Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Mint & Juleps

Experimenting--minting--Experiminting--
--Can it be a verb?--
--Mint & juleps--summer tea--
Flowers arranged in soft light, twinkling fireflies are captured in masonic jars, they are used to light the entire night--
--only trees to cover love making--
--love making--making love--
--love is a creative act, something built--does that mean you can contract the work out?--
--Love Architects: designing their dream loves, but always committed to other people’s--
What if there were love poets greater than Shakespeare, Keats, Shelly, Byron, but they were too busy having sex?--
--sex--text--love poems were the original sexting--
--People prised Byron because he burned metaphorical--
--Egyptians were writing on papyrus about how good a girl looked in those silky, silky robes--don’t believe me?--look it up--check out poetry pre-circa 1850 and tell me that humans haven’t always been animals--
--Do animals write poetry?--what would that even look like?--would it be in another language?--
What language do animals tell poetry?--Is it vocal, physical, mental, emotional?--Is it some beautiful combination of all of them?--
--Is that the dirty secret?--Love poems written by animals are written with their bodies--
--They produce young and no one is ashamed by it--
A boy masturbates because he is told it is normal, masturbation stays with him his whole life, unlike his love poems--
Love poems aren’t normal--
--love poems are normal--

--this isn’t a love poem--this is an experiment

The vines are digging

The vines are digging
In brickwork skulls;
Invading portents
Of cities come and gone.
The shattered rims
Of wary eyes
Proliferate:
Nuclear families are undone.

The fractured masses
Are huddled close together now,
Constricting round
The skulls civility has bought,
While seizures wrack
The naked mass
Who wait for news
That neither god nor man hath wrought.

And years of work,
It lies undone
In happy ashes
That cradle children
The kitchen heart,
The bedroom privates,
The foyer tongue,
And basement ruin.

The maw is stopped
By vacancy;
There is no feast
Of furniture,
Not since before
The vermin scurry
Around the hollow
Devoid of visitors.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Where it falls, the tree does grow

Where it falls, the tree does grow,
Though it travels many miles
Seeing wonders on its way
Roots itself one day
Planting flags
In the womb of earth
Cracking open her.
Up it comes,
Who is to say when she will end?
But, the seed is not the tree.

Where is the tree?
I cannot find it still.
I’ll seek no more.
Instead--

Rest under its boughs.

This is never what I wanted

This is never what I wanted
And I keep punishing the both of you
In ways none of us ever imagined

But, things keep vanishing
Between the cracks in communication
And I'm tired of it
I don't want to do badly anymore

But, I don't know other ways to be
I'm trying to learn and I keep failing
Over and over
All I ask is a space to call my own
And every day I am reminded I am not alone

But, I keep hurting
And I keep hurting others
I'm so tired of it
I don't want to do it anymore
So do whatever you think is best
I'll be in the ruins

Thursday, October 6, 2016

There is a hallowed field

There is a hallowed field,
Filled with the crushings of stars--
The seeds of all creation
Kept for all to see.
There is no gate about the field,
No fence, no lock, no key, no bar, nor guard.
None, none, none, none, none.

Instead, the field extends everywhere.
All roads, all paths, all journeys
Lead to the field of stars.
It lies in the heart of every journeyman,
Of every trader, crafter, and adventurer.
For this is the place where dreams do grow.
Not all of them sweet, not all of them pleasant,
And yet each is born of a hapless heart.
Therefore, blame not the dream, but the dreamer.

A dream is oft a fragile thing,
Too sweetly made,
It ripens quickly, turns sour and then dies;
Made too stern,
It never grows ripe, but remains green and rings hollow.
Small and precious are the seeds;
They take no space, no water, no soil, nor time
Save love…
Love, love, love, love, love.

The field is a heart, the heart a dream,
The dream is a child, the child is me.
Be careful with the littles ones.

They only require love.

