In two weeks,
the Loy Krathong
will begin.
12th in the
Lunar calendar,
atone for a sin.
Floating specks,
like us
but in the sky.
The stars
or the lanterns;
fault of the eye.
To beg for
forgiveness
to an imaginary friend.
Hence the offerings
galore
faithful until the end.
No one has seen
Or known our humanely ruin;
but we have fantasized.
We still have mosaics,
delusions, excuses,
never considering if they were lies.
There is no such thing
as truth or deceit
in matters like this.
Strip away the skin and
flesh and bones
a soul trapped in a fist.
It beats,
the fist a prison,
and pleads to escape.
It tries until
it gives up one day,
then it is too late.
So take a fragment
of your essence
hold it in the tips
of your fingers.
Watch! Its
pure joy
converts into light
and its warmth lingers.
Once you release it, the light, your
spirit,
floats in a ship of parchment;
you’re too late, you believe.
But then a glow
slits into your eyes;
you made it part of the sky,
your soul is free.
Radiant crystals illuminate thee, nocturnal mistress
in the wan dawn light where darkness drapes skies
Requiem aeternam bright halo, lies heaven’s portal
Winters wispy cirrus refracting ring circling
Mohawkin bespeaks of a Christmas cold moon
…December’s icy grip
Riffling ebb and tide, spawner of loon
Let rage and ruin Not be the end of me
Rubaiyat’s rhyme in thy honor
Let the waters settle, quotes of Rumi
Mercurial doomsday ruminates Mina Loy
Reigning ascendant masking impressions
Clouds envelop, shadow’s born shorn
Ravishing stillness, stormy tasks pending…
bright white ring of light
rage and ruin’s calmly still ~
not the end of me
Swimming makes me feel lighter, it lifts me up and gives me joy.
I gave it up awhile back, but have no idea why said Mrs. Loy.
Maybe it is because you husband pouts? Her sister-in-law suggested.
Or because when you swim your head clogs up all congested.
Mrs. Loy had to admit she did curb her behavior, so her home not to sully.
Trying to do whatever she could to please her husband who was a bully.
Her sister-in-law said, “Maybe you could leave the lout and swim with me.”
But Mrs. Loy did not want to trade staying home all day for a life of joy and glee.
Afterall, her days were nice until her husband came home from his job.
Her weekends and nights were horrible, but she did not want to leave Rob.
She had a job once upon a time and she truly did not want to spend time at work.
Trading for a miserable life she lived with a sullen, pouty, put-down-artist of a jerk.
IF LOVERS WE
(To Julia)
`` If lovers we, you and I, who would we be?
W0uld we be William Powell and Myrna Loy,
sophisticates, trading alcoholic quips across the dining room?
Would we be Abelard and Heloise,
lovers doomed, she to a nunnery, and he,
his castrati voice intoning high prayers through the fog
of winter afternoons
Would we be Tom and Valerie Elliott
plunging into a cold madness?
Would we be Bonnie and Clyde,
outlaw lovers, running down country roads
to meet violent death?
Would we be Buster Keaton and the heroine,
he taking a pratfall towards her heart?
Or an average couple, maybe, growing old before the fire,
watching the last dying coals go out?
No, I would be your Robert Browning
and you would be my ‘Lizbeth Barrett--:
you are my poetry, the rhythm and metre of my soul,
you are my painting, the portrait in my mind,
you are my music, my perfect pitch.
It is through you I speak.
Glil-ok the alien loves
walking barefoot on burning sand.
His feet till tingle, but not burn;
he has no problem with hot land.
One day, while walking, on the beach;
he met a crab, whose name was Lou.
Their conversation, reached an awful end,
and off Lou then flew.
Gili-ok had called Lou, “small”;
Lou clamped down a claw on Gili-ok’s foot;
crabs don’t like to hear their flaws;
Gili-ok gave Lou a big old boot.
Loy landed in the sea; Gili-ok went fishing
and dined on Crab Jubilee!
Nov huine i lost ungwe'eva
Tiro!
I ungol raea mi mor du'eva
Edro thalion heni a lir i lissi silme galiel i
Tenn'umbar i loy linant
dim ri'eva,
Thin na i lost ore mi
anca iaeva. A! I
ungol undulavant alag
amarth'esse.
__________________
The hollow gloom of the empty spider web
Watch!
The spider strays in the dark of night
open dauntless eyes and look toward the starlight
shining in the fell chill of the abyss.
Unto fate the years sing of dark days
Grey is the empty heart in the jaws of hell
Oh!
The spider drowns in rushing doom.