Bitter Tastes

Salt is the taste

upon my liar’s tongue–

the bitter-bitter of indecision

where ebon seagulls will not fly.

Charon–I should say he waits–

but the feathers drift

to bubbled life

the world twisted overhead

no hands to the flotsam

brighter lips once cast.

They always said to take my jacket

yet still ensconced

I never saw the need,

never saw the waves that bore me down

into the drink, the horror

dive into the inky loan.

The Walk

You walk me in

Disarray.

Like a pundit’s bleating cries

you are one bird that sings

that siren’s tune—

the tittering tap-tap-tap

along my weary soul,

drawing back and back again

to dreams of flighted fancy

grounded by the outcry

of your hollow-hearted truth.

Obscenity cannot describe the flesh—

it should not never will be wrought

of heartstrings and absolutions;

caress comes not with claws,

never feathered,

never caged.

You say one day we’ll fly.

Deception waddles

with the crows.

You walk me in

Disarray.

Submitted as part of: http://dversepoets.com/2011/09/27/openlinknight-week-11/

Standardized

Just a moment

If you would—

Never dread the dedications

Just a moment for a lifetime

Bubble “D” for destiny—

All suits and servility,

Master of the masterless

Hordes your own deception

Initial here to sign

This life into the hands

Of an angry world.

Not to worry—

You weren’t using it.

* For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 33.

Honeymoon

Late evening sunshine

reflects on the glass tray;

 

the breeze, blowing off the beach

brings flowers through the window;

 

tidied hands leave the pitcher

at the shelf beside the bed;

 

alcohol on the rise

brings dinner visions;

 

how many meals shared

by barebacks under the clouded ceiling;

 

the immaculate white sheets

are the only virgin here.

* 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!

Deception

Photo by Chris Galford

The fire dips beneath the azure sea;

All eyes turn to their own hands.

No one spies the serpents slithering

From the long stretched shadows

Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.

Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—

The straw cast down,

The crows descend.

Fruit rots and garden fades—

Ravens circle high above

The corpses of the fools.

Old men stir within their ancient tombs—

The dream is dead,

Another Rome, decayed.

For The Thursday Poets Rally, Week 28.

From Russia with Love

The salvation of mankind lies only in making everything the concern of all.
~Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Even so, one step from my grave, I believe that cruelty, spite, The powers of darkness will in time, Be crushed by the spirit of light.
~Boris Pasternak

Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.
~Leo Tolstoy

For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!
~ Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights

Draft Notice

Inconspicuous paper,

deceive and demand–

a boy brings in the mail

to find a life in green,

dark script bares

far darker words–

what are my options

as the ink dries on his fingers,

like blood run down,

or casings raining black against the dawn.

Fields in the words

hold bodies broken,

but in the silent flight,

the flickering light–

a slower demise of

loneliness and stripes

surrounded yet

by wagging fingers; scathing scowls.

The smell of ashes

does not abate in breathing–

burn the scraps away

but your dearest Uncle has to say

you still have got to show.

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.

Word

Word to the max

Can’t touch this

Illusion of a person, yo

You don’t know me

Or my parents’ money

Can’t touch my grills son

That shine brighter than my soul

Spin faster than my mind–

What is this shallow creature?

I am here and you are not

You can’t label me

With anything other

Than what I’m trying to be–

I’m not, but if I try hard enough

You’ll think I am

You be trippin’

If you can’t accept

The things I’m not

But my bling covers it

Pretty well don’t you think?

Ain’t nothing more intense than me

Except for everything and everyone

That isn’t crying out

Like me.