck softly
Hold my body close to yours
Tempt these sweet chord progressions
Acoustic affection’d freestyle
Finger my frets with delicate touches
Mother of pearl inlays sweat
Bending vibrating strings
Crank my volume knob high
Sliding capos moan
Play lead in poetic rifts
Soundhole oozes sensual melodies
Gouging pickguard’s scars
Tune me in the key of your love
Strum me hard…
let’s make beautiful music together
Somehow in the late of nighttime,
a wooden door's front lantern brings
me to a table where strangers
from a distant tavern grow more animated
with a litany of stories
and ramblings inscribed on their life’s hinges.
Varied tones reminisce detailed inlays
of personal anthologies framing their eyes
with joy or regret, etched by languid memories
as I listen to orations of wise men and laborers
where intimacies are safe inside a door...
each one relating a brew of sentiments
over mugs of ale and wine.
Just then, I hear my own man’s language
reflected through the crowd’s noises,
piercing my flesh with a tinge of awareness...
while opening the doorknob, I begin to search
for him under a vault of moonbeam,
reminded now of the times I forget
to understand his longing to connect
with me ,to embrace his thoughts deeply
in silence...without question or restraint.
---------
6/21/2015
rob carmack's Screwed V
Theme: door
Resting upon my lap
Your thick body
Sits perfectly upon my knee
My left hand
Gripping your neck gingerly
Delicately in my palm
Beautifully dark
Is your fret board
Polished to reflection
Ivory colored
Are your machine heads
Which twist smoothly
Giving guidance
Direct your inlays
Whispering hints
So defined
Is your cherry back
Resting on my breasts
How your strings hum
Echoing through
My caressed fingers
Each note
Melodious to my heart
Graceful til the end
Oh the glory
That is felt
Each second
Your beautiful voice
My talent strums
My wondrous guitar.
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