Visions of Yester-Year

Photo by: Sean McCormick.

 

We laid the foundation of our hearts

And spread beneath an open sky

Where neither walls nor whims

Knew limitation to licentious surrealism;

The clouds, like little rabbits framed

Running through the soul,

Stood as libation

In silent spring.

 

Weeds rack the roots,

No resurgence in the recalcitrant puberty,

Midst rustled horses and wrangled roses,

What saw us raise our heads to dream;

The foundation remains, regal rock

Walking beneath the sunlight

Where crumbled walls cracked

To visions of yester-year.

* My submission to part two of a special edition the One Shoot Sunday Photo Prompt, with that breathtaking frame shot provided by one Sean McCormick, a Canadian Photographer that is the focus of my latest interviews for One Stop. Great guy, with some truly stunning nature photography…it absolutely breathes with life, history, and all the shadows of memories gone before. Have a look when you get the chance, and check out all the other poets inspired by the prompt!

Over-Saturation

 

Photo by Sean McCormick.

It is a rush—world—

Nothing holds not still above the

Colored creations of memory.

Years in the making the foundations

Sound and solid arise yet

Time bleeds into the framework,

The tumble of tumultuous tints tingeing like

Rainbows bursts of blown out washers –

We don’t forget, but the lines they

Blush against the battery of luminescent life –

We color detail till it all seems dreams,

And the world it circles and it sighs

And we’re rolling in the dyes of little lies

Watching change day by day.

Just beware of

Over-saturation.

* My submission to the latest One Shoot Sunday Photo Prompt, with that lovely barn/grainery shot provided by one Sean McCormick, a Canadian Photographer that is the focus of my latest interview for One Stop. Great guy, with some truly stunning nature photography…it absolutely breathes with life, history, and all the shadows of memories gone before. Have a look when you get the chance, and check out all the other poets inspired by the prompt!

Winter-White Haiku

Winter in Rockford, MI. By Chris Galford.

Cold…so cold. High of 14 today. Inside writing, doing my best to hide from the chill. Not as much snow as in the photo – the picture’s from back in 2009 – but the wind and the ice don’t make things any better. On the bright side, a little cocoa and some tiny marshmallows do lead to the occasional Winter-ku…

White sea enfold me

All is silence in the rough

Hands ache summer’s cry.

A Waking in a Kiss

 

By Lisa Michelle Arhontidis

A waking in a kiss

Cold lips in black light,

There is a life here that does not sleep

Between the sheets of memory, wrapped

She beckons and I heed, this endless

Obsession of souls, commands:

Drink these lips.

* Photography by Lisa Michelle Arhontidis, from her gorgeous photos and interview I conducted with her, as featured on One Stop Poetry.

Colosseum

Image care of: Photobucket.com.

Windows on the world

Of this eternal light, this city brimming

With memory of massacre and masochistic

Delight, windows on a soul of fire

Brimming in the depths of those saluted,

Stirring in the sweat of the backs stretched forth in greeting,

These limbs, outstretched beneath your crumbling walls,

Drew cloth and steel against the flesh, your stone

Prison and theater, the spotlighted cell,

All eyes alive with the flames of your passion,

Round and round they circled, and still you writhe

With the congress of madness given yet delight

In all those souls who looked within and without

Your shudderless windows.

* Another poem for the wonderful Monday Poetry Potluck, as hosted by Jingle Poetry, and those lovely poets Amanda and Kavita! This week’s theme: Buildings, Landmarks and Monuments–for which I obviously chose the Roman Colosseum.

Father’s Song

I watch them ride

memories of my failures–

wonder if I tried

or all were vaunted blunders.

Too long I’ve been afield,

at war with thought, the world–

from this madness I have tried to shield

and so into the madness, they’ve unfurled.

Perceptions

Divinity in a smile

These eyes, like stars alight

To stoke the fires of this passionate

Elation, embrace of thought

That tickles yet the nervous breath

Coiling through the nerves—

Sensory serendipity.

Watching this Mirage

Deception of romance

Serpentine coils of medusan gaze

Wrapping around this memory

Of a man, once knowing

These lines, unrestricted,

Entwining about his heart.

The portrait and the face

Smiling through the frown

Of this imaginary madness

We’ve come to call a life

Will this define

Or refine

Your perception of meaning?

What dreams we greet

To hide the nightmare

Of reality.

In My Arms

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?

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!