Short Xiii Poems

fisherman
donating scales
with each hand shake...

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Guilt is the furnace
that sears the sacrilegious
scabs off of my skin...

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Oskar loved Alma's feminine charms
painted himself entwined in her arms
He entitled it 'Bride of the Wind'*
Mahler/Kokoschka talents twinned.


...

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In a yonder canyon
Upon earth’s finest grass I sit
Scathing mature flower petals
As if to sojourn the years
When youth nestled us
Grazing our faces with happiness...

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the sun sets maroon
	around eight o’clock

it mixes elegantly
	with the electric streetlights

in the parking lot.
	I take out my pen

& add cranberry /
	orange juice to the list...

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A few artists truly know how it works
Creation coming from destruction
All it takes is a small flame
Touching the tip of any kind of wood
And when it is used just right
A masterpiece in ash is created for the world to see

© Poem – XIII/III/MMXXIV
LRET...

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The wrestler-in chief is quite bad
In Trump there's one horrendous cad
This madman disgrace
Lost the mask on his face
Whoa—it’s not the Donald—it’s Vlad!


Author's note: No explanation is needed.  They say that Putin actually died a few years ago, but that appears not to be the case....

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XIII. Ethos

Despite that of which is rise.

In the face of what has fallen rise.

Despite those that are rise.

Celebrate that you have risen.

Despite the incongruous rise.

Now that you have believe that you will.

Dream not for they are fleeting.

Upon thy continence be joy.

© veritatem voluntatem 2015...

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So many walls
Surrounding him
Keeping him from living
Still, he fights
Falling back time after time
Refusing to surrender
He climbs and climbs
Hoping with every try
To see the smallest
The tiniest sliver of light
Not too much
Just enough to know he is alive
That he may be important
And he is loved by anyone

© Poem – VII/XIII/MMXXI...

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Thorns




When to red roses
thorns virtually applaud
and 
nature shows its art....

When in green garden
thorns are beginning to reign
then
the autumn will start ...

When in the passion
sharp thorns of prickly longing 
stab
deeply pierce a heart ...





Written April 4th, 2016
For contest "Mystic haikus" by Mystic rose
Awarded N/A

Entered for Screwed XIII contest by rob carmack...

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When I was a child,
I found my mother sobbing
in the bathroom—
I never asked her why—
I just knew.

And I stayed with her—
I consoled her like she 
would for me during my 
worst nightmares.

How does one console 
the tortured in waking life? 

In that moment,
I realized I was not the only
girl unhappy in my home—
I am not the only girl
to cry in this world...

-Variations of Bitterness XIII-...

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why chance genetic dice throw
gifted me finite time
solely to contemplate
(more than just my navel)
meaningfulness analogous
to scrutinizing Möbius strip
unable to identify
inscrutable mystery
defining random existence
specifically essence
happenstance/circumstance
which begat me Matthew Scott Harris.

His noggin mottled, plagued, and riddled 
with debilitating accursed impediments
since birth circa 
January xiii mcmlix....

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You have every right to cry
The world has not been good to you
When you should have been playing
You saw the death of everyone you knew
It did not matter that you were there
No, they never cared about you
A little princess like you never mattered
You were just something in the way
Left to die like everyone else
So go ahead and cry as loud as you can
Let them know that you survived
Let them know that you will remember
And that you will be remembered

© Poem – VIII/XIII/MMXXI...

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