Cadre, thou art quincurion.
Five pointed star says sight, scion.
One in the center, mighty strong.
Four on the sides to greet the throng.
Clamber right o'er that wall, burglar.
Prize in thy eyes, shoot past the par.
Combination lock, face of safe.
O machine gunner, time to strafe.
Quinnat, move thy force in quinnet?
Pincer formation wins the bet.
However, salmon, wedge has wings.
Beware the spinneret. It stings.
Coalacanth, in the glassy lake.
Life is a rogue with thirst to slake?
Turmoil and trial? Fresh ocean blue?
Red rabbit, river, run straight through.
Quoddity, haunt the quadlibet?
Placard, plinth alabaster. Yet:
Relevance, where do you stake claim?
Pertinent, prosper. Fling, O flame.
Entelechy, thy entalpy.
Reason, heat up and sing in me!
Tangle, my thought-spark! Lightning falls!
Blistering broadsides by the balls!
Salve of diviner, vision weird.
Cel animation leered and jeered.
Alien skies and faces strange.
Jagged pulsation, range the change.
Electric shock, fire furious eyes.
Bring back the bolt that fastest flies.
Whirlpool, hum and whir. Broken bow.
Whippoorwill, swallow, undertow.
i am wielder of chaos
bearer of cozy poison
hidden son of jupiter
gestated from his thigh
supple strapping boy
follow the crooked
steps of spontaneous
capering i will soothe
your terrified gaze
summon frantic defiant
nymphs to slake
your thumping skull
with tender anarchy
my fierce priestesses
in robes of moonlight
diaphanous cobweb
will sing lilting implacable
spells to wreck
planets in their courses
wine and feral milk spouting
from tap of hyssop branch
i will swaddle you
in mother night caress
you with snake tongue
drizzle silky
secret language
of the rapacious
in your ear nudge
succulent fissure
yearning for arc
of scalding bliss
lightning bone
sap of brief
delectable death
I once agreed at the arrival of woke.'
I was relieved ( it had caught me up )
I was out in front for so long and had almost
Had lost hope.' But this conscious only
Lasted for a while.' Two decades passed
And i found all there had gone wild.! The
Idea-ology was morphing, yet had no growth.? There were calls to free cabbages
From soil druggery.' thats just my joke.)
Yet the greens.? Were now rampant we
see.' To think i
Advised? someone to become one of
them'
He achieved couincil status..I don't wish
to think! Look at this pile..Nothing it
seems can balance at all.' Humans being humans and
Power the thrall..It draws them; awes
them, and chews them up.'
To spit out a
Parody..Yet its still lapped up.? The joke is
Now flowing like sour milk, Clowns
just love it and there are many of that ilk.' The
Joke is upon us. All owerblown.' Dark and
Dismal upon such a plastic throne.)
Would it be open for fluid intake?
I pushed on the door and yes, it yielded.
What would we order for our thirst to slake?
The welcome was friendly, our hopes were exceeded.
Across from the bar with beer in our hands
relieved to be seated we soon felt restored.
With a mile to go we no longer had pangs
as we gathered ourselves and set out toward
the car. Outward we'd clambered four miles
It was an extra mile returning, though
it took at least an hour less and the trials
were less risky – just damn midges as foe.
My past was like a red balloon
It inflated yet burst too soon
The air dispersed without a boon
And it echoed my afternoon
My blissful days seemed like a cake
But sweetness became overbaked
The aftertaste could never slake
As moments were just underbaked
Yet days and nights remain my gift
Of life that brings lasting uplift
Even if candles fade and drift
My fire ignites through snowdrift
Though balloons may burst in distress
And cakes may unleash bitterness
My soul with Him dwells in wholeness
And my heart blooms forth in pureness
Im-Possibilities
Cannot Ever Begin;
Which Is How
They Can Never
Be Endless.
You Need An Origin
To Have A Size.
And Endlessness
Is An Unlimited Size.
What About Always Was?
Draw Deep
From The Well
And Slake Your
Unquenchable
Thirst.
-Gray Squirrel
10-07-2025
Working quietly in my shop makes me smile
Hearing the soft snipping and quick clacking sounds
I notice my wood is escaping its pile
What if I find there is no more to be found?
Creating such things like small houses and food
To slake the thirst of those miniature souls
Making each piece an original and good
To supply to my customers is my goal
When speaking my mind and I'm not being heard
Is something that niggles the back of my brain
Repeating once fine, then two times but the third
saying it again is really a pain
Why don't you listen to hear the words I say
Instead of thinking about your next event
A demon I must independently slay
For being acknowledged is just what is meant
All the colours have faded
Leaving me to feel so jaded
Everyone appears so fake
No joy for the soul to slake
I wonder here and there
Hoping to find something fair
A laugh or smile, not a smirk
To lift the darkness that lurks
All the colours are faded
Even you have become jaded
We no longer see the rainbow
Instead we watch from a window
We experience everything outwardly
Making us feel even more dastardly
The fog in our minds creates a haze
Our reality we live in a daze
All the colours have faded
Our hearts with coldness saddened
No light left for a glimpse of compassion
The world turns taught with tension
Each mind caught in its own prison
Our senses dead, cannot reflect like a prism
Each waiting for a catalyst event
For their lives to re-invent
By Cathrin Stuart
I'm going to tell you a tale that may frighten you
about the precursor of death that will pursue...
