Long Upturned Poems
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Heavy backpack
on sure pavement.
Travel purse, crisscrossing
my sternum.
Following faithfully behind,
or nearby,
my spouse’s steady pace;
so excited.
We are in Frankfurt;
soon we’ll be inside the museum.
This was a side trip.
We saw that we would be clanging through.
The train would stop,
as all trains do,
at certain spots.
So excited!
What wonderful artwork will be
inside?!
Suddenly
I fly -
splat…
There was a trap;
An upturned frown.
I hit the ground
hard.
Zipped up, in my bubble jacket,
hood up,
in shock.
I will fast forward -
we see first
the “Good Samaritan.”
I’m on the ground,
in pain and panic.
A faceless man,
along with my man,
helps me up.
I never saw his face.
He hardly saw mine.
I’ll never forget his care;
sounds simple I know.
The only injury was to my ribs.
My purse stabbed me
with sunglasses, cellphone and small journal.
Could have saved me from worse disaster…
Though I hit the thumb side of my fist
and my knee, neither bothered me.
I could breathe.
No outside bruise.
No need for emergency room.
Just static…you know.
It gets better every day;
and I have a story to tell
about
how I am thankful.
Some lost their lights, the brilliance
Electricity, burning through the night
Inviting, inspiring, igniting our lives.
Some lost their water, the gentle flow
Source of hope and wonder, graceful
Moving over the spirit, sweet fulfillment.
Some lost their ability to communicate
Cell phones grew quiet, the internet – silent
Most felt some anxiety, lonesome, isolated.
Some lost their food as frozen staples melted
While cold goods became a luxury, an indulgence,
Canned goods were the staple for most stomachs.
Some lost their way home, left without roads or bridges,
Waters turned streets to lanes, highways to mere paths,
And, everywhere – it seems, the landscape was changed.
Some lost their houses and barns, their business and farm,
Even the hay, the feed – it was gone, leaving the horses forlorn,
Yet, we still struggled on – listening to the hymns, the old songs.
Some lost their peace in the storm, their serenity was gone,
But, in time, tranquility returned and the heart – more strong,
Feeling like hope had returned, with the last sprinkles of rain.
Oh, but some lost so very much more – their friend, their family,
The ones they love and depend on, the ones that God called home,
These are the hearts who know true loss, the horror of the hurricane.
Helene, you were merely rain for some,
While you changed lives, changed hearts,
You taught us what if feels like in a war…
Only this war, it was nature’s fight – a struggle that felt so sorrowful,
A struggle that left us with a world upturned,
A struggle that can’t begin to be forgotten…
Because the aftermath of this storm is something only God can relieve!
Pray, my friend, because only God can silence the darkness nature breathed…. When hurricane Helene came to NC!
Beware the perils of the golden asp
whose world is of dust and death
he moves as smoothly as satin
and is as deadly as anthrax.
How he writhes upon his belly
intent on catching his victim
ever searching, ever hunting
preditory, with pure blood lust.
In the apex of a dark night
that is blacker than India ink
the asp spies his helpless prey
with distant, unblinking eyes.
How he hisses, a heathen sound
then flares his upturned nostrils
how he flits his forked tongue about.
Sharp fangs boldly appear
from his scaly, snake mouth
then suddenly, the asp leaps
striking with prodigious precision
paralyzing his prey.
How quickly he hastens its demise
ushering his catch through death’s
distant door.
Oh, beware the perils of
the golden asp!
Written on 5/2/2018
Breath laden islands rise and fall
beneath the steam-graced surface of clear water,
capped with rosettes, red-brown, silken, warm,
beaded with water running in rivulets
down hillsides of flesh, puddling,
in the dark oval navel of desire.
Water rises about kneecaps
pristine and alabaster in hue.
Angular shoulders hug the far end of the tub.
A slender neck is held aloft, crowned with auburn hair
and hazel eyes, changling orbs, of green and gold
in an oval face rivaling Modigliani’s Madonna.
A ruddy glow spreads across high cheekbones.
The rising water submerges all, but the mounds
and the porcelain neck with its upturned face, full,
full of moans as tendrils, curl and coil splay upon
the rocking water.
Lids droop languidly, lips pout petulantly,
as the water invades, buoying delicate arms,
lending slip to fingertips, fingerstips
...avidly playing.. upon
the pearl white key of desire.
