A labor of the heart
Is fickle for breaks time may yet impart;
Yet hearts all given up to labor
May find that flesh bears yet no flavor
Such that withered bones
Gilded on those rusted thrones
Reach evermore for other’s flames
To find the hearth within lies tamed.
No soul, within mortality leashed
Can ill afford to rush time’s feast.
Ours may yet be to wonder why,
But think too long and there you’ll lie.
Life’s purpose is the lurking feeling
That man must find his own life’s meaning.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
It begins with the stars. Man spreads his wings and the stars are all that consumes. Blue fire–they taste the ashes and name them future as they step into the black expanse.
It begins with the warmth. The floor is around and under and in them, and the soil even deeper still, and the taste of dirt between the rolls of steam-cleaned lines cracks the boundaries. They feel themselves against it, and floatin away, and there is only the bliss of self, wrapped in their own wings. Stars! They feel the stars upon their skin, in burst and waves of flame, and they never feel more human than…
The cold, it is the descent. Weightless beyond the starlight, there comes the reality that they cannot reach so far. Fingernails snap under the weight of their broken-hearted deam, the reality that they are watched. All eyes, but no faces to commit. Others roll to the same tune and they are locked in orbit–not of space, or time, but themseles, unable to collide, yet cracked all the same.
Orgasms would not suffice to caintain the repture of that neutron burst, when the flesh parts and the body simply…drifts. A floor, yes, there is ground but there is also the Expanse, and they know what it is to be a part and apart two entities, indivisible yet incomprehensible, with knowing the great beast between them.
The impact with the self is reality’s jolt, the crash that makes it all numb again. There are eyes, then a body, and a taste–salt and chill, the air that has lived to see the beginning and the end of all things.
Bright is the chill. Deep is the waking.
He knows. He will forget. But the bodies at his feet–these he will remember. Until they wake.
Words–they fail before the frame.
The taste of earth remains upon the fettered tongue. And still–the sweat.
Beneath our hungry shore
between life and grass
more skin blossoms.
Leap off moon–
man is wild,
a gambol
song.
* My latest submission for the great gathering of international poets known as One Shot Wednesday. Short but sweet, and more than little cooky to more than a few of you, I’m sure, I give unto you “A Gambol Song”, my latest bit of free verse.
Beneath the microscope
metaphysics sang,
the organism of
meditation
Peacefully
shameless self
altered secretless
wisdoms in non-judgment
to the scope of everything.
* 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, with a strong and supportive community. Enjoy! And while you’re at it – vote for us in the Shorty Awards…we have a chance to take Number 1 in Art!
Alone, standing, oaken life take root
the wood gnarls as branches stretch,
the colored leaves fall down, down
and the moss hangs down, down
bent, twisted, craven mass of limbs.
I stand, wondering how this, alone, might stir and how the
—limbs, reaching, have no other limbs to twine,
I touch, and I consider wood-borne genocide, this rough
—bark grating on my fingers,
but the bough yields and the leaves descend,
and I, standing here alone, am left to ponder
how colorless the world can be
with one life, one love, and none to share it,
and I think it is no wonder this solitary thing
sets to wilting in the chill.
* 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!
Bear me up
Rustling cavalcade of coalescing
Music rush, on tempo speed
These breaths across my skin.
The harmony
Of your exultation
Gives me strength
Beneath my wings.
–
Crystal flow
Caress and coax
The resolution of my being,
Dive down into the deep.
Crash upon
The shores of apathy
And stir upon us yet the storms
That break inequity.
–
Quick-step
Quivering motions elate
To find the kiss, the touch of motion
In the sensuous sway of your dance.
No hands
Could ever hold thy hips
This beat, thunder of thy solitary
Moment, unbidden.
–
Bastion
Rampart revelry of life
Shield yet the passions of hope,
A dream of majesty.
Resolute
Mother-being enfold
The world in thy being:
Ground this flighty soul.
* For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!
These hands are not my hands,
How could they be
Baby blue, holding you
Swaddled, unmoved—
The wind was yours to claim,
I saw it, this past
Flowing reality of moments undone,
Webbing through existence see
You run, you sing
Let the ground give
Let the earth quake
And all rejoice, your howl
Resonant rebound through vibrant fields
Life, how I saw thee fly—
Impossible to reconcile
This motionless reality
To the beauty of my memory:
Where do you sleep?
Those who ever seek to see
will never bring their thoughts to be.
Those who always claim the highest peak
but never give their lives to seek,
will never live beyond the meek.
Those who always strain to hear
but never lend an open ear,
will disappear, unable to persevere.
Those who swim within a sea of dreams
but never bathe within reality’s streams,
will never feel the sunlight’s beams.
Those who will forever wait
and always fear a change of state,
will always bear eternal weight.
Those who always wear a thorny crown,
but never seek to break the frown,
will drown, in their own renown.
And those who always smile, never life beguile,
will be happy, if only for a little while.
There is a ghost in the system
Everywhere I look
Eyes, following
Faceless arbitrary
Being
It walks the lines that blur
Humanity from itself
Wears our skin, but
The mind is pure
Know the spy
That lurks
Behind
Surround yourself with empathy
Strictly emotionally speaking
It won’t know the difference
Creatures not withstanding
Between you and I, two in
One, imitation profound
They may take our
Bodies but they
Can never take
The Soul.
* 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!
To Think
a Will
not unbecoming in its being
a presence
Manifest
Unwilling Man still feels
the Breaking
rush
coursing through black Unwillingness
to Think
Then
if I cannot will thought to being
Nonwilling stands
Resolutely
Renouncing willingness of being
Thought collides
Beyond
this Existence of Convenience.
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!
The Waking Den 