Intertwined Fates ~ a rare collab with Wordmachinist
Category: Writing and Poetry

Intertwined Fates ~ a rare collab with:

Sometimes blood takes the words,
vile in their heathen stance
echoes the void,
within the shell of your heart.
The slither thrum
of the snake, parasite white,
and the words are caught...
in your throat.
Cut me and watch
the words I've hewn, fall into
your open mouth.

I'd take in your words
in life blood sacrament,
take your rage, your discontent
take you and your palatial voids,
prince of words
you are the words
rake and scrape with wild nails
refusal to die
let your dragons lie within
unfold in harsh scales,
I'll be the sky
on which you'll burn.

Your acid toil burns
ah...effervescent with lies
Do my words scare you?
Oh friend in ink
or do they die before the page
a rage of italics
Smear the lipstick print
of your voice
all over my palate
let it burn me in scars
For your sky
holds my moon captive.

Behold the quadrants
laying dormant behind your eyes,
four corners of sky
to fold and command
through seasons of time,
there, hidden satellite
bids your thoughts,
stills your mind,
stand warrior
with outstretched arms
poised to soar
into deep blind spaces
between words,
silence the forked
tongues of the wicked,
with the sure steel
of your sword,
reveal the prop handler
of the abyss,
in rushing heat
the beast arises.

Our fates are interwined.
come slither in the vines
as they choke the ichor
from the strain of my veins.
Soft kisses of ink
bleed into my haggard skin
the skein of madness
tempered by you
oh Temptress of lost words
Let us unite
and fill the night
with our essence as it thrums
hand in hand sweet poetic sister
Together we'll conquer the void.
and our tears of blood
will flood the tyrant to his knees.

As hammer to anvil,
breath to heartbeat,
brethren shoulder to shoulder,
your forged words summon
revelation bearers,
lifters of the final veil,
parting of waters,
tearing down of mountains,
mushroom clouds in the sky,
the end of all ages,
the beginning of words.

Wordmachinist
Eusthacia

This was iron sharpening iron.  A true honor and treat to combust so spontaneously with Jimmy.  He is tops.  A must read.

3:06 AM - 53 Comments - 114 Kudos - Add Comment

Cantaor
Category: Writing and Poetry

He sings in cello voice
dark as bruises,
sharpened ironies
with counter-melodies
fluid in gestures,
melange cascades
sift sun and shadow,
ancient spirits pass
behind his eyes,
and in passion trance
vanish into flame,
wind and moonlight glints
dense with quince trees.

His eyes burn,
amber consonance of sullen ways,
moody as Moorish facades,
frame of dark hair
whose ringlets follow
their own directive
and trail as they will
down a sinuous, strong back.

He is languid lust,
sweet spot linger,
paradox of causality,
jagged base notes,
spellbound love,
the verge of involuntary,
double jointed growls.

Currently listening : Aire By Jose Merce Release date: 2000-12-04

10:58 PM - 84 Comments - 149 Kudos - Add Comment

We have to hold the Sun today
Category: Writing and Poetry

I read so many of you blogophiliacs that I was bound to get inspired and want to play at some point.  I want to share what I came up with.  It was so much fun.

Week 25 Topic: That was way too easy...
bonus points
(hard, 2 points): Include a line of poetry from 19th Century poet
(easy, 1 point): mention water balloons

That Was Way Too Easy...We Have to hold the sun today

"We have to hold the sun today."

"Why?"

"It's in the schedule."

"We despise schedules."

"Yes, but it's been determined we need one. Didn't you get the memo?"

"We don't do memos."

"We have to, to stay on course.  Trailing the dark side of things has many variables."

"Whatever. You go first. You hold the sun."

He came back ten minutes later with an irritating, healthy glow.

"So?"  I asked, half hoping I wouldn't get a lengthy response.

"That was way too easy."  He paused to sip his bitter.

"They had me climb on a podium and put the sun around my neck." He continued.

We walked outside the station, park benches lined to seamless perfection.   As far as the eye could see.  It made the choice of where to sit a matter to ponder and consider.

"Sounds familiar."  I remarked as I tried to decide where we should sit.

"I know, right, the new ways echo so much of the collective."  He said.