There's iridescent beauty found on his ebony wings
but always of impending death his cawing sings.
He perches as a grim reaper on the fence, taunting
as if on my gravestone to bring fear and daunting
A dance step to his left then quickly to the right
He takes wicked pleasure, but I will feel no fright
for never will I weep and as long as I remain alive
His corvine refrain fortifies my strength to survive
Black as pitch he sits, fluttering wings on my gate
I refuse to accept him as foreshadower of my fate
I'm not destined to be the carrion that he will feast
In shadows, day and night, lingers the black beast
Jeering with an evil stare, are bright beady eyes
His dark presence I've come to loathe and despise
Blackguard! I shall curse him until my last breath
Begone raven! Today, I will not waltz with death
Now you know the tale of what keeps me awake
It's the macabre one whose thirst I refuse to slake
I am still alive and have not yet fallen from grace
So, I will not let him lead me to an unholy place
Ardor feels are divine
Bodies erotically entwine
Caresses eagerly connect
Desires meet to intersect
Emotions feed passion
Fondlings sassy fashion
Gasps praise movement
Hearts pump excitement
Intimate whispers tingle
Joining lips mingle
Kisses feed desire
Loins share ardor’s fire
Moving hips enthuse
Needy bodies fuse
Outcries express zeal
Pleasure pulses appeal
Quenched libidos slake
Ravenous wants take
Silk sensuality grooves
Tantalize rhythm moves
Unleashed hunger plunders
Velvet kisses thunder
Waves ebb and flow pleasure
Xanadu houses flesh treasure
Yearnings flame with lust
Zing intensifies thrust
Haibun
Inky dark night. Jewels in the heavens sparkle like diamonds in a necklace. The Seven Sisters wink seductively while trying to sit in Cassiopeia’s Chair. Orion chases Ursa Major and her cub when he stops to slake his thirst from the Big Dipper. Great Leo butts’ heads with mighty Aries. Sirius, the Dog Star, is the glowing eye of Canis Major as she helps Orion track Ursa. Faint Polaris guides mariners to home port from the tail of The Little Dipper.
new moon
a black palette rules the sky
stars come out to play
The distant galaxies show off their faint light as clustered pinpoints as if the black curtain were pricked multiple times by a needle. Sagittarius points the way to the center of the Milky Way. Nurseries of star forming clusters birth new babies to populate the sky as old ones blow up and die. In the middle lie the monstrous supermassive black holes which suck all light in to their mighty maws bending time and gravity to their will.
are they our ancient home
signals from a distant past
will we return to them
6 W's
So it is again.
Caught in the cycle of life.
Where everything is responsibility, expectations, and decay.
And the bastards beat you down with their rules and their deadlines.
Where the weeks leave you weak day by day, with just enough time to recover for the grind.
When the dreams are all dead, or dying, and every dull moment feels like chewing tin foil.
When realizing fate, merely hurry up and wait, with nothing to sate, or slake your empty mouth on this coil
What is the promise of tomorrow? It never comes, always hours out of reach.
What is the point in all this sorrow? Is there something I could learn, or I should teach?
Who could stand such cruel fates?
Love, star crossed my heart and hoped to die.
Who could weather this weather? Autumn came with a roar, and spring let out a sigh.
How long is longing? Is there something yet to come that's worth the wait?
How much time is time? I pray I do not find that answer out too late.
So I sit with my coffee, my clock, and my silent guitar, and wonder
Why?
Return to Orion
My return too Orion,
on an endless promise with no "best before"
i reach out.
I chose the colors of transit, from the pallet supplied; Violet over blue, deep grey fuelled by a white hot destiny!
The rise then fall oh! how calm the now:
No conection between its clock and the dust of passing days.
I attempt to slake a thirst so grim ;
Split lipped, throat bare!
Skin so thin as a veil, as film!
As a bare body!
Floating amongst the tides of stars,
and celestial Ghosts.
Only the disolving clock is visable, obscuring time "invisible" !
On the rushing elemental sleigh, speeding through the gushing air, while burning fire brushes my lips, the water of tears cools the re-birth, held in a palm, its time to depart, a flight on a perpetual journey.
The evening of November first
Brought forth a gentle rain
For autumn sought to slake its thirst
While October had abstained
How fair to spare the children
That they might prowl the night
And their candy sacks be filled then
To their costumed hearts’ delight
Now November comes to claim
The scent of cold, wet stone
As the first of all fall rains
Seeps deep into this poem.
I am at a wedding
in Iowa.
She called to tell me
that the orange afterimage
from that afternoon five years ago
has filled her brain for the first time
in years.
I don’t have the heart
to tell her I am at a wedding
in Iowa
& that the memory of her sits
in the front of my mind each day
like a scarecrow in a corn field.
It wouldn’t break her heart
or anything—nothing would,
but I can’t bring myself to tell her that I
have stolen her likeness,
I have hired a gardener, someone to tend
the apricot trees she planted,
someone to prune the ashen dust
from the perennial flowers
that grow in her stead.
Each day I pick one,
and her hips move through the grocery store,
her laugh echoes in a vinyl booth,
her hand moves a pawn one square forward.
I stick it in the windowsill, right
behind my eyelids and slake my thirst
on tepid water.
None of this would break her heart, of course—
nothing would.
I don’t tell her about the wedding, the one
in Iowa, just in case.
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