Did you design the skies?
Did you place heaven floating
Amidst autumn leaves
And fleeting burning skies?
Did you button up cold birds
With warm woolly vests,
And marvelous plumage?
Did you gather piles of dead leaves
To spring board a crash landing?
Did you harvest pumpkins
Each of unique size and shape
To make my summer heart
Shift into darker hues of gold?
Well then, thank you.
With Israel and his son Concordia,
The Conquistadors contemplated anarchy;
“No!” Yelled the city streets
Against windows of innocent glassy puddles.
And thus the lost voice: Arbritage.
So from inside the ancient gold plated doors
Swashbucklers leaned on their pole called history,
Singing songs that rolled off tongues
Like français of an unbroken heart.
The two shook their secret handshake,
Clasped each a moon of waxing gibbous
Deep within their full hearts of innocent desire,
Coughing on fumes leftover from the army
Who had rolled through these streets
To a machine named destruction.
So who was left crying?
Not the lost brothers, silently creeping along
Dead back streets, poorly lit.
No, not the dead brothers waving rebel flags.
Not the flowers, forever resilient
To tumult and it’s darkness.
No, it was the stone covered city
And it’s sister: splinters.
Too many nights
I’ve been
Awaiting your call.
Like a whispering tree,
I’ve spun around with wild wind.
Can you call out
My name,
So I know it’s not dead?
There’s a pen at my study,
Perhaps spell it instead?
Long howls in deep darkness
Play our lonliest tune;
A soloists trumpet,
A clear moon and my
Distancing footsteps.
For goodness – not –
Shall Lords divine.
Sweet melon nectar
Explicit: intertwine.
An eagle soars
With lengthy hearth
An eagle burns
As Pharaoh’s earth.
River’s dry
– A cracking grain –
To whither: dead,
Our fathers bane.
Of golden green
‘Twixt slender pains
Yell “Willow’s mixture”
Betrayal’s feign.
Yet heard – unspoke –
Gripped the sword
– A childless yoke –
Divine hoard.
Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.
Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.
It’s never the end all
The catch your breath
And look back a second time.
It’s never anarchy,
Two bits vying for love.
It’s a death trap,
And Boris is dead.
We aren’t the restless,
We’re the owners:
Ruthless and cheap.
Talking back and rigging it,
Cheap thrills and lose tongues
And leaving worthless, spent.
Cause I’m not alive
– Horribly penniless –
Missing all the good times.
I walk with arms open
For your outstretched revolution
To move my soul.
To catch me
To look back and
For all my breath, moments
Stretched into life and death.
Strolls through the park now are filled with dead leaves
Dead leaves float down from shifting canopies
Deciduous trees slowly sway with mother earths soothing motion
Dead leaves blanket soiled paths laid through summer
A softening, deadening all sounds of scraping dirt
But shuffling along as I push forward
Dead leaves dance with discarded cones
Tossed away in haste during a squirrels preparation
Dead leaves share with me a full spectrum of browns
Reds, oranges, greens, purples, blacks
As they run the test of time separated from their lifeline
Dead leaves tell of turning seasons
Lazy summer indulging into autumns necessary storage
And clear nights turning into frosts morning
Dead leaves share with me the art of romance
Harmony in age
Holding hands with Mother Nature
As she guides the procession forward
Her hands will die
Maker’s shoulder
Sifting clean sheets
Un-kept wicker
Lie not to her
Monotonous
Cold cold flower
Hold not wishes
Wind blows strong here
Lives hold on with
Tall tall top hats
Blurry shading
All I’ve covered
Dying grasses
Loudly told me
Surrender youth
Make me love her
Dying oak tree
Make me cry here
Falling dead leaves
Take me home my
Lonesome lover
Take me past all
Reverie then
And if this aye
Shall swerve this goat
To set me free
Shall make an end
Then ere warned
Five thousand shorn
A gooses neck
Death brings this end
She’s cheeky
She tells me to stop
That poetry is dead
ALL POETS MUST DIE
She yells in caps lock
I lament and dig
Into the bowels
Of my horror
Of my rhythmical
Regurgitating madness
To give reason
For my exploration
These darkened spaces
These sappy ballads
My arching expressions
Into confusions womb
Like battle scars
Pocking my being;
Unsettling patrons
Horrifying relations
Yet I try
I push out my heart
Bleed it upon death
Illuminated pixels
Spare tablets
Leftover envelopes
And just push play
You sit there and wonder why I’ve changed
I’ve smelt the blood spilt of 6 million
I’ve watched the children scream alone
Searching in the daylight for eyes they cannot see
Holding hands with the pitiless marching them dead
Into the future they’ll never dream
I’ve crawled through the floors
Of ancient deathbeds
Smelling the descent of mankind
As it rummages through supremacy
Cracking along the edges of the wooden walls
Showing through in peeled paint
And barb-wired fences erected in blood
Rotting carcases of un-guilty men
Where we believe, for just a smiling minute
That the changes we make in our recycling program
Will resurrect those peace signs and red crosses
Will help the children smile louder
In piles in the corner stopping bullets with plastic
Who wins at this game?
Smile, we cannot run