As if summoned, the collective rushed through my mind, exclaiming, "Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!"  I closed my eyes, relishing their presence.  They always speak in a very slow beat, on a frequency I half-sense, half-hear, like massive bass speakers. The steady, once-a-second rhythm takes hold of my lungs. I find myself following it with a breath every second beat, my body feels like dropped into a chair from high above.  I knew by the movement of his hair that the collective had rushed him as well. 

"We won't have time to sit and sip bitter today," He said, ignoring the slow beat.

He kept checking his watch, as if doubting the time it registered.  "We must hurry or we'll miss tea time."  He said.

"Tea time?"  I asked.

"Yeah, you didn't read the memo.  We have tea time every afternoon at 2pm.   Azrael makes the left side of all things levitate."  he said. 

"How will we drink tea if the left side of our face is levitating?"  I asked.

"There's a rep from The Association to explain the procedure."

"We have an Association?"

"You really have to make an effort to keep up with the memos."  He said with an edge of warning in his voice.

I ignored him and followed the Shadows leaning about precariously on tree branches as we walked by.  They always wanted to talk in their gibberish white noise.  I wanted to stop for a chat, then felt the familiar splash of a water balloon on my back.

"No fair!"  I cried.  The water balloons had the tell-tale glow identifying them as heat seeking.

I called a fresh supply of water balloons from my backpack back home and went stealth into my shadow self.  A couple of shadows shrieked loudly as I splashed them.  It's all in the element of surprise, that's the only time water balloons or anything will hit shadows.  I was laughing and the sound surprised me, so pure and simple.

"Anna!" Rusky called impatiently.

The shadows arranged themselves in smoke wisps amongst the branches and we continued purposely.  As we approached the amphitheater, the steady, hypnotic sound of Azrael's wings told us we were too late.  We would have to stand in the outskirts while everyone else had tea.

Slippery rocks appeared, and I heard the thundering sound of water cascading a short distance in front of us.  It plunged hundreds of feet into a gorge below.  Things rearrange themselves quickly, so I had to act fast.  I dove in and the current took hold of my body immediately.  I was carried to the very edge of the falls, stopped by the natural wall of the left side of my body levitating.  I peered over the edge and down into a deafening explosion of rainbow-colored spray.  I flitted from one to another, like a drunk butterfly.  I sent Rusky a snapshot but he didn't open my message. I glanced his way and could tell by the way he crouched on the ground that he didn't want to miss a single detail from the tea ceremony.

"Elly, Jeff, and Rog are there."  He said.

"Yeah, we love tea, but only when we feel like it." I responded as I dried in the soft wind of Azrael's wings.

"That's why we need The Association."  he added.

"We resist associations."  I reminded him.

"There has to be an order of things, a control of tea time, rules on bitter."

"Rules on bitter?"  I gasped, proud of my bitter growing and harvesting. 

In my mind I started packing my things.  Rusky watched as I put up all my belongings and vials of bitter.

"They'll want at least two week's notice before you leave."  He said.

I didn't reply, I knew he'd join me any minute with all the shadows.  Any minute.

-----------------
Note : "Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!" from "Sun of the Sleepless" by Lord Byron.  From: "Hebrew Melodies"

This is the link to Blogophilia

11:58 PM - 48 Comments - 108 Kudos - Add Comment

Bird of paradise ~ from the vault
Category: Writing and Poetry

Bird of paradise

Elijah had his desert
and his brook Cherith.

I have a desert
I disclaim
and stagnant water
under darkened bridges.

He sought God,
I often hide,
he obeyed,
I rebel,
he wore blinders
down the straight
and narrow,
I walk wide,
flirt with perdition.

I regard him,
from a blink of the flawed
a glance of the fallen,
witness, reformer,
mighty mountain
man from Tishbe,
flame chariot
and whirlwind.

I can not kindle
the hesitant flame within,
much less summon fire
from a faraway heaven above.

Unmerited favor
moved Him
to send me bread
in the form of one
with urge to disguise.

Man, woman, child,
sashaying being
fed me through
a summer of lack.

He didn't send ravens,
but a bird of paradise,
who am I then
to call such bird an abomination,
fit for fire and damnation?

I was hungry, and he fed me,
I was a stranger,
and he showed me hospitality,
I was alone and he called me friend.

I call him blessed by the Father,
I say he inherits the Kingdom.

