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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

moontree

With harvest moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

When come the full moon night,
barren trees and worn out dreams
The basket lighter than the wind,
Empty but filled with anxious want.

With new seeds contentment dies
burns a hole in wooden weave,
Weight of unheeded prayers
Leaves behind a desperate stench.

Forgotten are the good and fulfilled,
I launch onto another road,
In shoes made from leftover gold,
Winter gone and Spring arrives.

With grass moon comes bloated joy
Contentment on its highest peak,
My basket full of ripened dreams
Of desires picked and trees stripped bare.

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If by the end an insatiable thirst drives the mind insane
What is left to pursue but dreams of youth, of times far behind.
They say we slumber in death but I say not; we wake in death–
Mirror of our souls.
With fists we pound against truths we have hidden,
this mirror is ours to keep,
For in the shadows of our deepest desires and fears
Death comes bearing ambitious gifts
knowing well we possess neither strength or hope to march another mile.
It is a taunt, the worse of sorts, to believe again in young feats
only to look down and be reminded of sagging skin.
And with the sound of heavy heaves the world grows dark,
and among the desperate sighs remain
a half-written play performed half-decently.

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dream graphic

Dried up straps of dreams
Wither again and gone,
Dozens replaced, hundreds escaped
ever a weary pawn.

Sentimental value fades
When comes the aging mind
Tasks ahead before those behind
Fantasies realigned.

Loaded thoughts of wavering doubts
Etches of worrisome words,
Savory bits of sweet night dreams
They’re all but blurred and absurd.

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P graphic

I waited for Patience…
how silly is that?

the wolf howled all night
and the moon never came down,
not a single kiss did the prince steal
the princess stayed asleep.

How long is too long,
I ask the trees
if Fall never came again,
would you miss the curve of leaves–
the soft touch of gradual death–
do you accept the end when only
a full revival assured?

I’ve been walking the same road,
met Patience many times,
sometimes wishing she’d go away
and let me die
a thousand times,
and feel
a thousand times more.

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orsky graphic

I.

Through the waterfall,
pass moss-ridden rocks,
caves lined with golden light,
Bridge up ahead.

Stone stairs down, down
the mountain side,
Silver-dressed warriors,
Silver-sashed manes.

A thin river slithers,
kisses layered rocks,
On top—bright lit,
Sail-like buildings glow.

Blood orange sky,
Taupe-colored clouds,
Hang silent, untouched,
Spellbind land.

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Nine men and Death,
Guns loaded and ready–
I am unarmed,
will you still shoot?

Watchers stand nearby,
I bare my pale chest,
Will any one of you,
face the bullets     for me?

Plenty of money waits,
Checks stacked high,
I await a name     just one,
I may hand over to Death.

No one? Will you,
watch me die?
like this:     plump,
full of life?

I write in gold ink,
my checks are worthy,
even the Boatman of Hades
will free my soul.

They’ve raised their guns,
I kneel, implore,
Desperation trickles,
Death can smell.

Your Checks Reek:
They see you as
the face of a stranger,
Trust: as rare as diamonds.

I sputter blood,
Hell opens     I Fall,
must even the ground,
Have no mercy?

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I suffer the past,
Weary roads with broken stones,
Endings with no end.

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