Black

 

Between misty twilight
and the cobalt ink of night,
you cunningly slip by veiled.
I sail away on the ship of fools;
forbidden waters are my tremulous haven.

You fathom, having survived
a thousand days of strife.
Your wisdom seduces, guides
me into treacherous tides,
where I survive the crafty undertow.
No one truly comprehends
living in your own steely shadow;
you are obliged to dwell
under the midnight sky,
seek illumination from a burrow of stars,
navigating perplexing, vulnerable paths,
obliterating what was consumed,
because no one can assist
straightaway, except sheer sensibility.

I zealously voyage to fresh continents
governed by fervent faith,
but not out of belligerent blindness,
for you are in my blazing vision.
I feel secure, comforted.
Is that some aberrant crime?
If so, I have committed treason
against my fickle emotions,
retreating, fading into you,
locating a plush landing
in feather beds and azure pillows.

Let's exonerate our stubborn stupor,
never looking back, eliciting distorted
madness. The future has liberated
endless  possibilities, an array of
ruby riches replenishing parched souls.

Our destiny sings gilded psalms:
brittle blackness replaced
by opaque dawn.

Words

Words split like nails,
dividing the page into nonsense,
slick adjectives coveting
somber nouns, as shy similes
compete with mellifluous metaphors,
the distinct alliteration spreading
his azure peacock feathers.
It all amounts to crap.

I sit perched
like a green parrot
stewing with anemic fragments
that I ardently desire to coalesce,
propagate, flourish,
into the Tower of Babel
Winged Victory,
or the Statue of David,
or just sit there and rot,
but instead they ruthlessly smirk
and scowl, exasperated
by my wandering eye,
and lackadaisical ability
to produce a profound poem
for wistful eyes to savor,
devour, and digest.
I am willing to admit,
I am lonesome out here
with just my parchment and quill.

As if in a Fellini film,
abstract shapes and metaphysical concepts
dominate, as my milky thoughts ruminate,
and what materializes from a jumble
of prepositional phrases and onomatopoeia
is something much more surprising,
forgiving, and treasured.
The gibberish that flailed
from my pious pen
is now engaged and humming.

Action verb here. No, there. Check.
Modifier before proper noun. Check.
Adverb in my back pocket. Check.

Sometimes, what is agonizingly valid,
is to patiently wait and acquiesce
to the Mafia bosses that govern
the wonderment of poetics,
to settle in and permit
that silver magic to germinate,
take flight, and soar
over broad oceans
and placid valleys,
finally saturating,
aligning, rearranging,
into a form that is substantial.

And when that finally happens,
then it is time
to feed the cat,
make up the bed,
wash the dishes,
take the dog for a walk.

Now, sit down
and prepare yourself
for the  perpetual
editing process.

Simplicity

Fickle memories unsettle
    causing a stack of dominoes
    to crumble beneath the weight
    of silver gravity: a shimmering
    moment fading, paling,
       the black and white photograph,
       the one where my right leg
       is unconsciously draped
       over your languid left knee,
          while we tremulously pose
          for a succulent kiss,
          your taut frame pinning
          me against the charcoal cushion.

There are no lavish lies here,
     just an unbridled, painted truth.

I was alive; you were alive.
    The fuming fire that penetrated
    was merely reality declared
     in that fervent snap shot,
     sealed for a future remembrance.
          I still embrace you in folded skin
          and raging veins. I still savor
          your butterscotch lips,
          as my tingling tongue caresses
              salty skin.

It is a caramel keepsake,
    a tangy indulgence that reaps
    molten sentiments, a docile souvenir
    from years passed, but the prickly
    present betrays me; I can hear
        saccharine whispers of “I love you”,
        or “It’s going to be okay babe”,
        worst yet, “the doctors have discerned
        the problem”, the sound
             of the perpetual optimist, the court
             jester dancing to his last breath.

“Damn you. You promised. You promised!”

The breakable moment flees
     to just a sore blotch, sinking
     inside the satin stains
     of my hallowed stomach.
           I trudge on, not out of perseverance
           but out of reverence. You completed
           me. I fulfill us by remembering.