9:05 AM - 85 Comments - 118 Kudos - Add Comment

Poets Round Table No. 78 ~ Freedom
Category: Writing and Poetry

                                            Original Lana Deym Campbell painting

Poets Round Table No. 78 ~ Freedom

Words quicken in flame and lace
center of lightning's course,
freedom's smooth surfaces
return in folds to the Source.

Return in rippled ecstasies
ravished love-soaked bites
skin-tight pliabilities'
strapless hallowed rites.

Anthems ring with strong resound
a salute to freedom's heartbeat;
knowing what was lost and found
scores of miles festering scarlet feats.

When right is clearly wrong, one looks left
Closed eyes tremble in inevitability's wake
Expectation's lamented second guess at best
Leaves questions dead for placation's sake.

Though fear's mad whirlpools
Fog, smear skies from afar
And rabid foam is worn by fools;
I'll chart my course by inner star.

Poets

Eusthacia
Steve
carolinablu
BC Beneke
lana deym campbell

DJ Myke

The Poets Round Table is a weekly even, if you'd like to participate, contact DJ Myke

11:52 AM - 46 Comments - 88 Kudos - Add Comment

Trilogy
Category: Writing and Poetry

Sweep rowing

They row as Siamese twins
mediate movement:
shared limbs, breath,
pull, tow, stretch
slide glide easy accord
between water and oars.

Intent cadence,
tacit agreement
between two,
a linear merge trust,
conjoined in certainty
and shared destiny.


Usain Bolt

I command winds,
he seems to say,
pounds his chest
and points a finger
at the crowd,
I am, I am the fastest
man alive,
we cheer in wonder
echo to his wake
as joy rises and falls
barefoot on soft grass.


Marathon runner

Sparse Spartan
flesh garment
draped fit over bone,
subtle muscle verve
at its intricate essence,
and most stubborn strength.

Seams,
hems, and lining
held to herald
extreme beauty,
stark and lean.

Celebrations of treads
muted on pavement,
steady as thousand yard stares
at mirrors of limits.

5:16 AM - 69 Comments - 126 Kudos - Add Comment

Shrine
Category: Writing and Poetry

I hover over the moment
your shadow darkens my porch,
and you knock opening chords
to a brisk courtly volte.

Feet match the long and short
sounds with my pulse,
crushed velvet and gold,
anise scented kindling,
beads and bells,
thrill of violins.

Static,
snap, twist,
quickening
recognition of skin,
tight arc
wave to crash,
concentric infinity,
magik dipped fingertips map
bursts of blue stellar winds.
 
Choir of leaves
shaken by bare spirits
brims of star birth
and shared solitude.

Star gazer,
errant planet dweller,
Fire bearer, smelter,
muller of wine,
song keeper,
your body frames
my shrine of worship.

Currently listening : Best of The Complete Savoy & Dial Studio Recordings By Charlie Parker Release date: 2002-07-02

12:33 PM - 126 Comments - 151 Kudos - Add Comment

Living Doll
Category: Writing and Poetry

Ambivalent carnival star
narrow doll dyed smile,
impulse prejudice and curiosity,
taste her petal mouth,
arouse gazes at her arched back.

Think tanks and gene banks
hailed her in silence
eager to dissect her wonder.

Levels and layers of helix
immersed codices,
vast curves and charmed
isles of stage safety,
naive narcissist minute and defiant
gypsy stance and jeweled hands.

Debutante glazed in porcelain,
oleander blend of color and hate
lived fully in spotlights,
leered at onlooker slowdowns.

Faded within her brother's coat,
riot of a racing heart
earnest to hide,
anxious to be admired,
kinship in uneasy truce.

12:58 PM - 139 Comments - 123 Kudos - Add Comment

I levitate ~ Rondelet
Category: Writing and Poetry

Easy Rog;)'s inspiration poem

1:26 PM - 94 Comments - 134 Kudos - Add Comment

Whispers in my blood
Category: Writing and Poetry

Almond trees shed snow blossoms,
trace my feet in loom of winged wind
and eternal flame.

Towers stand vigilant,
eyes cubical and piercing,
cloud of witnesses
behind poised archers
in the ramparts,
browse through time
over palm trees
and sandstone archways.

