Self-Destruction

Self-Destruction

Shadow in the light

the fawning eyes to name

casting bones and scrubbing runes

not for shaman by the same

but for pretentious by its game.

Belief in self

twisted, twined, no longer paramount

a confession of the eyes

we named a pedestal of no account—

a devil’s playground at the fount.

Drifting through the gravel

the hero left to solace of the sand,

a world boxed in by seeds of its devotion

the drifting ides of foreign hand

hemmed us into falling land.

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Fettered Rise

Image by © Chris Galford.

Darkness

Begets salvation.

Closed eyes embrace

Wide-spaced longing,

Riveted in fire like

Old angels lacquered

With the doubt—

The weight,

They will come to call it,

It lies heavy on the backs

That would toil clouds

To submission.

Naked passions

Circumvent the sense of it,

Armani dreams, Gucci heart

Wing-tipped longing stands

Fleshy and forgotten.

Icarus saw this

Falling.

* My latest work for One Shoot Sunday. Based on the images I provided this week when I graffiti’d One Stop. Yes, that’s right – my travels around Lansing have yielded a great deal of graffiti photos, and this week we decided to plaster this little offering of rebel-art up for all you fellow poets to pour over. So have a look, see what catches your fancy, and enjoy!

A Man, A King

What is a man but

Flesh and bone gave breath;

Such mortal beast

To buck beneath

The reins of my imagination.

Cry out for me, ye bloodied hands

I am the stones arise on emerald hills

My flesh the graven gold

Of toiling back and grinding axe.

My blood be thee and thine

All rivers flow to mine

Call me God, for all I see is all I am

A fire in the earth

Tempered in the sea of sable madness

Yet to swim, yet to circumnavigate

My ambition, this thing of steel

No land might ever satisfy

The hunger of my soul.

All songs, they sing for me

Each note a dirge unto my memory.

Each breath, praise, for it is mine divine

Providence, they say, a god-in-man

Whoso could ever hope to say

I could not turn the tides.

I am the horse that rides,

I am the bolt that flies,

I am the child that cries,

He whom only fate defies.

Behold my majesty and yet despair

Of he who masters everyone

And nothing, and no one, still.

For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!

Upon the Precipice

Eyes open to the brink

I stand

Broken upon the edge

And though the sky is beating down

You are still above me

Always looking down.

Stretching for the dreams

Beyond your clouds

I burned within the strain

This arrogance has wrought,

And as the fire surged

I took it for desire

Obsession blinds

Focus the mind, focus the soul

Too late

All crumbling down,

The earth races

The sky screams

And I am tumbling through

This dear embrace

To something far more real.