BLUE
A long lost night's
Forever sky
A bue dark day
Another life
A sand swept beach
The morning tides
Deep, your eyes
Survive
Blue drapes sway
An open sash
A cool wind
A lost eye lash
A silent sea
And only me
Deep, your eyes
Survive
A wishful look
A half read book
Asleep beside
Blue soft silk
Stirs the will
Of mother's milk
Deep, your eyes
Survive
Forget and find
Wounds will heal
Turn the wheels
Of midnight chimes
Blue, I feel
Glad, you are mine
Deep, your eyes
Survive
THE COLLECTOR'S CURIOUS PIN
Captive under tempered glass
Reflections reminisce
Fingerprints along the sash
The collector's curious pin
A paragon of one's own self
As thin as one's own skin
Shadows move across and cast
The collector's curious pin
Purgatory be your past
As long as you know when
Perdition's flame forever last
The collector's curious pin
solitary moon
shining through stained window sash
rose in beveled glass
sparkling bloom in light
exuding magic powers
in the sleepless hours
golden times will come
in a cottage by the sea
he will marry me
pink rose in glint vase
where the pearl moon is peering
in teal days of spring
the orchid lamp burns low against the screen of jade
a silver hairpin pierces the frozen musk
kingfisher quilt lies undone
eaglewood breathes unrisen dusk
dripping copper drains last watch
bronze worn where our first shadows seamed
morning mirror broken bride
embroidered sash unlaces on the hearthstone
the spring silkworm spun its chamber shut
silk wound against a bridal drum untouched
red wax sealed—spent wick weeps into the stele
beside the moonlit sill the brush-knife cleaves the charred core
the seal breaks at midnight
a single scent of eaglewood rises
Kunlun incense
rain on Kunlun has fallen for thirty years
water settles Kunlun-hore
the rain not yet wet
Gazing out my window pane,
so much comes into view.
Is my sight a reality,
I really have no clue.
Raindrops dew on leaves,
flowers humming with bees,
a cardinal perched on the sill above,
and higher yet flies a dove.
Sun breaks overhead,
beams of light
bounce off this garden scene
vanishing into the shadows in between.
All creatures big and small
nestle into their nook or cranny,
safe and warm like a glowing hearth,
a place I should really fancy.
But now it's time to close these shutters,
throw down the sash, no words to utter.
I will go to bed and get some rest,
not to come back here, I think it best
In the tiny panel room, there’s a distant sound of thunder:
we huddle together, instinctively even though we are not acquaintances
two people caught in a small space while Armageddon happens around us
We exchange first names; I know this is the end
I have already seen several colleagues leap to their death
the woman has torn her pantihose; there are remnants of sash in her hair
her forehead has slashes of soot across it
I never expected this, I told her
an inner voice told me we had to get to a stairwell
We are 82 floors up! I argued. The voice was insistent.
I lift her with me, and force her to head down those stairs
It is dark and dreary. Evil is lurking around every corner.
My heartbeat has never sounded this loud.
That was 9-11-2001.
We are still good friends 24 years later.
which witch am I looking for? I asked my cousin again.
The prettiest one with blue hair, he said, with a heart-shaped chin.
I did not think I would ever find her in this witch coven so big
But she was the only one with blue hair, her name was Mig.
I introduced myself and invited her to my Halloween bash
She thanked me so much, her ribboned hair was as pretty as a sash
She told me that a creepy guy had been bothering her; I asked his name
It was my cousin; she could not attend the party; not such a shame.
(Poem base on Revelation 1:9-20)
The Clarion Call
On the Lord’s day in the Spirit,
Interrupted by a loud voice.
Time to write to seven churches.
The clarion call! Attention!
Interrupted by a loud voice.
‘Midst the lampstands, the Son of Man.
Robe, golden sash; hair, white as wool.
The clarion call! Attention!
Time to write to seven churches.
Physically on Patmos Island;
On the Lord’s day in the Spirit.
The clarion call! Attention!
“Write on a scroll what you see, John.”
Eyes like fiery flames, bronze feet.
Voice like the cascade of waters.
The clarion call! Attention!
