An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
I blame it for the pain
As i try and understand its secrets
As it’s forms and folds wraps itself around me
Its supposed to protect the me from the world
But I cannot make sense of the curved markings painted across it
im supposed to take care of it
keep it smooth
perfect for the picture
but i am ashamed
of what its become
loud
and hidden
this side
of my skin
So tired of the TV talking heads
twisting every word that's said
much of it scripted
and has to be read
they don't even have a vested interest
only putting their mouth
where the money is at best
my advice to them...
'If you have nothing useful to add,
Mum's the word
don't drive us mad,
keep it under wraps
stow it under your hat,
put a lid on it
or a cork in it,
zip your lips,
spare us the hot air,
it's a verbal Sirocco and, in all likelihood,
an ill wind that blows no one any good.'
Sometime
before I was not mature enough to notice,
she began to dissolve.
Husband dead, son revolving
around one woman after another,
moving away from her fading presence.
Aware only of the ebb, and flow of her care
or interest, Distance surfacing in her eyes.
How her housecoat insulated her from
what she once loved.
When she looked at me it was through a tunnel
she had dug into her mind,
her presence muffled
as if it were now
always too cold to surface.
I should have seen the signs,
but by then I only visited
during narrow gaps in my life.
I told her to join something,
do what other old people did.
Only now do I understand
what old people do, -
they think of their parents
in threads and patchwork pieces.
I cannot recall the exact period
when the seam of strong bonds
began to unravel,
for of course,
that specific time was buried with her.
When love wraps around you like a rain of falling stars,
The world melts into a story of liquid amber,
That gaze, a window to unseen infinities,
Where I become the shadow dancing on the edge of time.
The thorns, crystal spiders, weave the silk of an embrace,
The fire transforms into a rainbow of embers, living warmth,
A sanctuary in the chill of the night born from darkness,
There, I lose and recreate myself with every moment.
Passersby, waves of wind, call him mad, the one who smiles,
But he, a dreamer of the world, listens to a single whispered name,
Words floating like an echo of stellar longing,
A music of spheres entwined in eternal mystery.
Love, a golden butterfly, frees the soul from its cocoon,
Binds it in the beats of a heart, a blood-red moon,
Life becomes a symphony of pulsing comets,
In the rhythm of a sky dancing in spirals of dreams.
Standing at the world’s edge, asking the deep silence,
Is this madness or the beginning of a new galaxy of understanding?
In love’s tumult, I rediscover the shape of my destiny,
And the story flows like a river of light, without end.
Kimo, haiku, couplet
Expectations Under Wraps on Christmas Eve
wild hammering and disciplined screwing
of elves in Santa’s workshop -
will toys be fiddled with…
an exotic sleigh
and a ho ho ho drives hard
through the dark of night
unlike the North Pole the blinking lights sleep
as Santa rides down in chimney sweep
In the shade, I shrivel
in flowering cactus
crafting sloppy verse
below the scraggly
exhausted moon
warm reverberations of love
originating in the Jade Garden
nerves jangling in my true being
the magnificent encounter
of how to melt
this iron reluctance
dreams can feel
most real than actual life
every day as I unseal my eyes.
Written: May 12, 2023
The waiter: short, surly and brusque;
in the air, hung a slight scent of musk.
Natasha’s Cantina:
with Masa Harina,
crime’s perfection, wrapped in a cornhusk.
----------
I promise I won't do another tamale
Out on the porch as fall's coolness
Wraps its cloak around me
The sun's angular rising light
Reveals dust floating free
The potted Hibiscus' one blossom
Enjoys sun's soft light rays
Unbeknown that frosty air
Will soon come into play
As the sun climbs higher adding
Warmth to these old stiff joints
And the roosters begin crowing
Offering their encouraging point
There is a stillness and peace
That only God can give
A crow caws his warning to other
Crows cawing up the hill
Big dog came down to visit now
Lying in the sun's soft light
She scratches fleas? and licks with ease
Not disturbed with might or right
Thank You, God for one more morning
To visit nature and
Enjoy the creation made by Jesus'
Loving and gentle hands
The adorn summer sky emanated a luminous of gold
as she works unyielding at the edge of the chasm,
till the middle of the night under the opulence
of the moon's brilliant dance as it glances
at her alone in the quiet silence; beauty to behold.
