Short Buffing Poems

Its almost too much,
budburst
on a cold morning
when cherry trees
awaken a white bliss,
the soundless shiver
of a million mouths
buffing a tarnished
soul to a shine....

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Allow those sunrays
Bypass through the lenses
Compose up my window  
          Buffing 
Agree to those blends 
Seize on to my grip
And let my sun
Grant me my limelight
      Smiling, blurring
Sojourn!
Don’t swathe my sanity
My guide
My warmth
       The exquisite
My Love
You shall by no means
Recoil beyond the pillows...

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A needle nose pliers, polished like glass, damp
with tears and sweat, but not from rote plumbing leaks,
needed a good buffing at the Dust Rag Camp.
It slow-waltzed across the street where no one speaks    
and mimed a tale of woe beneath a dusty lamp
intently viewed by neglected toolbox freaks.
One grand gesture of support from each to all
gratitude like oil oozed to soothe the gall.
...

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is that the spearman swinging 
his weapon to and fro 
and is that the giant weeping 
down and down he goes

that smile i remember
everytime you kill
that laugh so sinister
when you feel that thrill

are you in hotan the glavie called
buffing and stroking
chasing the so sun abroad
the thoughest of them all

you have me waiting
counting down the time
till i can feel that thrill
now im wiriting this rhyem...

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Sadness within me is my skald,
Ignorant world, taunting my afterworld,
Why is my soul in this soil pinfold... 

The sky is filled with dark enshroud,
Am dumbstruck, thunderstorms cloud... 

Love is an unloved harken,
The heart in me, a shrunken token... 

Fey reliquary in the sand,
Buffing the defoliated leaves off my land,
She lay her tears on my heartland... 

Miseries of the silenced one...
Tortured hell gone......

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