Long Salting Poems
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Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
Twilight bleeds her darkness over the earth
breathing offerings of shadow, reflecting
the trembling joys – poured forth by the fireflies
who restore some semblance of the spirit’s dance
rising beneath the winds, softly whispering
this is the night’s last chance to penetrate the edges
of darkness with a twinkling who reminds us
there is hope, there is faith, there is love and grace
promising to reveal to the soul – a song so alive
striving to abide on the inside of the heart who knows
life has only just begun when the peace who comes
is known by His everlasting truth, His kindness, His wisdom
and the selflessness that reassures the soul – He is the One
who created the sun, the moon, the stars, the glowing
fireflies who arise in the dusk to remind us of a hope
that is ever a part of the time we spend on earth,
time breathed out through the amazing that is no secret –
it is the graciousness of a love that never ends,
the promise of a light that simply is… soundless as the seas,
but more beautiful than the most beautiful dreams
a spirit of light that follows the wind, remembers the friend
of time is more than just what the eye might find
it is love that is more alive than the heart’s sigh
love that cries out to the night to take her time
to color the moments in the presence of Him
who is life, love, lasting beyond the stars and moon
lasting despite the sky of fireflies who seem to agree
with the heart who can surely see… He is the answer to every need
He is the light that assuredly seeks, and brings the heart its greatest relief
a forgiveness that prepares the light to bleed
through the edges of darkness, through the night’s melancholy
into the moments who hesitate to see – joy rising
through the glittering trees, the glimmer of peace,
the flickering lights who tremble on the seas
salting the night in echoes of heaven’s sanctity
God isn't looking for your tears, he's looking for your faith. -Paul S. Morton
She smells like the 80’s
With her big hair and Levi’s
That never go out of style…
Seem to almost cover the centuries
With their taut indigo fabric
Leaving the world more sure
That anything is possible,
All those dreams, bleeding
Through the still, cool autumn
Hesitating, in peace
Breaking apart the melancholic
To bless the heart who knows
Even the 80’s fell silent
When the last prayer was spoken
Before the piano noted
The altar calling, promising
God always hears, always knows,
What it is that needs listening,
What it is that needs blessing.
And I know…
His light flows
Beyond the centuries, before the worries
Beneath a sea of compassion
In grace, faith, everlasting
He is the music that stirs souls, the blessing
That never lets go of hope,
Never forgets that love can rouse the heart,
Peppering the nights with starlight,
Salting the day with the sunlight
That brings comfort, assurance, saving the ones
Who believe in the One who freed us from all fear,
The One who silenced our tears and revealed to us…
A love that is never still, yet is still,
So every ear can hear the rhythm of its light,
The love that is never wrong
The love so like God’s song.
Self sabotage.
War in house. Front row seat.
Do you think I have not been here before?
I conversate politely with the
Girl in the mirror.
Is the assumption a lack of intelligence
or a lack of experience on my part?
my fault.
my laugh, musical. pained.
I am slipping again and craving pain.
Thinking of oozing wounds, picking scabs from hurtful things.
Again, my mind demands.
like pressing on a fresh bruise or the
first shower after a flesh wound.
Salting a paper cut.
Impulsively yearning.
Give it to me. The pain.
smiling and hungry I will lick love from a knife blade.
unhealed. gut clenching, head spinning—
Something inside whispers
you cannot hurt me.
Something in me smirks. satisfaction sinister & stomach twisting.
I know what this is. familiar.
To punish myself for believing I was better
is my blessed offering to lies.
On a midnight walk, saint of feigned stability,
I realize, in my head I have been dead for centuries.
tears streaming lungs heaving my soul was never born innocent, never born at all.
blind & lost, in danger, internal. back against an interior wall
Should I go?
Again. I am here again.
disbelief. I laugh at the expression on my own face through silent sobs
“I’m not ill”
You've heard of the children of the corn
This my friend is much scarier than that
Here to make sure you eat all your vegetables
Adults of the Asparagus
Set in a quaint New England town
Could be in any novel by Stephen King
Making sure both the young and the old
Eat their veggies raw, sauteed, or steamed
They'll make you sit by yourself at the table
With the dog behind the door when they lock it
Before you leave the table they'll frisk you
And have you empty out all of your pockets
You will shudder with butter on the side
Salting to taste if you must
Making sure you eat every last bite
Adults of the Asparagus
Eating vegetables can be scary!
