The tortured remnants of horrors past,
ancient catacombs, collect their bones.
Marbled halls, stifle anguished screams,
amidst horrid, human honeycombs.
Haggard hearts heavy, must levy,
who's next to be fodder, for the feast.
Their ragged remains, that stain, still remain,
and lies empty, in the belly, of the beast.
"Woe to the weary," whiplashed whelps,
who must pick and choose, in death filled rings.
Sweet molasses, calloused classes,
still, must be vetted, by the King.
As for the King and his Court, no retort,
to their whims, that swim, in sorrowful silence.
They refuse to consort, as constructs support,
that the Crimson King...resorted to violence.
hydro electric generater
and creeks or Krik as
my wife would say.
I thought it novel
keen
and smart
some sort of
astute
--------------------------
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when love is
the goal
togetherness is
the objective
-----------------
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love is
purely an agreement
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the stones where marbled
from whatever there creation
made them of
layers and layers
of beautiful
stones
colors and types
to be adorn
-------------------------
------------------------
-----------------------
The nest is naked
Crass and cruel
It is not for sparrows.
Any berries I eat
Taste like acrid ash
Spilling out of my beak.
Above, are haughty eagles
Claws full of meaty mice
Swooping high above trees.
My marbled eyes can only stare
Hungry, so hungry for belonging
And not even the branches hold me.
A fall, a tumble—
All it would take to dive
Deep into the Earth's clay.
Would it be as cold as this?
When the rain beads off my feathers?
When the wind frosts my lashes?
I am certain She would spit me out
A carcass of plastic bird bones
To be reborn as the same sparrow.
Sunlight sparkles on the river,
marbled fire licking at the air.
Each glimmer erupts then fades
like people who we thought
we'd hold dear for an eternity
drifting into the world.
But if you tilt your head softly
you might hear their laughter
echoing beside your head,
like children sliding through your ears.
And if you close your eyes
you might feel gentle fingers
entwining into yours;
the summer wind clasping
its warm hands around your own.
And if only you'd look hard enough
they'll reappear, not in the water
but rather the night sky,
stars that shine steadfast.
Bask in their light.
Unicorns and fairies and sprites galore, umbrage unto the night scorches again, they tirelessly whisper the haunted hospital marble is free of thistle! It is there to wait beside near and dear the princess couplet the princess cut stone fears, and turned down that measly jester the halls of the shamed are not this marbled vesper.
Light Guard protects
seafarers treading waves' ledge,
His golden rays jut out
the moon his torch...its luster beaming
like heaven’s crown;
Into the pulsing bang of ebon crest...
With an upright frame
in marbled robe, he gazes at pink of stars
to rest awhile--then stands mightily
around our town's isle,
Guarding his flock , fiercely,
into night's calm passage.
The Integrity travels a quarter million miles,
The farthest point humankind has now reached;
A flight path record in decades will sing,
When it launched at the dusk of April first.
In the night when the countdown hits zero,
At Kennedy Space Center, the rocket fires its intro;
Tearing Orion into the deep dark,
As four souls leave their only known planet.
That moment the engines strum one last time,
The ship slips from Earth's grip and sight;
Watching the sphere shrink in the window frame,
Till it's just a marbled blue note of light.
Sensing the shift of the Moon's pull,
That takes over the rhyme and symphony;
The astronauts look back at their homeland,
Hearing from Earth again is a melody.
On the far side of the Moon,
They are in total radio silence —
Just them and the stars, with the Moon between them
And the pull of a cosmos beyond human sense.
At thirty times the speed of sound, Orion hits the atmosphere,
Orange and white flowers slow the song down;
The crackling, fiery heat plays its chord,
Treble clef curve makes splashdown safe and sound..
The ovens sigh, the knives confess,
we season sin with gentleness.
Each soul, when carved, reveals a taste—
the butcher’s art, the baker’s waste.
The world’s our larder, stocked with schemes,
its saints are sweeter than they seem;
the sinners, tough—but well-marbled,
faith rendered down, ambition garbled.
O mercy, what a menu night!
The moon a lid, the stars alight—
each heart a roast of mortal heat,
each dream a spice too rare to eat.
So lift the cleaver, kiss the flame,
for hunger never dies of shame;
and whisper, as the bones release,
It isn’t m-rder—only peace.
:: 02.04.2026 ::
At dusky dawn
a scamper of paws
resounds on parquet
and marbled halls.
The Obermeier tinkles
ancient ivory vibrates
in a concerto
of feline chords.
Soprano meows contend
with the garden quartet
of iridescent birds
rapt joyously
in kingly melodies.
I'm well-seasoned but marbled with green
Trending to get in too deep too soon.
Don't recognize the coils around the soul.
Until there's blood in the ice-cream bowl.
I'm a fatally flawed fawn in carnivorous landscapes.
A charity case orphaned from my faith.
Can we still call this living?
In the winding mansion
long bereft of dancers
and high born lovers
a wild moan echoes
through chambers of gilt
where Lady Elise dwelt
marooned in blood sorrow
for her precious lord
mangled upon marbled floors
when guards turned foe
and warred with saints.
I will go down to Irish Town,
where the old grey tower still holds
a barren watch for the shrouded ships
in the sea wind's show'ry folds.
The florid men of the marbled heights
throw pennies at your pain:
in Irish town they'll give you wine
as sweet as summer rain.
The haughty dames of Parson's Hill
have learned their love at school;
they feed their gallants perfumed cakes
and break hearts by the rule,
but the women down in Irish town
were born with hearts that know
too desperately what wanting means
to think that love's a show.
So I will go down to Irish town
where the river meets the sea,
and look for a little lasting love
in the grim grey tower's lee.
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Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings or music..
A random comment on poetry in general: A poem should be considered the script of a role in a play which the reader is auditioning for.
Idiosyncrasies
You are my hunger,
Thirst brought torrent
All my consecrated
Pursuits‘ vertex
A rolling crunching
Explosive indulgence
Elevation, bolster accumulation
Marbled unrelenting resuscitation
Roving bleeping clouds
The squeaky echo of dolphins
The sweet chirping of chicks,
Shrieking chorus of seagulls
Laughing out loud
It is a rock solid vacuole
An inviolable metaplasm
Dry stacked
the walls arched
We're a window quadruple
Paned stood statuesed
Risened and marbled
the counter top
the unfinished mastering
the beams, the beams
She spoke
As we on the unfinished floor
had in reproduction
Created our first child
Months later I sat there
With a bottle of wine
Smoking a cigar
Smiling in happiness
Knowing some foolish truffle
Would challenge our happiness
Some unexpected frivle would
try to undermine our togetherness
Which word to speak might God
Protect us
Then again what words to speak
Might we again be as one
They shall oppose all things
to have me shake my fist at the
Angred by the frustration of not belonging
So that my efforts of failing her and him
Would be in vain
Might they hiss like snakes
to speak us in tenses
The suns of each tomorrow
Be days of us together
Andromedan castles
moat has little blue boats
servers are maidens joyed
white iris gardens
deep canyons
radars aimed
soft cadence
magnet minds
love balanced
Orion forts marbled
shining with platinum bands
armoured Galactics cruel
stone and steel makes head reel
bold barons
orlon vests
high pylons
canon shots
warring sons
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