Enigmatic entropy endeavours the devouring of my depressive tendencies
In the form of an effaced anonymity
Pledging a tender hand to thwart the destruction of my anatomy
Distraught estrangement of in-autonomous tailing tellings
Shall cast this faceless stranger astray
Beyond the smooth syllables of an identifying name
For these hounds that thrash in the thick of sleep
And so do weep of singularity in accompanying company
Shall chase, shall gnaw at the face, the hand that feeds the freer frailty of freedom
And chaff this chance of a chance to escape
These samsaras of silence for the requiem of a dallied day
Dancing and dashing and prancing and thrashing
In the estranged fixation of this strange savior
That wilt know not of my inner ills, beyond the disfigurement of mine own outer mutilation
K.M.P
18//9//26
In
our
childhood
catching the
small sparkling fireflies
in summer when dark, was pass time.
Catching and making them fly off was a good omen.
They would dance off tailing soft light, us imagining success embedded in future
It was quite disappointing to later learn that their sparkling magical glow was snuffed out in other seasons due to their short existence.
We stopped catching them, celebrated their short existence to let them find soulmates in their flickering glow, let them propagate legacy of summertime sparkle for us to cherish, honoring their impending funeral.
Amazon is my night penetrating
alert I sprung from branch tight
it is buck nutritious blood
observation stark from green-blue irises
beauty meets danger not looking away
lithe tongue saliva intestine surrender
Muscles sinewy, handsome black the Sky
claws ripping buck’s bones snap cracks
mitochondria leaps from atoms, stars dance
to splash spine fluid about sand wet soft
mirroring clear a rebirthing act
nature ascertains when to numb nerves to claws
no eluding life when hunger mud stalks
Iridescence watches flesh rip longing lick
buck relinquishing spirit ~ cannot groan
black fur transmuting flesh disappearing
leather into charcoal night appearing
her thickening her for next week’s killing
time folding ouroboros
Panther curls, tailing
_____________________________
[ Poet’s Note in Comments Section ]
Enough?
Coming down the hill through deep snow,
I find a Breughel day.
I feel air as crisp and as breeze-free
as it had seemed in the dried paint.
One turkey buzzard soars
above the tallest tree,
where each night scores
will flap themselves to sleep.
There are no children nor any lake
to slide on --or fall through ice--
and wound a parent’s heart
with grief too deep to heal.
The young stag that with inborn skill
clears the scraped road
has nothing to fear; though
it’s the season, I bear no gun or bow.
High-tailing it, he dares me
to chase him into the dense growth.
No matter, for I am gob-stopped--
by the paint, the words, by all the stuff--
including a parent’s whispered fear,
“O, Son, isn’t reading about it enough?”
The firing pin is in position,
Primed awaiting the decision to fire,
The target has been acquired.
I require more information,
The operation is under observation.
I'm stationed safely in my heart,
Starting to pick apart the details.
Tailing the target so I don't forget,
It's all in my mind,
I designed how this goes.
Hiding in the shadows,
So no one knows I know,
Cloaked by a coat of intuition,
I fit in tight spaces.
Embracing the darkness,
Facing my own mess,
I press forward to the goal.
My soul flows with confidence,
Growing my experience.
The clearance has been given,
I'm aiming with precision,
The mission in critical condition.
I listen to the breeze,
Before I squeeze the trigger,
Aligned with the bigger picture.
I fire with pure intention,
Unloading my weapon of perception,
Healing a collection of souls,
Looking for their part in the whole.
Where in night, down in day
Clutching one's clay clogged face
Dilly-dallying ditzy dances
Dull, dampened waltz swimming with a drunken sway
Methodical movement of the ditz's drunken daze
Dazed dolphins dance down gutteral gin and toneless tonic omissions
Wringing ring wrung fingers, for the ditz's sherry glass gaze
Caught crooning whispers within the careless candid spotlight
Spickle spittle dawned the dolphin's dance, dominance'n drivel
Deigned to sway within a drug infused haze.
Spluttering with the need of stitches, as burly bone ingrowths
Dappered the damper desolate surface
To drag the ditz's measly hip dips, from the four-lipped, two-tipped,
Derailing and de-tailing,
dolphin intrusion.
7//10//2025
Deep in the bush i hear 'the snapping of sticks' a sound that flat toned sits with a
Feeling.. Just so sick.' When did Vice-pol
Really get so bad? No shes just not right.'
