Short Wresting Poems

Autumn.
The morn is wresting itself
between ill
leaves, which that summer
brought along.
The sky stayed
in clefts.
The yellow lamps
among dark trees.
It’s autumn.
Slowly, downwards
after the pure rain –
sheltered....

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Cobo and Nala are two different breeds,
they have fun doing those naughty deeds,
wresting and rolling on clean bed sheets,
jumping on the kitchen table to eat beets,
sweet dog cookie bones are their treats!


Picture # 3
Written on 3/24/2016...

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Sequestered secret
Timidly testing
Ambitious actions
Infinite immortals
Regal royals
Wishful wonder
Anxious ardor
Youthful you

Time to
Open oracles

That test
Hopeful humanity
Eternally eager

So strength
Tries the
Ardent admiring
Rebels wresting
Shining stars...

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up to my ankles in icy snow
the dogs wresting the shovel
and running away
the hood of my coat is slipping down over my eyes
my gloves are too big
I feel like a cranky cold five year old
who doesn't know enough to go in

snow after snow I'm sick of this
when's the next bus to New Mexico?...

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i'm not sure
what's stirring more
this wind
wresting leaves
or my mind
wallowing
in thoughts
of you

i find myself
entranced
within
this amber sway
adrift
like leaves
dancing
through dreams

wondering
if i were to fall
would you
pick me up
caress me
hold me
tight
or leave me
tumble
bloodied
ashamed
to crumble
grounded
unnamed...

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Azul 
Mi corazon  
Aches within a torch lit
No match better against the ropes
Longing familiar acrobat events
A dream team fantasy—I am
Luchadora of love 
Sueño de ti 
Azul 




*Lucha Libre or Mexican wresting “Free Fight”
*Luchadora or Lady wrestler
*Mi corazon or My heart
*Sueno de ti or I dream of you
*Azul or Blue...

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Yes, everything here changes.
Again the wheel is turning
wresting with iron fingers
out of my heart steaming blood.
But You, I will not sell You
for thirty silver coins.
The dead ones do not change
neither do the not born,
the newly risen don’t – do not change!
May the changing ones eat
the dust of days, in order to survive.
After Fridays Good,
I know,
The Sundays rise!...

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For weeks Bruce wresting with the intent
And right now wants to unveil content!
A right palm packing pressures round steel,
Watching eyes Death sight and owners feel:
For whom it's meant his best: speeding heels
As no single wounds from it heals
Onlookers to open banks of tears
The moment the thing lands: what heart fears...
Still a fact: if cops appear Bruce off
And wherever he his will not cough...
And remember to phone the police
To something stop from going amiss....

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