Seven stars (angels) in right hand,
Sharp, double-edged sword from his mouth,
Countenance like the sun - full strength.
The clarion call! Attention!
Countenance like the sun - full strength.
John fell like a dead man. “Fear not,
I am the first and last, alive…”
The clarion call! Attention!
“Alive forever and ever
I hold keys of death and Hades.”
Eyes like fiery flames, bronze feet.
The clarion call! Attention!
Sunlight seeping through my sash windows, so bright,
A silver whisper, anemones in oak’s light.
Piscine fins capture daylight's faint gleam,
Cormorants align, a verdant, vibrant dream.
Lustrous ebony wings dessicate, eyes so keen,
A metaphorical dusk, where crimson hues convene.
Nature’s prose, the palette finds its way,
Desultory strokes where colours gently play.
A painting unfolds, a metaphor for change we see,
Mixing up hues freely, a painter’s ecstasy.
Art, a transcendence boundless and swift,
As shadows lengthen, a masterpiece adrift.
What can I say to a flame, except that I knew of its spark when it was just a mere flash?
Would I say that I knew you were here, but only to start a certain level of malice!
You rose up into the sky like a mighty chalice!
I might even say to the flame that I knew were going to be large enough to succumb to a bash!
Oh mighty flame how do you dance with such a gorgeous sash!
Oh my how do you make me train harder by getting my hand to have a callus
Are you sure that your initial spark was meant to bring inside of me such a malice
Sometimes, things are things, or they are a Freudian phallus
You are the flame that makes my heart go to mash
You are the one that makes my mind burn the overbearing malice
Dear flame, can I hold you, as I walk through the valley of lice
Become my strength and be my whip and take out my enemies with a lash!!!
I knew of your spark as a mere flash!
Let the enemies drink the wine as they move in a frightened DASH!
Facebook flight, a messenger pigeon
Each Pageant shuffles pretty women
Most admired tiara sparkle temporal
Sash off strategic take trick terminal
No need to tweet esteem over media
Stern sensei recites reprimand, sepia
Cyber courier delaying defeat in fury
Gathers fragile artefacts via the jury
Thrown to past season, bent bouquet
Creases curtain backstage, showcase
Effort effected in gloom glows wattage
Wife writes fairytale wedding marriage
Health heralds husband’s regard sole
Seashell static fuzz phases out vitriol
Ocean sunk scroll in bottle, lost title
Cut circuit campaign silences recital
25th January
Objection Overruled
It’s cold beneath the fallen leaves
the worms slow wriggle falls to sleep
the tartan now a yellowed sash
consumed by winter’s icy creep
the rustle in the leaves just wind
as squirrels wrap their tails around
cold noses and an acorn stash
beneath a hawks now distant sound
Oh snow, cold snow, your carpet white
reflects the sun’s now timid stance
the darkness of your glaring light
the sharpened point of Winter’s lance
thus, do we wait on Solstice ploy
thus, do we hold to season’s joy
Residual finger pointer in an in-haunting,
instigator of an instigator taunting.
Infiltrator with sash of tendriled gas, or is it dust
feeling in lusts, zealing a fingering,
to find either it's way.
An agent of Death, of
imitation facsimile of breathe, stoked signature remains in imagery epiphany of
black characature spiritus blankus obscenity_uttereth
curse-ino-Djin.
Fingerprinting the wind, in it's rust
To steal it's identity particulate-dissipation, or 'bust
kaleidoscopic - it mutates hour to hour,
week to week, season to season
and day to night, when it is still and black
except for a pensive visage
whose glazed gaze peers back,
almost begging the question, "what"?!
I have no answers, only smudged thoughts;
leaves green and then fall, flowers bloom then wilt,
lives mix and meld - marry and mourn
midst a carousel of brown trucks
and their hurried drivers
- sirens and gawking and caring tears
through a lens of what we're made of
and will return to - quenched sand
this unshuttered sash reveals nothing
and everything
especially when it is still and black
and fragile
Staunch, spine straight as a flagpole
Chin tucked into neckfolds of flesh
Face itch, lips blubber incessantly...
Hips thrust forward... twin bulldozers
Life expectancy, a speck in a sandstorm
Rows of medals under gray sash, Iraq
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