Night's crush spills black ink
the moon unzips hidden seams
turns souls inside out
foreboding haunts chokes the air
mystery bleeds from her face
Night leans on the shore
moon's breath a blade of silver
cooling tepid skin
the tide tongues open raw seams
salting wounds to sting and heal
Moon bends in bow arc
stringing light across the sea
searching for fractures
beneath the unblinking glare
shadows cower, faint, exposed
She writhes feral, drenched—
her breasts plunge in black water
eyes white with hunger—
she rips at our fraying threads,
raising fear to blaze with flame.
Hopes rise in moon's mist
drawn up by her silver hand
spilling into dreams—
she gathers us in like tides
weaving paths to becoming
Light stings into lust
with hymns strummed on naked thighs
a harp of end chords—
every string the ocean plucks
screams in time with tug of tide
Dawn scars the moon's face
her ghost hides behind torn clouds
soft unrepentant—
the lilt of her vanished hymn
echoes a throb in our bones
Oh sister of night
oracle of ebb and surge
you hiss with forked tongue—
what prophecy do you bear
light's mercy or void's abyss?
Standing at his garden door,
he sips moonlight,
smells the closed blooms.
He is amber in a wine vat,
a coagulant of red shadows.
The darkness supports
his bones, it plucks at the stray
threads of stale years.
What is this shine behind his eyes,
this starry vortex
beneath his shoulder blades?
Strange angels have entered
through his unleashed being
and they are feasting
upon his compliant psyche,
dressing and undressing themselves
with his raw and wordless prayers.
Stillness finds its voice,
but will not speak it
until death becomes life.
Planet in flux…it sucks
No refuge..Scrooge rules..
Stooges subterfuge deluge..
Fossil fuel fools..
Poleaxes..then relaxes…
As the earth burns..
As it turns..on its axis..
***************
Us schmucks battling....
Puzzling...prattling clucks...
Aloof to proof....daft defiance..
Shucks the sleuth of science..
**************
Glower at their ivory tower..
Cruise ship trip fillip..
Dour baby boomer power..
******
Absurd herd..cans compliance
Uncouth trampling truth..
Nip & tucks alliance..
Mottled rucks…throttled petro bucks...
Plucks for retro reliance..
*******
Muzzling…weasel hatchets meddling...
Diesel guzzling trucks..
Saluting high falutin polluting
Pander to propaganda pedaling..
Ratchets up our dander…
Open the ruddy window!
Have a bloody gander!
Every moment we have, it’s not ours to idle away,
It’s not ours to cosy in slumber,
The night is not faceless,
And the day is not merely a superficial series of events.
We walk through a door leading to others connected in time,
Mystery intertwines with these connections,
We search for answers that plunge us deeper into the mystery’s wormhole,
Each piece leads to the next, but we’re yet to complete the puzzle.
Hope is the lamp that brightens our paths in the stygian night,
When the moon and stars are cocooned in layers of darkness,
When the susurration of the rivers plucks on the strings of melancholy,
And an oppressive heaviness obstructs the redemption light.
Every moment we have is ours to pursue our purpose,
Summon the elements to unveil the day’s splendour,
Uncover the treasures hidden in the night’s chamber,
Find guidance in the stillness of our souls,
Until we’re greyed and frayed by time.
May 7, 2025.
Two guys by a bus stop, and they have nowhere to go.
They begin merging plucks and ribbits into a melting comfort.
Their destination is the Earth, and sedans honk at them.
Red stop sign becomes a resting place for a fellow cellist.
Fair lime crickets play along to the weeds, if just for this one moment.
And the taste of copper and paper is thrown at them in antipathy.
They are not homeless if the meadow’s honey is their home.
Yellow plaid is unlikely to grow here, it is foreign, says the guttle.
Different hues of blue in their familiar magical background.
No mortal whistle in the gale ought to be uttered during the tree’s ballet.
