I heard the hollowness that this heart hithers ~
but to tame my tears, must I trust the twilight
that ripped me in tremors and toxic tales,
the titanium lightning that traded me thirsty,
like the thunder that cuts across the ribbed sky?
these tantalizing trembles of Thor have left me,
wilting in memories, where moon rests in malice
and the monsoon maiden murmurs in wrath,
unspoken within roars of wallflower leopards ~
who ink me, laced with tiger-lilies and lethal lies.
I ache for you, stretched across sun sighs,
a bereaved goddess of thunderstorms,
vows to sear within silver streaks of solace
stripped of silk and sacrifice,in rust-skin revolt,
seething a smile across slaughtered stars,
and be the Bronté light in brooding blindness,
that cunning cyans cease to code and conceal,
I am the feminine glitch of golden gloom ~
perfumed with mercuric petals that echo rain,
in the restless release of reverent renaissance...
Mad as a hatter is a phrase that came naturally about
In the eighteen hundreds hatmakers were going insane
Using mercuric nitrate, which removed skin from pelts
A poison that had them acting funny, going postal
Another phrase that came along much later
In deference to postal workers who went insane
From the mundane repetitiveness of their jobs.
Tu Pac Shakur was a June Sixteen
And I, a June Fifteen;
Also, a full year my younger
But on our Third Planet didn’t linger
John F. Kennedy,
A bashed head, no remedy,
A May Twenty-Nine,
Like Tu Pac not a cat with lives up to nine.
Gemini Greats seem destined for the bullet,
Wherefore my fervent wish is that I remain a pullet
My everlasting consolation, our mercuric intelligence
The stupendous achieving with the poorest diligence.
Always The Ever Clever
To cobwebbed wisdom flinging 'A Never';
Of a soul crazily restless
With tasks striving even while listless:
Dying Laureate Yeats still pushing his poetic pen,
Perhaps thinking of another impossible ten!
Geminis are special people:
Both the seemingly simple
And the liable to cause a ripple...
Good bye to the late T. B. Joshua,
Whose healing of T. B. were sure.
MOONLIGHT
Moonlight is borrowed light.
Unless a mirror is lent life bright
From a golden-voiced source
Its own cadence is coarse.
It has no life of its own.
Thus also the moon, locked alone
In black magnificence, her rule
Is of an empty kingdom cool,
With only dead dust - unless
The daylight’s king should bless
Her with words that wake the night:
His radiant beaming smiles of light.
And so when this sleeping earth
Is wrapped in moonlight, it is worth
Recall that these are borrowed clothes,
Not warm raiment, but garments like those
Loose shrouds which have as such
No colour, and are cold to the touch.
So, night’s silver trees, mercuric lakes,
Grey flowers, aged white snowflakes,
Are all made older, locked in an uneasy wait
For the dawn’s opening of the golden gate.
Enchanted in a field of
Petals blue, a figure stands
And stately stares so true.
Lushes greens and mauves
Surround this hue; they
Carry with them charms
That follow you. In your
Eyes reflects the golden
Sun; that nestles on
Mercuric waters run.
And miniscule the living
Things you be; microcosmic
Universal sea! Warmest rays
Of sunshine on your smile;
Do wake in him fond dreams
Of things worthwhile. Listen
To the distant shores alive;
For on its sands, are ruins
To contrive. The figure turns
And walks to be with you;
Stately stepping through
Your petals blue.
the street curves away from my window
three white parallels of traffic windrows
shivering in almost invisibly falling snow
the tightly clenched rhododendron fingers
show temperature as well as any mercuric expansion
leafless sapless twiggy limbs hold fat puffed snowbirds
as the pale white sky surrounds their flickering tails
the startling piece of lonely color
a bright red fire hydrant wears it's london bobby helmut
of cheery yellow almost hidden in the colorless roadside shrub
but too loud to be ignored
how far have we gone from orkney seastead warmth
five thousand years of seeking peace
before it finds us
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