The Trunk

The trunk grows round the center
Ripples rippling round a wound
The core
Round and round and round again
Circles circling circles.
None thought of a seed till now
As a wound.
Creation as a violation...
The trunk is not at fault when the blight sets in.
It suffers as all suffer:
Through pain and pain and blinding pain
That settles in to roost,
Crying loudly in its nest
While the trunk cries loudly
Without escape.
And yet, it stands firm,
Holding up to wind and water
And sun and storm
And cloud and love
Until it falls
As all must fall.
But, the trunk is not the tree.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

The Leaves

Leaves grow and flourish
High, high in the canopy
Dangling and dancing on the boughs
Turning their sunlit faces to the sky
Drinking the ocean of daylight
In, in, in…
When the sky darkens,
They do not hide,
They make their noise the louder.
When the sky threatens,
They do not quaver,
They turn their underside
Up, up, up
To the darkness,
Up to the pelting pain
Up to the storm.
They show their souls
And are rewarded with pain
With water
With life.
Life is tied with strife.
This the leaves know.
But, the leaf is not the tree.

The Ants

A tree is a city.
Ants crawl up highways
Carving paths
Through tree and bark and time and space.
Purposeful strides
Unseen by the tall,
Unloved by the small.
Industrious
Little
Ants
That live and grow
Wide and large in their multitude
Their graves outnumber the stars,
But the ant is not the tree.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Night Lands

Cracks across the sky,
Splintering into Night-Roads--
Deep-dark
Blood-dark.
Spreading puddles
Of Nightmare Pitch
Ensnaring the Moon
As all the Stars go out
Pissing on Heav'n wrought gears.
None are safe.
None are saved.
Saviors fled
And angels dead
Where He hath bled.
Hope is sundered with a smile--
The Jackal knows--
Slathering His chops with milky paste
Tasting stars on His pitiless palette
Mouthing them even as they go out--
One
By one.
Burning Seas cannot quench
The deserted farms
Lost to bruised Desert
Blight digs deep into crop and faun and flesh.
None are judged
& None are damned.
This is not the End, but an ending.
Night-songs lour upon the roofs of homes,
Straining beams and souls alike.
They huddle down lower
Under shadowed eaves
As Shadows draw nearer.
Shelter from the Storm--
There is none
There is none
There is none
There is no one.
A howling echoes through the land.
There are none to hear it.
The Night Lands acquire a new land.
If you listen closely, you can hear them--
The echoes of screams.
They are coming.

Echoes

Breaching births
Wailing whales,
Wailing walls,
Walling wails...
Frozen agonies
Solid structure
Giving grief
Through the years
Through the tears
Threw the tears
Hopeless keenings
For long lost memories
Of ancient histories
That mean something
That meant something
That meant some thing
That meant some, thing
That meant one thing
That meant....
That...
T...
Echoes echo inside the Echo
Echoes echoing
Ecce homo
Echo

Monday, October 3, 2016

Witch's Hut-Spices

Spices season the pot:
Cinnamon,
Rough and red and ruddy in hue
All the more full with you;
Oregano,
Leafy, choppy, ever green,
A biting scent, a cloying herb
Basil,
Parsley,
Garlic,
Bits and tinier bits
Fleck our leaf-lined bodies
Beneat the trees
Committing heresies
Shadows within shadows,
Unseen,
Unkempt,
Unwatched we lie,
But never lie.
Witches we in
Blooms of red
Blooms of nightshade,
Hebanon,
Wolfsbane,
Ambroasia,
Nectar sweetened for the asking.
Spices flavor
Our well-seasoned bodies
Beneath the trees

Committing heresies.

Witch's Hut-Sister

Sister mine, O sister mine
Came knocking at the door.
Sister mine, O sister mine
Knowingly implores.
Knocks again and finds us dressed
Bubbles foaming on the floor;
Laughing, mocking our distress:
Our aching, breaking, bone-sore, joints-sore
Pots and pans and tea a mess--
Picking us up from off the floor.
What she might think, I dare not guess--
Sister mine, O sister mine,
You are spent and we are spent;
Sister mine, O sister mine,

Secret groves hold no bones from sibling torment.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Derby

Derby full of piss
Show'ring on my head
Raining round my ears
Down a broken back
Out of winter boots
Soaking up the rain
And all the while
I smile
Cause
I've never
Been happier
Not ever.