The rain falls faster, faster now,
Plummeting arid plains below,
Eroding bits of blackened soil,
Washing away decayed petals.
One by one, they slip out of existence,
Walking out rusted doors.
I stand under the cold, crisp water,
Letting it soak through layers of frayed fabric,
Seeping into skin that's leathered with age.
Scents of petrichor shift through brisk bursts of wind,
Trapped within the mess of my mind for far too long now.
The resounding smells flood my senses
With bygone memories,
Snapping between past misunderstandings
That turned into reverberations of us,
And fears of a future
That slipped through calloused fingers.
Looking down at what materialized in my wailing hands,
I dig the frigid steel deep into my chest,
Cutting beneath layers of flesh and sinew,
Past a cracking ribcage,
To expose a beating heart, screaming in agony.
I slice it from its hollow home,
Position it on a tarnished platter,
Place it as an offering at your sacred feet,
Interminably holding me in your gnarled heart forthwith.
The harbingers of hesitation
Slow with time’s tenacity
Stifle the urge to grasp the moment
Shorten the length of memory’s grasp
Weaken the touch of today’s meaning
Soft raindrops unfelt on leathered skin
Sunshine hints at a forgotten warmth
That fevered longing for a faded shadow
A dream held in the cooling darkness
The lunar ice cloud draws but a silent shiver
Etched into the edge of a frozen moment
Its stars the un-melted tears of lover’s longings
Cold morning light of misty haze.
Ground section, three dimensional rectangular gaze.
Sharp thorns on rose dead red misty tears.
Cracked leather from fisted gloves of black weaponised might.
Shine glistened leathered shoes dulled in this dead light.
Long coat warmth hanging off soulless cold.
Dark glasses cloaked glass eyes shone in glee.
Box lowered slowly.
Oh, but so, so exquisitely.
Standing witness for the joyful final act of the murdered end of thee.
Their feathered shields
like steel, shimmer in sunlight.
Gobbling, wobbling on thorny feet
without flight;
foraging through leathered leaves
that autumn left behind,
acorns lay abundant,
for hungry turkey's to find.
This world seen through an old man's eyes
Leathered skin both weathered and wise
With aching back and brittle bones
Still, unafraid of sticks and stones
Vision dims but memory's clear
Knowing full well the end is near
A victim of time, oh what a shame
Back to the dust from whence he came
F
E
A
R
... has a phantom voice
clinging flesh tethered bones
fumbling
- yardage
uncatchable
losing ground
ephemeral scope
a leathered novelty
of jumbling alphabets
despairing formation
a semblance
of hope
measured
a bit
a gram
a whiff of air
... a seeker of the
most desperate kind
?
... who is this mysterious
forbidder of my s
o
u
l.
?
... who is this formidable monstrosity
that consistently [b][l][o][c][k][s]
?
... who p>re=vents eventual re=solve and
the gift of a PeAcEfUl m
i
n
d!
?
W H O
?
W H O
?
W H O
?
?
?
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?
?
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?
?
m
e
...
.
Ding
Ding
Ding
Tap
tap tap
‘pon mine leathered shoulder
Whilst up we rose
Mitt to duke
And our other two
Waved
“Goodbye”
when we both
(az we still chuckle about it
five years later)
meant in ourn waves
“goodbuy”
*poetic license y'all ,)
I won’t be angry,
I wont get mad,
My face will stay pale and my pulse calm
I will remember
That God has given forgiveness to the devil himself
And I will extend that
To you
I won’t let rage become
the stuff between my nerves
Instead
I can be kind
I can be giving
I can be selfless
And that will be my answer
I will let you take parts of myself
Crack open my chest for you to hide
If you are cold
Take each rib and polish it
If you need something to grip
Use the splinters to pick your teeth
Weave my hair into cloth
Bathe in my blood
Goddamit clothe yourself in my leathered skin
Take all of me—I give it to you
I will not be angry
I will give, instead
Either way, I am consumed, utterly, by you
I know that all good things must meet their fate,
but to die alone would bring such sorrows.
