Of Poetry

“Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades.” ~Boris Pasternak

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” ~Carl Sandburg

Desolation Life

This cavalry ride,

This noble stride,

Stretch wide upon the earth—

Trembling thunder underfoot

Amidst the shadows lightening fall.

Death rides before the tip,

Death roars beneath the arrow scorn

And in the quailing devastation

Moves the seeds of their creation.

Bodies bloom like spattered roses

But from the agony of annihilation

Stirs the flowers–flourish,

Such color rises from silent gray

The mass is fallen

The light arise

Entangled limbs stretch toward the warm embrace

Soothed into the slumber

Of revival.

Ask not the ends

Ask the means—

What comes, shall come again

In one form or the next.

My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!

Spy

He walked among these shadows

in brightest day unseen–

such smiles do well enough

to put pursuers off.

Look like them,

they don’t know you if your skin

does not differ in its shade.

Each day, a mask

identity is wearing

it’s getting old and getting fast

but every day is one more

challenge for the lies.

Twist it, turn it, toss it all about–

a lie is but another word

when cast into the wind.

If they do not have the sense to see

then he has every right to be.

Crocodile tears

as the pendulum swings–

his time will one day come

but one day is another day

and Time

all too relative

to a life that never was

and ever has been.

Blackest Blood

Black blood breathe

beneath the rocky deep

burn bright and high

waves broil, frothing

into the flames of your passing

but the gold-toothed smile

burns brighter still.

Sizzle, sizzle, boil and bubble

worlds part before

the tremble of your passing–

send tremors to the core

of all the staunchest hearts

come hell or high water

There will be Blood.

Wounds fester

like blisters burst

your fevered pitch defies

the madness of their dreams–

the sky and the sea weep black tears

and all are consumed–

come Death or Life.

The Imagination’s the Limit

“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” ~Jack London

“Our imagination is the only limit to what we can hope to have in the future.” ~Charles Kettering

“An idea is salvation by imagination.” ~Frank Lloyd Wright

“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.” ~George Bernard Shaw

Belief

I have not seen the light.

It burns

Me but I know

it is around Me

and I cannot feel it

on my skin this fire

Dances without Desire

Dies without Devotion

and wallows in its ashes

for a man

without Faith

knows neither Hope

nor Fear

but the binds of

Mortality does not lift

and excitement fades

with Life, failing

to elicit the possibility

of what may lie

beyond the stars

of time-locked

Existence.

Creation and Destruction

She smiled at Nothing

as Music stirred Creation;

Nothing smiled back

as Destruction stalked her wake;

Love stirred in the space between

their sinuous dance.

* To hear it: Creation and Destruction, by Chris Galford

Fire on the Mountain

Perhaps its because neither of these posts come with photos, but today I feel struck with the urge to drop two poems on you. The first was about my night ride through the mountains, and like its predecessor, this one is all in the title: a fire on the mountain. This one in particular saddens me for not capturing, but the fire struck as the evening was coming on, high up in the mountains, and I was caught in my car, in the seat opposite it, far and away from the actual site of the flames. What few shots I did get were marred by the glass and the swirl of the smoke.

Even so, I composed a poem of it, as it still struck me, even from a distance. Fire. Destruction. Beauty. We often focus on the destructive power of fire, but like any other element of our world, there is an unrivaled sense of beauty to it. We fear it, but it is only natural. It may herald destruction, but it is also a forerunner to creation, a key part of the cycle of death and rebirth.

Fire on the Mountain

Black skies loom over the valley—

There’s a fire on the mountain

Like a lighthouse in the night

And the smoke is rising,

Lightning sparks the hills

And only then

The houses in the trees.

To Dream

I soar

Unmoving

Over Emerald Fields

A bird upon the wind

As mere Humans cannot be.

I am the Shark

Within the waves

Of Mystery,

Unbidden.

I see the Depths

No Man was meant to see.

I am a Man

Within the city,

But the city falls

And I float through Chaos

Without Fear—

But I am not the Order.

I Create but cannot

Control

The Madness of my Mind.

Neither Walls nor Chains

Can hold me back.