You can't imagine what it's like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' physical promise to a Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor,
wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scripture and stone
with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissension
inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview,
methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty,
we were Legio XV Apollonaris
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo,
the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other legions led by General Titus
60,000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through the Jewish guerilla ambush
asymmetrical urban warfare welting our progress
like a pirate pestilence,
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacrificers
their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets ankle high with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery
a torch was tossed,
flames rose in a rush,
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box,
our grief agape with horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent
with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man
aware of error in his ill plan,
the insurgents had men we called fox tails,
desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number
they would run into apartments
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge,
these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos
screams salting us with panic linger,
J.A.B.
As I roamed into the steakhouse,
I spotted him slashing steak.
He looked up with his dispirited stare,
His despair coherent to me.
He summon me to take a chair,
He had a anecdote to unfold,
About the day his spouse left,
The day love revolved to abyss.
He delivered her the works he had,
His body, soul and heart,
Her addiction got the best of him,
She backslid; he fell discrete.
Off she went on a spree, appear like,
A daze of narcotics and booze–
When he faced up to her, she said,
"Fine," and ran off–just think
Of the agony it caused this man,
His eyes folded into his face,
Tears so actuate, harsh and brutal
They are salting him in place.
Yet he turns up at the steakhouse,
Forlornness not his thing,
Through those depressed eyes I can declare
He’s longing for happiness, although
Dealing with the tragedy of losing
A woman once very delightful,
A woman now astray in her sadness,
His sorrow under her feet.
Slowly
(a life time of small steps back
Fades the light
towards a tiny waiting grave)
As does the bright
Birth of an immaculate
Smile
Spanning the horizon for hope
Scanning the world for yes
Searching the room for you
To face your face
To see what you see
To hear what you hear
To feel what you feel
Slowly
(a life time of small looks back
Recedes the day
towards a tiny waiting grave)
As does the bright
Light of an untraceable
Urge
Scoping the skies for joy
Singing the warmth of birds
Shaking the wounds in you
To touch your face
To please what you see
To sooth what you hear
To smooth what you feel
Slowly
(a life time of small kicks back
Proceeds the night
towards a tiny waiting grave)
As does the bright
Moon of an irradiant
Purge
Sapping the vines of spring
Stopping the play of sin
Solving the lies in you
To replace your face
To appease what you see
To fear what you hear
To doom what you feel
Slowly
(a life time of small slaps back
Succeeds the dark
towards a tiny waiting grave)
As does the bright
Death of an unknowable
Life
Sounding the bells of done
Sipping the truth of hell
Salting the wounds in you
To forget your face
To curse what you see
To hate what you hear
To despise what you feel
----May 2014. Verse written for self-therapy. Composed in a state of anger, frustration, disappointment… It helped. A day later light-hearted humor was back.
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
Halogen, on horizon shine.
Pinpoint the effect.
Lampshade, made from what we dine?
Ask and you'll get wrecked.
Courtyard of the vizier?
Not quite a good place.
Axeman, getting busier?
Damned is a disgrace.
Yatalite, thy bluish streaks.
Meteoric blast?
Oh, it's been a matter of weeks.
Statue, plaster, cast.
Best of luck, O yammerer.
Blowing at the hole.
Coin toss, then, O stammerer?
Hammerer, dole, pole.
Wicked is the world these days?
Gods, yes, sir. You bet.
Maze, thy path is lost in haze?
Grey is what they'll get.
Rickshaw, running river, reel.
Show them how we feel!
Tornado, spin! Sage, reveal!
Portal, sign the seal!
Golem, gold. Groundhog, billfold.
Windfall, young or old?
Both, O poet. Oversold?
Muse, light, sparks, meld, mold!
Yardarm, keelhauling. Salting!
Sad to hear them sing!
Hornet, wasp, succor with sting?
Drown the ding-a-ling...