None there to reminisce about the past,
or to ponder upon the tomorrows.
No one there to hold tightly my frail hand,
or to gently caress my leathered cheek.
With no last kiss to soothe my furrowed brow,
no loving words given for memories keep.
No one to whisper a final goodbye,
or to pray for just a little more time.
No one there to dry the tears from my face,
as I succumb to the clocks closing chime.
To pass unnoticed across the grey veil,
with unfettered tears and shuddering breath.
No one there to hear my last crying sigh,
as my eyes darken with shadows of death.
It Raced Red Seamed Weathered,
Moist Dry Weathered,
Down My Track!
A Best In My Steps From The Box, I Sent It, Past The Berry Patch!
A Step, A Swing, Bust The Ball With My Bat,
Hip's Turned, Hand's Tight, Thundered Smash!
Ooh, You Just Had To See It,
A Best In My Steps From The Box We're Leading;
Past, ... Past The Berry And The Gopher, .... Patch!
Watching JJ Play with Dinosaurs
David J Walker
The flying reptiles frighten me
What if they come back
What if they attack
What if a stolen egg escalates
Into another annihilation
The plying reptiles fascinate me
What if feathers are lost
What if we ignore the cost
And act in fits of passion
What if their leathered skin
Becomes stylish
Again
What if we killed them all
For fall
fashion
No Wait in Vain : Poets Meet
For decades I waited
and you did not come
to listen to my rude insertion
finger a sound at back of my throat
and the vibration of my name
For decades I wanted to meet
a small mountain as I read her
plain words in innocence
a bell in her Heart rang deep
with children running sweet
For decades I longed to touch
a struggling mottled moth
as he ached for new wings
smooth ebony cheeks
passionate with letters of adoration
For decades I watched for
a painter to mirror my songs
uncover a talkative witch who
still trampled from place to place
broken shoes echoing my silent breath
For decades I wanted a smooth ride
where conversation was free of tasks
words on both seats of equal length
with ripe apricots for the scoffing
almond chocolates wrapped in red
So I upped my thumb to a veteran one
who read from his leathered collection
notepads and pencils strewn about
space in warehouse oozed slivered glee
No wait in vain !
Olivia Newton John was never ours to claim, and yet we did.
Because she became ours when she starred in our musical, Grease
An all American film, so it made sense to us. Sandy, girl next door.
The whole cast was magic; this black-leathered jacket teen musical.
Reminding us of West Side Story, but less ethnic.
All-American, which is why we had to claim Sandy as USA born.
We knew better, and yet, forty-four years later, we still do it.
This is how arrogant we are, snatching and claiming those we love.
Like Princess Diana, who was certainly never an American.
And yet we brazenly fell in love with her too, thinking she was.
1066
Sad day on Senlac Hill.
King Harald takes an arrow
Through his royal eye.
And that Norman bastard,
Duke William, steals his crown.
Though it’s embroidery,
Not tapestry, tells the tale,
He finds himself the king of all he sees.
1297
Lord Warden of the March.
His bones well-sheathed
In tightly leathered muscle,
He guards the Western shore,
Ensconced in Carlisle Castle,
And stalks the reavers’ trail
Through Cumbria.
He finds himself the king of all he sees.
1922
Mud-larking on the Thames.
A muck rake in the hands
Of a common man,
Canvassing the northern bank
‘neath the trestle near
Cannon Street Station,
Searching for everyday treasures.
He finds himself the king of all he sees.
Oh balls
foul tipped
slow trickled….
down the line
Oh balls
you whirling dervish
biting air…quick clawing
down and away
Oh balls
wood slapped
rising in an arc of cheers
falling in the leathered web
of tears
Oh balls
the games go on
and though I age
the heart still plays
John G. Lawless
©9/26/2021
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