One hurricane lantern is shared between deities, or humans, or leaves,
And you can barely make out the vicars of string and bloodline.
Powder white porcelain glares at the back of their senseless heads,
Resting on a moss bed wearing a dress fly-fish dip in and a bear died for.
With a face made of zig-zags, one of them eats their mom’s snack,
The other swims with a black dog in gin bottles and stolen mint.
What a paradox, cried the wolves; they soon bellowed along.
She dips her brush in beauty and paints with tears of joy
She recites a loving novel with a wish and a sigh
She lights a single candle gazing through the night
Awaiting her loving hero to arrive in morning light....
Luminescent, Serendipitous, Melliflous in her Whimsical roll
She plucks a delicate flower and places it at the door....
Time slowly yearning pushing a moment through
Unfurling a banner of love upon the morning blue....
between my two lips
cherry for my valentine -
he plucks it from stem
Outside, by my front door,
I count twelve things. Can you count more?
When I go out to take the air,
a snail and butterfly greet me there,
and I always see someone -
a lizard out in the sun.
A spider plucks his silvery strings
which he also uses to catch flies and things.
Uhoh, the snail is going somewhere,
but a caterpillar beats him there.
In the soil, where up spring plants,
I see a regiment of ants.
They march along in formation,
members of the six-legged nation.
In the tree a robin sings.
Hey, what's that - a hummingbird with rotary wings!
Let's not forget to take stock
of all the things under the rock.
A rolly polly rolls up cuz he's shy.
A centipede with a hundred legs strolls by.
When you go outside, what can you count?
Can you find a higher amount?
I'm scared of too many things outside.
I'm going back into my house to hide.
Yellow, a sunny color -
bittersweet brightness of life.
Wild dandelion its flower,
brilliant in grandson’s eyes.
Watching the Summer spin,
fragile twirling and bend.
Pandemic’s Kindergartner plucks bouquet -
tenders it to grandma.
Isolation had its moments -
streets with no cars,
chasing a lemon butterfly.
“Oh, it flied away.”
His skateboard in pause,
as our lives were,
but in home’s vase,
weeds quickly passed away.
she plucks pink petals one by one till there none
a stark bare stem with beauty gone and empty
would that she could glue them back but it is done
and now no soft and secret silk will tempt thee
even the green, moist, straight stem bends in the sun
and there are fresh new flowers full and plenty
a vast field of flowers frilled and frenzied sought
yet only this can tell if he loves you not
She is the mastermind behind videos that appeal to the heart
always considering others she plucks the words that we impart
and gives them to the A I, we get music and imagery and art...
She is always thinking of others and putting a smile on their faces
a brilliant woman with so many talents and kindness you can't erase
a friend who is always there for you, with generosity in place...
Maria is a poet who understands my heart and soul to no end
oh how I wish she lived closer, for a teatime we could both attend
yes she is a wonderful pen pal companion and also a dear friend.
Mech thumb
Sound dumb?
Trunks seized
Much pleased
Plucks trees
With ease
Mer’s beard!
Land cleared!
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
A pearl beyond price
Is the love of my life
She dances and sings
And plucks my heart strings
With her figure so fair
And her soft golden hair
She sparkles brighter than the sun
Into my life she injects lots of fun
What more could I ask of life
Than to have found such a wife
To be my eternal soulmate
For which I thank the workings of fate
The soul does not know you,
until you know it,
then you remember
that you are God’s secret hiding place.
Old soul, young soul?
That timeless mystery is,
and always will be a cradle.
You do not grow out of it
only into it.
One day you climb,
an invisible mountain.
You’re not looking for anything,
you are still hidden from yourself.
Then soul, like a hawk, plucks you up.
Of a sudden, you know it knows you
like a mother knows her child,
or a hawk knows its chick.
A secret is revealed.
You spread your arms out
like wings,
Will you let go now,
Will you let that cradle rock you.
Will you?
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