Long Purgatorial Poems

When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past...

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As Medusa walks in, shuts the door,
caresses precision hand down the mahogany-
and shows one what for.

Senses in starbursts-cloudburst
flavor crystals accenting- your bloom 
of predicate corpus, cat claws in my brain, 
comes metamorphosis-
Led mushrooming depth of...

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On a windswept hill crest by the sea there is a lonely ancient sentient tree that seems so 
figuratively familiar to me, I wonder why this can be n’ who my heart longs for when
I’m...

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I try to act like I don’t care, but deep inside I cry,
Under the mask I wear, love makes me feel so ugly, and I don’t know why.
An entire life I lived, unwanted by those...

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Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone.
The inscription is illegible, but that matters not to me.
At this centuries-old grave I place flowers and moonstone --
As requested by my ethereal savior, friend, lover, devotee.

My...

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Purgatorial Perceptions

By Mark D. Stucky
In the basement, I heard fluttering sounds
coming from inside the old chimney.
Cautiously opening the clean-out trap,
I came nose-to-beak with a panicked bird.
Having fallen down the depths
of the narrow furnace flu,
it now...

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First, it is our task
to find out where we are,
and that is after we discover
we are bubble men,  and frantic
at the moment to escape each one
and gain the next outside to taste
its succulence, the...

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Faith Bird

By Mark D. Stucky

 “Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.” -- Rabindranath Tagore


Faith bird, please sing to me!
Stream music in my heart!
For the night...

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Dumpster-Diving Deity

By Mark D. Stucky
Dirty, broken, and forgotten,
discarded as worthless junk
at garage sales and trash collections,
were treasures I have rescued.
Where others saw rubbish,
the eye of this beholder
saw creative potential.
After repairing, cleaning,
and polishing or painting,
the old...

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PURGATORIAL JUXTAPOSITION…  
   
My hate and anger have become juxtaposed,
positive states of mind and likewise emotions:
I hate the daily injustice that’s being exposed;
and am angry at so much apathetic devotions.
The cradle and...

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I speak of the desolate
of an ending where there is no God,
or beacon or harbor.

of the pure and deserted
who sit mute and stare
at lights as cold as moons..

who rests in wire cradles,
who's angels only glare,
who's...

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Gloria in Eggshellsis

By Mark Stucky
Will my shell crack open
from external stresses?
Will my soul ooze out to sizzle over fire.

Will my soul simply rot inside my shell,
forgotten and leaving inside
a core of putrid mess?

Will my soul...

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I was ripped out of my mother's womb by caesarian,
Punished for years in purgatorial syatem schools,
Abused in a paedophilic cult until I was seventeen,
fell truly madly deeply,
They saw to that,
Bought a van tried to escape...

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Winter’s High Noon Tease

Shinning in regal glory,
the heat of the sun was cooled down
by misty winds sneaking through
and passing around
outstretched arms
of naked winter trees—leaves gone 
to who knows where.

Stunned by it all, we stood there;
goose...

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They are silently screaming under the canopy
Of the hundreds of branches breathing aloud
Baying for the sky, the sea of trees
Beneath their veil lingers not a sound
Nor earthly remains of a thousand spite
Suicides—who may yet wander...

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