Kohl eyed women ache
in veiled envy
for mounted forays
on freedom's terrain.

A desert wanderer's embrace
oneness with prance, lilt, gallop,
windstorms and wildflowers.

Whispers in my blood
all that came before,
all that will follow,
lineage of begottens,
struggle of conquerors
and enslaved.

Gods incarnate in thunder,
dictate mandates to a barefoot
old man with codice hands.

He shakes the tree of life
and fruits ripen, fall languid
to impatient hands.

Ease of continuum,
word spoken, fruit ripened,
word fall, tongue, palate,
handclaps evoke chirp echoes
from forgotten staircases,
light of connectedness,
shadow serpent slithers
down pyramid sides
to retrieve the fallen,
sacred ground awareness,
rooted and bound
recognition
as ancient as cave clans.

Coat of arms
on the courtyard
at my father's house,
you steady me 
to feel for uneven places.

Strength of dark jaguars
come forth,
uncoil a mighty roar
from the marrow
deep in my bones,
to live, to burn bright,
to dance tribal,
stomp strong to Toltec drums,
tin rattles, and plumed flutes.

6:48 AM - 102 Comments - 156 Kudos - Add Comment

The Way of Tea ~ Renga
Category: Writing and Poetry

 
The Way of Poetry



The Way of Tea



Preparation thought
offer with sincerity
my unworthy best
budding anticipation
tradition most beloved

Tranquil tea garden incense,
light breeze, smell of pine
senses awaken
enter silent dewy paths,
water folds whispery scrolls

Purity is sought
steps along a crooked trail
respecting the road
by walking this gravel path
each single step become i 

Flavor floods vessels
unfold by hand and water
controlled moving grace.
carefully collected thoughts
revering antiquity

Kami servant pour
petals service blossom paint
ceremony saint
as it was as it will be
simplicity deceptive

Awaken navel
center of cosmic ocean
reflect waves within
emote form as tea pours teach
open fully path as duty

Slow tasting moonlight
meditate pure shadows fall
quenching intentions
peaceful retreat harmony
thirsting time bleeding outside

Shared experience
a guests appreciation
host's satisfaction
shared quiet tranquility
purest water fire sonance

Each movement sing soft
steam rise slow tea cup mirror
reflect trace proper
bridges rise in common breaths,
crossing of life's energies.

Follow this essence:
pour yourself with devotion,
waft rare as incense
focus restless mind at last
sublime moments too soon pass

Heightened perception
Haragei, souls graceful blend
silhouettes flicker
moonlight bridge melt two now one
cup empty to fill again

Porcelain blade wield
effortless form become bell tone
symbol draw to erase
wa, kei, se, jaku chado
humble this the way of tea

Renga Poets

Funky Boots Sensei Elly
Kami Anna Eusthacia
Cigar Smoking Samurai Jeff
Risqué Ronin Rog

Lines in order
Roger 3, Elly 2 - Elly 3, Anna 2 - Roger 3, Jeff 2
Anna 3, Elly 2 - Jeff 3, Roger 2 - Anna 3, Jeff 2
Elly 3, Roger 2 - Roger 3, Anna 2 - Anna 3, Roger 2
Jeff 3, Anna 2 - Elly 3, Jeff 2 - Jeff 3 Elly 2

11:13 AM - 99 Comments - 120 Kudos - Add Comment

Center and sum of all
Category: Writing and Poetry

For Daniel

The world comes to an end,
and he stands at my door
looking for a son he misplaced.

A man wringing strings
knotted and lost
in an aging labyrinth.

Will I cover his hands with mine?
he pleads with eyes creased
and scraped with tears.

My hands want to swaddle
his hands,
untangle soothe
the broken and marred,
my mind is intent,
quiet and fierce
on my son's face,
as the day he was born,
counting fingers and toes,
in Love's numbers,
without condition or boundary.

I etch and ache my son's
every detail into myself,
the frail old man
within his precipice,
and my son embraces
him into our fold.

My son leads the way
to find the lost
leads the way
to this old man
and to all of us.

My son,
my soft spot,
center and sum of all,
guardian angel gentle
with the old man,
who echoes every plaintive
call for his son.

And I call,
and we call,
deep night train whistles
soul bruises and shadows,
hoarse and trembling
to no avail.

