Short Encasement Poems

Silver encasement
I rest my hands on
while my fingers
do the talking, walking,
pounding buttons
faster and faster
sloughing off of head
until they all
spiral out of control
and I’m already wrapped 
up inside another...

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soundproof glass houses
surrounded by svelte deer
their only hiding place
amid roaring mechanical monsters
they graze on the green elastic shrubbery
and chew the somber apples off the ground.
Soon a blanket of white dust
and the impression is lost,
the impression of nature....

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The watermarked weave of 
sunset's net
Does not soon force us
to forget
The leavening clouds
encasement soon
Of mallard's flight in night's
cocoon.
And in the morning sunlight's
dance,
The summer vermilion leaves
enhance
The platinum sheen of swooping
wren
As silver slug trails signature
an end....

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I cut open my chest and laid it bare
for all to see.
A blanket of darkness 
resting within
caught most of the attention 
followed by a lump of acidic regret 
underneath it.
Then a smell of subtle peacefulness 
rose from the open encasement
which reminded you
of the flickering flame 
hidden in there
making all else visible to the eye....

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formless 
open 
energy 
catapulting 
its 
thought 
through 
the universe 
sparking 
light's 
instant 
entryway
to 
the 
intersecting
slow motion 
crash 
of 
DNA 
its own 
universes  
beginning 
both 
the  
cause 
and  
the  
effect 
it 
informs 
from 
within 
and 
without 
its
new 
encasement 
of 
beating 
pulsating 
flesh 


Conception; Poetry by
Susan M. Walker, 2014...

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She's scorched by a sun that
Would delight Icarus.
A glass covered encasement
Is a tomb
For her frozen vegetables.
She's cooked,
Along with her dignity,
Along with her worth.
If those in cars
As they pass
Should chance a glance,
Chance a thought,
Their hearts would burst
And scream at the scene.
Long-suffering is not
A Sunday afternoon movie
With Coke and popcorn.
When the bus stop woman
Arrives at home,
She opens the door
And greets multitudes,
Waiting to be fed....

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Poetry words a moment
Contemplation unwords everything.

Contemplation seeks the light
   seeping under the crack of door,
Where the door is our real
and light is the all.

That ancient door, 
   time beleaguered,
   with no latch,
Leaks light from the other side...
   the bright of grace 
   slipping through thin cracks 
   in the encasement of our now.

With the all of light our wings,
and the real of now our leg chains....

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