Capricious Polaroid. I finally beam,
     inhale a gust of breath, liberate it,
           and tacitly remain satiated.

Domination

Languid sermons streamed from lavender lips,
    hypnotizing, speaking of torrid battles wagered . 
    and banalities anguished by molten lovers
        and extolled victims, controlled by intoxicating demons.

The visions were of his portentous creation;
     he was both malevolent dictator and shrewd conqueror,
        mixing toxic equivocations and perplexing potions,
           spinning fabrications into golden scepters.

It was a blatant sucker punch, the sort that blasted my guts,
    a duplicitous suggestion that I would concede
    to his persuasive sliver tongue, proffering
        my unblemished soul for wicked werewolves to thrash.

I was bamboozled, befuddled, bewildered, as he heartlessly
    maneuvered his ice queen to check my charismatic king,
    beckoning his scrupulous defectors, judicious benefactors
        of my solemn spirit, now employed as brainless pawns,
        soured by tainted complicity, shrouded
            in impervious armor, to brashly overthrow
            the inked baron of embedded emotions.

After the occupation, before my dance with death was consummated,
    I liberated my baby blues, awakening to a blistered world,
    confronting the playground bully aboveboard,
        demanding, commanding, that the briny fear be vanquished,
        given the same insecure foundation, my harkened birthright,
            my baptism, my metamorphosis. And in that brilliant
            moment, I conceded, and shed alabaster skin.

Benevolent

Even cobalt blackness can not remove
    the sinister sins of his eyes. The satin smile
    and silver tongue dramatically disguise
        brutal insincerities and languid lies.

He tells filthy untruths while his pearlies
    are gleaming, a surefire signal
    that I shall earn a perilous parting gift,
        compliment of life's follies.

At one point in my encounters, I believed
    in his churlish charm, as he ruthlessly romanced
    my inner sanctum, pulling and weaving
        tremulous secrets forbidden to be postulated.

He emphatically emphasized that the wilted words
    I blundered would be but a carefully amassed keepsake, 
    one that would be relished, respected, revered:
        "never look a gift horse in the mouth."

I am afloat, running by the chain linked fence,
    desperately eluding the molten monster
    that nips ate my hazardous heels,
        threatening to overturn my insides,
        making hasty work of my evaporating soul.

I didn't foresee this mythical beast, coming hither
    in your liquid demeanor, but you are hitherto.
    and I abscond my fluent intuition, as I absorb
        your audacious temper, used to steamroll
        your way into timorous hearts, and abduct
            brightened souls and disencumbered
            lives, the ones that imprison mellifluous
                confidence and bear witness to the meltdown:'
                "those in glass houses..."

Before I was harmoniously disheveled, I escaped
    your wicked wrath, and as I peer over my shoulder
    I behold and sacred truth not previously encountered:
        "I pray thee Lord my soul to keep."
        you dissolve like a glimmering sunset,
            fading like a waning sunflower on a scorched field
            deplete of nourishment and moisture.

Dowager

Awareness emerged from an encrusted, shallow region,
somewhere dormant, yet entrenched,
anticipating its blazing moment to emerge,
steamrolling its course to sadistically interrupt
the placid temperance that piously protected
against briny assault. The forgone flashes
steered into solemn hearts and fetched
eminent emotions that swirled and spun:

consternation,
anxiety,
palpitations.

The relentless spirit consumed, penetrated,
and scrutinized as the dowager unraveled,
revealing the barren entrance as a blistered core,
searing, branding as a maimed doe,
one that craved to be squashed,
nullifying the splotches of forgiveness
she had presumably resolved:

violation,
encroachment,
penetration.

The sweeping tears rocked down her facade,
stinging her coral pink cheeks,
as she lucidly recalled the acrid assault,
the defenseless, beloved lamb
brutally battered and bitterly breached,
as if she were a senseless trinket,
as if the shrouded years of the past
could annihilate her tranquil present,
her golden universe crashing, smearing,
shattering her cranberry refuge:

heinous,
depraved,
malignant.