His son lost
and the end here,
as suddenly as light
creeps through darkness,
rapt and faceless.

Perhaps not all is lost,
no strangers exist
in the end,
shoulder to shoulder,
hand in desperate hand,
we disintegrate,
a exponent of Love
mathematicians
will never discover.

A ripple stirs
the face of deep space.

My son,
center and sum of all.

7:41 AM - 118 Comments - 200 Kudos - Add Comment

~Poet’s Round Table Number 73~ At Your Beck And Call
Category: Writing and Poetry

You ask if I will always be there for you,
If ever you should slip, stumble, or fall.
Let me take this opportunity, as if anew,
To say I'll always be there at your beck and call.

You know I'll always answer, I'll never ask you why.
I'll be there to sustain you, in your time of need,
To see how far I'll go for you, just look up at the sky,
As sure as it's forever, my friendship never will recede.

You are the essence and center of all I esteem,
The first gentle and sweet thought when I rise,
The last as I doze then lingers through my dreams,
And the steadfast, true constant when changes arise.

And in your blackest hours, when it's just too hard to believe,
I'll hold your hand and soothe you, till darkness turns to day.
Your trust I will hold sacred, and to our friendship I will cleave.
My heart will always belong to you. It shall always be this way.

Your heartbeat echo's in my ear, I am never far away.
I'm right beside the steps you take, each footprint on life's trail.
Unspoken joy or sorrow felt, on bonded spirit weigh.
In silent shadows I remain, behind our friendship's veil.

Whatever path life leads us down, even should you bid me go;
I would stand away and swear anew, still to never let you fall.
If the days should pass and you find the days ahead to lonely grow;
Reach out your hand and as before, again, I will, at your beckon, call.

Players:

DJ Myke
Dahlia
Eusthacia
Alia
Lainey
Carter

The Poet's Round Table is a weekly event, if you would like to participate, just let DJ Myke know.

12:20 PM - 57 Comments - 104 Kudos - Add Comment

Caveat emptor ~ Let the buyer beware
Category: Writing and Poetry

I go into the dollar store,
look and move down the aisles
in a survival mode
as shaky as a wobbly cart,
among impostor brands,
expired/discontinued,
or foreign items,
that are alien to me.
 
There are always
a wide array of waterguns
oddly shaped earbud headphones,
and labels reminding me
of lead content and
FDA warnings.
 
I gather my purchases
and stand in line
behind a boy in a wheelchair.
 
His mother's eyes
are apologetic,
her hand careful
on his shoulder.
 
All of us realize
he's soiled his pants,
and all of us pretend
it isn't so
and ignore the stench.
 
He is lost
in a babbled language
all his own,
conversing with a small toy,
using words
only his mother understands.
 
Upon hearing him
we all go into safe mode,
the looking away
sort of compassion.
 
The cashier's eyelids
are hard and creased
over some permanent memory.
 
Her teeth move
as she speaks
and her lipstick bleeds
over the line of her lips.
 
I don't notice her name tag
and I know I'll regret it
in the silence of deep nights,
when small matters seize importance.
 
There are overlapping
oil spills in the parking lot,
like layers of earth
they tell a story of sorts.
 
The pavement lays uneven
under tires and shopping carts
while exhaust is choking souls
in front of the dollar store.

A big thank you to my friend Linda for her inspiration and support.  Check out her poem that inspired this one:  Dollar Store

7:11 AM - 97 Comments - 131 Kudos - Add Comment

Taste
Category: Writing and Poetry

Taste

You taste warm and familiar,
early morning bread
from a brick oven
my father brought piece by piece
from his faraway homeland.

Brisk and subtle
Arabesque of spices,
in Algarve open air markets,
startling and surprising
in all forms delicate and fiery.

The decadent melting
of chocolate at its darkest summit
with long, lingering ribbons
in curving subsiding paths.

You taste of all the firsts
that make my inner alphabet.

The first time
I saluted the ocean,
and tasted its majesty
in tumbled tosses
over sable sands.

Of first rain
slowly sliding down the branches
of a timeless tree of life,
guardian of my solitude.

And you taste of all the halves
that make the whole,
cloud, river, sun and dew
seed and dawn.

6:28 AM - 134 Comments - 142 Kudos - Add Comment