Wow the vibes real sad.' I think of their
Estate? unravelling fast now.' Tailing off
Like a dingo's howl.! They have returned to
Their vomit..As will most dogs, eager to eat..At this thought i hear the lyre-bird sob..Its the Sound now of Victoria ..A place now hard of face.' Bereft of exuberance, yet not, yet beat.. And 'with mind on that
shelf' built in twenty twenty and maintained, by this force.? For dan's selfish self'
I wish to exit this museem..Or cell filled with
Much re-morse.' And i'm overwhelmed in
Anger, as the dirge deafening loud; does course..Near as
Much as the bush silence can hold your attention.. All round and God i can't escape this sick feeling in either solitude or crowd'
Poetic Diversion For Violin And No Orchestra
planet shoes tiptoeing
in cadences known to the mourning cloaks
their soft landings on spread petals
teach infinite lessons with splendid hot swishes
fan-tailing silently the unseen cricket kisses
rising and soaring like pepper tree phantoms
saying life is a slow dance in the moonlight
tall earring girl with perfume music blaring
penetrates the soft garden with red fantail kisses
turning the world around with splendid hot swishes
desperately embracing the pepper tree phantoms
planet shoes tiptoeing
In my dreams you interrupt,
In my shower you limit water,
Putting in clothes you drum louder
And getting out I'm sweating.
You were to be my strength,
My weakness you turned,
Your tone so unpleasant to hear,
Ready to turn me in to tear my status.
My wish you are not concerned,
Only your will and wish counts,
Going to eat you are tailing me,
And eating you over watch ,with anger.
Finishing my meal seems to hurt you,
Relying on you, you melt for me to fall,
My sorrow burns up in my heart,
And you can't let me have a sip.
Going to sleep, I wait for too long,
And my stomach rumbles due to coldness,
Your words dehumanizes me,
And you turn my night to a nightmare.
.
she came from mine
hind
cupped hern mitts
cauzing mine
blind
kissed my neck
mine chin
mine
rest
all in
her
Sunday
best
The wind blows across
empty cattle yards
and tailing mounds
from old copper mines,
across open spaces
that spread beyond
boundary fences
and the reach
of railway lines,
way out past
the rutted wakes left
by four wheel drives.
Only bones take root
out here and grow
into phantoms
who haunt the horizon,
finding voice in the moans
that wander the land
in search of lost
ancestral homes.
Something ancient
sleeps here
deep underground.
Coiled in a sacred womb
it waits for rebirth.
Beneath the quiet cathedrals
of vaulted nights
you can hear it breathe
through pore holes
rising up out
of the red earth.
Far away,
corralled inside coastal cities,
a nation grows deaf
on the din of its own noise.
Blinded by the dazzle
of unresting lights,
it floats the continent
dangling clots
of shallow roots.
The many boats around sit in the harbour
One tailing the other now and then
Serried lined and flanked with one another
They pause for thought gathering day before them
The ferrous water sits so still in motion
As plankton line the sterns and afts like moluscs
Peeping over ropes and bobbing under
Waiting out the storming rain and thunder
They never see a passer by or vendor
Instead their vision remains steady on the water
Where promises of undulating sea throngs
Bring mystery to ocean faring wonder
Above the heat
the sky is flecked with ice.
The sun is no longer burning,
it’s a ghost lamp swept by the rags
of a coat-tailing wind.
There it is - arriving out of a hazy distance
a living cliché, a Bald Eagle
It must have caught a thermal.
I think of all the medallions and coins
it has been stamped and embossed upon;
here it is
an existential exclamation mark.
The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue.
No one witnesses this,
even my eyes watch cynically,
the jaded disappointment of this sadness
is darkening my sight.
All hail to the he American eagle -
slowly disappearing.
© 59 mins ago
When driving, if your speed is slow,
It’s always recommended
That to the right’s where you should go,
As road rules have intended.
The left lane is for passing or
If maybe you are speeding
And middle lanes may help ensure
That traffic flow’s succeeding.
Among most drivers, there exists
A tacit understanding
That anyone who thus resists
Will face some reprimanding.
So driving slowly on the left
May earn some bright lights flashing
Or someone on your tail whose heft
May threaten rear-end bashing.
It isn’t nice, but most of us
Would actually expect it
And those affected rarely fuss
But grudgingly accept it.
Yet lately some aggressive fools
Are tailing right lane drivers
In violation of the rules,
Which may leave no survivors.
The attitude I see today,
Which seems to be contagious,
Is “Me, me, me – don’t block my way!”
On roads, it is outrageous!
For years now, they have survived,
Through deceitful imitations.
Maneuvering within a landscape they
Support, with few limitations.
Yet recently, this crazy fox, seems to be
Running from a pack of legal hounds.
Dodging overgrowth & accountability,
Through some forested, judicial grounds.
This hunt is a lengthy one, stretching
Beyond torn fences and dominion.
As the tireless legal canines progress,
Tailing the scent of lies and opinion.
Ultimately this prey will fall to capture,
Along with its predatory nature, reduced.
While remaining livestock gains some relief,
And the appropriate people, can rule the roost.
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