In man God created self
To another, He tasked to share
Fellowships created to bind
Diverse yet the same He makes
To care for man, God is loved
Men daily assembled in God’s name
Denied God’s in dramatic manipulations
Orderly assembled for a rich harvest
Fatter pockets purchase God quicker
Rules upturned for the benefit of man
Men unyielding in the challenge of God
Street rules adopted on the altar of God
For the master, not even a mule to own
Yacht and Private Jets portioned for servants
Further eroding the protective sheets
Not a care about tomorrow’s people
Impunity and mediocrity finally married
Mesmerized commoner in doubt of self
Money overtakes God in His holy alter
The soul has a choice after but hide
"POMPEII"
Her name was Pompeii
and I her mother,
loving her beyond measure,
took great angst, my heart bursting
from the betrayal -
she, taking several lovers
basking in the underworld
where men are fickle
leaving unfinished poems
on walls shaking like loins
buried deep and dry
in denial of her
sacrificial innocence,
welcoming rape, walking fire
tight, lost and moaning, there the
seductions are granted
in a last ceremony where
they lay entombed joined
burning at the hips
silent as ash glistening
powdery on parched lips
I left my feelings, volcanic
and unforgettable;
a romantic gesture,
I graffitied my message,
intimately on every door
and wall of their crumbling
hallways, passages filling up
with the feelings I felt,
they are all caressed by me,
faces upturned, beseeching
idealised, amorous, extreme
they are frozen touching
each others canvas, their
windows open now
to those that are closed;
the words missing
sentences to be completed
somewhere in the
minds of others
with sockets black coals
now glowing in another future,
they still hear me
shake with rage, my bones
like hell fire still crack to this day,
on another field, on another plane,
I am the soul of a lost world calling,
they will remember me
of me they will be afraid,
Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum
their tongues will touch
and speak of what I have done
rediscovering my pure love for her
unravelling, they will seek the
missing words like a puzzle
found in a dream
the story is delivered
on a wall, somewhere
I have etched
in Vulgar Latin
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
gvlm
The light of the moon is the comfort of the night,
and the flight of dreams sees by its golden glow.
The stars that surround its corona are as jewels,
that lay upon the moons' black velvet shoulders.
The mountain wolves call to announce their need,
for the god of golden light to bring back better days.
The natives bow and call the moon the night king,
for he tells them when to plant their sacred crops.
The wandering stranger is talking absentmindedly,
to the only friend and companion, he can count on.
Moonbeams stream through the ancient woodland,
where the creatures of fantasy dance in its illumine.
The light of the moon is the comfort of the night,
and upturned faces bathe in its resplendent glory!
3/8/2020
A thunderstorm passed over,
gun turrets flash.
gray hulls rumble and roll
above tumultuous clouds.
Evening commences to weep -
an aftermath,
a damp emotive capsizing
that barely touches upturned faces
yet it washes fright from brows.
As seafaring battles go
it was a skirmish,
flotillas of cruisers awash from
near misses;
they sailed away
leaving this whittling rain,
a backwash of electric jism,
the distant sound
of sailors shouting for rum.
Behind our eyes
deaf fish mouth deaf bubbles.
Sea legs are braced against
peripheral nerves.
Ozone spumes against inner ears.
The wake of the storm
mutes and tingles, damps down
as it slowly drips
into a salty bucket
of silence.
When marquee of eve glints on a skyline,
I gaze at jewelled stars naturally blinking--
that the world heaves with content
open to eve's charm undefined by time...
And within this space I become a listener
of winds tickling trees,
a watcher of colors bleeding the ground ;
one runner chasing leaves
on upturned sways ,
knowing that my world's best pleasure
is gratitude, a rune filtering through
inner being that opens the moon right up,
And my world spills into a hundred portraits
borne from an unrelenting joy
which the race for hollow gold or rank
cannot eclipse...
allowing the self immeasurable joy
on the breath of each new day!
I am the tide a ceaseless tide
drifting afar from sheltered shores
From solaced paths of wide-spread sands
where all my waters have become yours
I am the tide a ceaseless tide
rising up high beyond the line
Burnt orange line where half moon rests
between hushed ocean and twilight sky
I am the tide a ceaseless tide
anchored in thoughts with no return
I 'll keep on rolling keep getting distant
from blissful moments which we once shared.
I'll keep escaping a thousand butterflies
that swiftly flutter in rocky caves
I'll keep remembering smiles on lost laugh- lines
where sea-spumes kissed your upturned face
I am the tide a ceaseless tide
You are the sandman who walks out late
I watched you standing by the blue light-house
drawing two hearts without a name
I saw you gazing into the distance
I wondered if you're setting sails...
to a horizon without an hourglass
where your arms sink in my embrace