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  • Japanese Winter
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  • Beginnings Never End
  • Angels of New Orleans
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  • Archie vs. William Blake

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Poetry

"Beginnings Never End"

 


Fall Song

“Come here! Come here!” The children cry
To the leaves still pressed against the sky.
Summer sun has had its sway
And winter is fast upon its way.

The spider web will soon be bare
And frozen in the icy air.
The yielding grass now turned to stone,
As colorless as a long lost tome.

The wind will carry sounds afar
Of feet that crack the leaves apart.
Our breath soon from our mouths will show
Long before the fallen snow.

“Come here! Come here!” The children scream
From deep within a pile of leaves.
Masks of ancient spirits unseen
Roams the streets on Halloween.

Witches, goblins and their lot
Boiling curses in their pots.
I’ll say a prayer, I’ll wear a charm
To keep away the bugbear’s arms.

“Come here! Come here!” The children laugh.
Too fast another year has passed.


Untitled

Yesterday is stupid
Tomorrow is trepid
Eternity is betting
Never is regretting
Once is digressing
Next is beguiling
Today is smiling
While whenever is undressing


“In The Thoughts of Nothing”

When I was young
I could see in the starry skies
The beating wings of all my dreams
And elder ones who’d comfort me

Now I have grown
And those dreams
They’ve all flown away
The elder ones now turned to stone
Sleep like cities beneath the sea

But I know that one day
From the tide
They will come for me
And hold me close
We shall then return
Down where the dark ocean dreams


The Angels of New Orleans

Strange creature, when I needed your hand
To help me through my years,
I fell alone with failing strength
While listening to your tears.

And when I begged you
Unsheathe your sword
You gave me only praise
And bit upon your fingertips
As I held the dogs at bay.

Strange creature, you watched,
A winged audience,
As I did my soul to ruin.
And now you angel
Who watched over me

Here watch over my tomb.

“The Death of Daffodils”


Ghosts fall up
As people fall down
Rise to the clouds
As we hit the ground
Looking down us
As we face up to the sky
Consoling the friends
That we can’t when we die


LUNA – written with Jennifer

The drunken moon pines
Remembering forgotten poems
Kisses soft, under the red curtains
Alighting upon her perfect skin

She dreams of the future
Bouncing for savory treats
Opening doors, graceful as the birds that land
Upon fiery glass staves

Shining, reaching upwards
In the darkness of candles
Paralyzing Japanese voices
Of a winter that would not depart

Listen, and you’ll see
When she smiles
Watching from that drunken moon
Sticky cricket croaks
Mouse serenades fallen trees

Time is a bitter friend
Clouding, searching for buttons
Stumbling on stitches
Scattered upon the ground

Caught, cuffed, chopped
The world is spinning
The rain, the cat, the umbrellas carry us closer
Dreaming through those red curtains

Tea stained pots
Serene Sunday mornings
Her hair falling around me
Nickels spilling from our hands

With durable ancient rites of youth and love
We are racing time, parting the air
Angels for appetizers, demons for dessert
Aching, the breeze records our history


As She Watched the Stars

Soft, your flesh
Like an angel’s throat
And bones of crimson fire
The manicore speaks
The sirens sing
All ageless with desire

But while ageless speaks
With beauty only
Fleeting passion
Twists its tongue
Yet in the end
It’s time who steals
All passion from the young

Though in these stars
I see invisible eyes
And cold claws around my hips
This mortality drunk
Never tastes so sweet
As when drank
From lovers’ lips


Cathedral Candles

painted lips
with perfect lines
under painted eyes
they speak your lies
this heart to bind
these sheets to tie
as my fingers touch
your painted thigh

control
love
hands
lips
soul


Shall I Build You A Cave?
(I inquired of my cat, who turned the question back on me)

Shall I build you a cave?
A safe place to hide
Smooth floor, low ceiling
And a soft breeze inside

Shall it be by the sea?
Will it have a table?
A place to play cards
And a bed of warm sable

Shall it have a fire?
Will you ever have guests?
Except for your thoughts, your ghosts
And the occasional nest

Will you be okay?
Will you ever venture outside?
Or a mad, hairy hermit
Will you be when you die?


March on Easter Road (An Arcadian Nursery Rhyme)

If you want to sit on mountaintops and look down on those below
You must journey forth in sandals to consult with Cicero.
You must bring to all the angels, flowers for their plates
And to all mankind you must submit your name for hate.

If you want to sail on dragon’s back and ride the ranks of Tyr
You must join the march on Easter Road to pull down every spire.
You must rush the din of battle upon the tattoo’s roll,
And each scar you win it will become a pence towards Charon’s toll.

If you want to live within the town where each man wills his own
You must learn the ways of courtly beasts: the cat, the rat, the crow.
Your soul it will be weighed on a scale against their gold
Upon a stage within the marketplace where men are bought and sold.

But if in Arcadia you choose to stay, my child, you will wear the family mark
Of dirt beneath your fingernails and love that’s dry as dark.
You will plow your soul into the soil in simple silent strife.
Green will be your God
And Blue will be his wife.


"Memento Mori"
(said the priest to the pirate as the cannons roared around them)

wingless man upon the waves
they are shooting holes into your boat
where will you go when your boat is gone
but down the sea’s green throat

gilless man within the sea
the sharks pick the flesh from off your bones
where will you go when your flesh is gone
but to heaven o’er the clouds of Rome

godless man thou art in heaven
yet your soul has not tipped the scale
where will you go when your God condemns you
but to the rolling lakes of Hell

wingless, gilless, godless man
boiling in the lakes of Hell
boatless, fleshless, soulless man
you’ve learned your lesson well
now you scream but do not pray
as around you Devil’s dance
for once you know that Hell exists
there is no second chance.


Who is desire

Who is desire?
Who is dance?
Whose hand do you hold
When given the chance?

Who is breakfast?
Who is a sight?
Whose eyes do you see
When you close yours at night?

Who is bitters?
Who is gin?
Whose mouth do you think of
When your thinking of sin?

Who do you leave?
Who makes you cry?
Whose heart will you long for
Long after you've died?


Caryatid

Poor little caryatid
Just a little longer
Be just a little strong.
Hold your place with will
Even though it hurts like hell.
Hold until the arches fall
Around your pedestal.

 

Last Updated March 30, 2012