Small swath of field, calm sea; exult in its grace.
Her silken auburn hair in a simple knot
just a few strands wind-blown around her angelic face.
Her irresistible impetus to make vicarious suffering
as she fears of a thunderstorm may roll in.
Her strength carries her through,
she wasn't going to allow the weather's mockery to break her.
8/26/2018
Poetry Contest: Eight word challenge-8
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
1. Silken 2. Chasm 3. Exult 4. Adorn 5. Impetus 6. Mockery 7. Opulence 8. Vicarious
Crutches, walkers, knee wraps, ankle wraps, wheelchairs, hot and icy.
Yes, I do have all of these things, ice bags too, and I am not afraid to use them.
I have arthritis in my feet. It is crazy how awful it can be to take a step sometimes and know
You cannot take another one. You have to have an assist to go one more stupid step.
I am always alert, aware, ready, as it happens more and more often lately, especially in stores.
With their hard concrete coming up to meet the bottom of your shoe.
I actually have two walkers, because I did not see the one with the seat
Until I had already bought the one without one.
And I never take anything back.
Our first baby had three buggies,
But that is another story
For another poem.
GOD has made us with the same soil.
Some born as poor some enrich with gold foil.
No big house No luxury was on my cards of life.
You the rich decorate your doorsteps with
Black money lights.
You wake up and touch the smooth carpet threads.
Am the poor struggles for every day butter and breads.
I earn money for the pieces of food as my soul says.
You sold your self and put your honesty on stake everyday.
You the rich burns my house and count the bunch of
Lakhs.
I just wait for the clock of bad times to swap.
You lived the life of king and will not die with a single
Rupee.
I left empty handed whole life but my priceless honesty wraps me.
STRONG ME
A fat grassland is neither a wasteland nor a heather mountain. It is wise to twirl a large ink dotted feather flock to the sky uniformed but not adhering to dress codes of societal norm. When norms are very nautical nowadays and can disappear and disparate under a cotton candy dream boat on a cruise to the sands. It is nevertheless an unforgettable view constructed by fashioning cheese on one slice of bread. This will surely ensure that bean is comfortable. But bringing banging blackness is not wise in front of a large herd of officialdom as curriculum based language leaving is a learning leaning laugh. And now it is time mr lobster face to vacate these premises. For there are no vacancies for tide is not moving and there is now no waves. Due to incorrect malnutrition placed by curtailing cartwheeling faces that drawl out words akin to a squeaky rifle that is being polished to a tune. No ha ha no x and no z either. That was the p y q reporting from an earwig tantrum zone with lots of earwigs dressed in attire more suited to a war. Bmnbmnbmn. |
Darkness Wraps My Pain
I was born to this flesh
A slayer in pain
No regret, no remorse
Gold and pleasure my gain
I never wanted love
Nor did I want joy
I found death a trip
Where I once was open
Now I hide in darkness
A slayer of souls
Seeker of agony on all
Ageless shadows grace
My tomb within hell's
Ripping dungeons that
Eat the screams of
Torn bodies and cut
Out hearts scattered on
The blood soaked floors
I was born a slayer
A slayer that delights
In agony wrapped in anguish
his, hers , yours
give me a choice I
chose all.....
Robert Lindley
05, 23 1980
note: This is from long ago.
A very dark time in my life.
Must have been wasted because
no ryhme.. lol
Lost in the wraps of time, I'm alone, walking
waiting for the bliss,to myself, I'm talking
words fade off ,as they come
uncertainties make me stun
To think about a better tomorrow
and leave behind all sorrow
but past haunts me again
hurting ,making me lame
With no ray of hope in vision
lies my future in confusion
Aloof from the world I move on
sticking to my love and hold on
For I believe I'm destined, to shine
though I'm lost in the wraps of time.
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