Short Cellars Poems

Wines, sweet wines and more,
Stored, blended in decades,
Cellars scenery....

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the violent tornado

vengefully overpowering

through peaceful

trembling windows

uprooting cellars...

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Barricaded in cellars
as falsehoods rock the landscape

Truth sequestered, fragments
  ~ devolution to the Age of Apes...

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The violent tornado 
vengeful 
overpowering 
through peaceful puddles 
trembling windows 
uprooted cellars 
devastated lives...

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Please see Gulf of Cadiz
Praia da Rocha Beach
Tour port cellars and bridges
hop-on hop-off buses make travel easy
take oh my cod food tour with Ricardo in Lisbon...

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The shadows are locked doors

Cellars ferment Ages

Wet wisdom drunk

By rats' charred bones

Who can tell you

He is the face

Behind the mirror

Inside your skull

The glass shines

Diamonds...

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charm(ed) bracelets 
and bangles
and books on 
strange science
in fogs
of whatever
all sold 
by the locks

as sellers 
and cellars
with culture 
on counters
sell lifestyles 
as street food
and vinyl
as clocks....

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Take my words
Gently
As a thorn-crested rose
Beauty
Shielded by doubt
Shivering
In its self-ness
Caress my words
As infants
Seeking
Sustenance
Toddlers
Tumbling
Over one another
Adolescents
Unsure
of their meaning
Challenge my words
That they
May be honed
Matured
Aged
In the silent cellars
Of poetry
...

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dry cans in cellars full of sweet fruit 
 covered in dust are beatiful in a way.
 
 all with labels peeling.

 the iconic cambells soup cans in tarnished 
red and white 
set on the shelf like rusty bells on
 a church steeple.

not like the empty mason jars on 
the front porch half filled with rain.

half with childhood memories of
 grasshopper guest and fire fly delights....

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I never been
ocular witness
one of the happiest moments
that I dreamed.

I did never taste
the wine of freedom
that I knead in my cellars.

And the river goes down onrush, 
in order to sweep
this litter life.

So here I am
At the bank of Acherons
grin and bear it
as in a bus station.
The system 
is doping me with money.
My friends 
promise me a sunny day.
And I want 
the future now!...

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Winter Warm

The blazing trees have thinned now,
Like an old man’s falling hair.
Little limbs and leaves
Litter the mud brown ground,

Fewer robins are roosting.
Apples and onions sleep in deep cellars,
Gray curtains of winter come down, and
My heart holds secret warmth for you only.

So while all about is cold and bleak,
That dear soft warmth will remain,
Contented ‘til we unending meet.
This is my longing by a crackling fire....

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I repeat myself over and over
An endless string of blunder---
Knotted and tied with my affliction
Ending nowhere but in damnation
Echoes bouncing on walls and pillars
While I’m locked under cellars---
My words falling with a clatter
Echoes of bone-chilling isolation
Over and over
My voice travels in crevices of the river
Slowly drowning in water
I can see my reflection
A figure of distortion---
Falling deeper and deeper
Over and over....

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Love is Actually - NOT

Love is actually hate’s evil sister
masquerading as the touch of passion’s tryst
harsh flame to make the lover’s psyche blister
lying lips to slyly soothe the forming cyst.

Sipping slowly from nearly empty snifter
savoring the truth on which Love’s lies subsist
fatal swordplay of dueling Cinderella’s
battling the darkness of lust’s empty cellars.



8/5/2017

submitted to – Love is Actually……- Poetry Contest...

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Those yelling voices from various tenements
Sounded like the sad treble of girls
In cellars where leviathans
In a spree flourished forced libidos:
The lasses trembling in rude arms!

Sir –
Still in their yellow bloom
Pig-watchers of the wider forest
Clad in the swords of midnight warriors
Performed the vicar’s rituals.

A blue hour lamented the gloom!
In the morning more skulls lie
A trash of real weavers!
(Prof, a sad lad heard the tales told!)...

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We are hanging hams, are we
in cellars off the coastal sea
licked by Mediterranean breeze

or foot-smashed grapes in Tuscany
afloat in oaken barrels, we
as flavors gain complexity.

Everyone is clever, everyone is bright
We are salt and we are light

We're the craft of chocolatiers
(from Switzerland with warm
hands on cold mountaintops.)

We are slowly sipped espresso.  We are chopped mint.

We indeed are crème brûlée
formed by hand like potter's clay....

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These are the spaces I confide
These are the narrow crevices 
These are the places I reside
These are the secure refuges

Upstairs attics with small windows
The quiet corners where I go
The hidden chambers no one knows
Downstairs cellars through secret doors

There I have my room for dreaming
Room to create and postulate
Pose questions and probe for meaning
Riddles and rhymes to contemplate

In there the world does not dictate
And there I have less room for hate....

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‘No clock: only the Heart’s blood. Only the word.”
“I think poetry must, 
I think it must, 
Stay open all night 
In beautiful cellars”    Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours
          ***

High round windows
over wide glass doors
fill with night;

The world’s gone to black, 
to void, 
to nothing.

Can you hear your whispering blood?
- surge of surf, wind in dark trees
alive - alive -

so arise now and go
down the noisy steps
to the beautiful cellar,

to the poetry....

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