She sat perched, like a stunning flamingo,
perplexed by the impetuous rush
that inhabited her frenetic ruminations,
panicked as her vascular quivered,
wondering when the horrid madness
would abort, terminating this rocky ride
on the demented rollercoaster.
These fickle emotions will silently cease,
but not this eventide. She just hungered
to tussle through the bedeviled blackness,
ignoring the stretched wound that rabidly stained.

Ocean Blue

The benevolent waves crashing in the tides
lulls me into a distilled day dream as I peer
upon the aqua, seafoam, cobalt, and white crests
of water spilling, cascading, and plucking
the bristling sand from the salty shore,
like a sleek bandit absconding a matron's prosperity,
until finally depositing pristine presents:
sand dollars, sea horses, shark's teeth, and jelly fish,
as the water bubbles over flooding inlets.

This is my impervious haven, the destination
I seek when overwhelmed by life's covert secrets
and insidious lies. I appease those torrid nightmares,
charcoal shadows that blister my translucent essence,
the kind of salacious venom that taunts and mocks.
But, I voraciously stamp out the clustering silver bedlam
that overcomes me in silent surges of sacrificial sobs
and boundless prayers to exorcise the malignant mutilation
that I once allowed to overtake the inner reaches
of my most vulnerable consternation.

But that was in a prior eon, and I have patiently evolved,
and my sleek, naked anxieties have all been exhausted,
played out like the local whore in town,
discarded under a racing bus, and in its place is a silken repose
complete with intoxicating serenity in the torrid bowels
of inhumane suffering, because no one is heroicly rescued
from the internal bruises that this weary world
dishes our way, no matter how you slice it.

I always return to the brilliant sea of blues and greens,
observe timeless marvels, and the cacophony
of the irascible currents, as they preach, lament,
murmur, and howl all the coveted achievements
I ardently discovered at my exorbitant expense,
but somehow, I now comprehend that the irascible answers
were as available as the pearly provisions scattered
like festive baubles at my disposal beside my gritty feet,
as I gaze at the glistening coast, my satin paradise
confessing all that was erstwhile just a precarious myth.

(C) Michael Wayne Holland, 2012

Torrent

The ache began in a pouty place deep inside,
integrated into muscles and tissue, my blood
boiling up and spilling over into foreign dreams
and slim underpinnings, the place where
your imprint has tainted me:

venomous,
pathological,
intrusive.

I cannot escape your strangling sear,
embedded in angry bones and furious flesh.
What strikes me is how expansive
your visitation takes me. One minute
I am dreaming of you in Paris,
at a sleek cafe at Montmartre;
then you lay beside me entwined
with knobby elbows and scraping knees,
so interwoven, that I can not identify
the exit door. I am trapped with vision
after vision, how you smeared me
with hot, butterscotch kisses,
and then I am a slave to your virile anger,
your gnashing teeth, and your unpredictable bite;
I become a pawn granting the wishes
of an unruly child with too much power.

How do I escape this unyielding entrapment?

I throw myself into the River Babylon
longing to drown under swollen rocks
and fleshy marsh, but alas I bobble for air,
gasping for sweet milky breaths,
and joyously so. Though you have devoured
my savory nectar, you had failed to possess me,
and I found a zest for Fruitful freedom,
and my only languid desire was to escape:

celebration,
metamorphosis,
liberation.

I learned to cohabit salty shadows
rather then embrace gleaming sunbeams,
avoid minty forests at twilight's nod,
embrace the forgotten lost ones
to heal from life's torrid derision and casualties,
glean knowledge from those patient sages,
leaving not a single stone unturned if possible,
and dance with centaurs and dryads,
let the magic spill into my essence
until I cleansed myself meticulously,
not so much to erase your somber effect,
but rather to coexist with the fumbling bull,
and allow the rains, the heaving torrents from Heaven
spill over my bleary frayed nerves and naked torso,
and let go of this pallid torment.

Tornado

* This piece was entered into a contest where you could write fifty words, and fifty words only. The prompt was "cyclone", and this was my take on the subject. It went on to wind the gold trophy, so I was thrilled, and a little surprised.


Spiraling, the cyclone needs to be lassoed,
its path like a rustic obstacle course,
without a care or a bother,
desecrating mystic truths,
leaving behind bitter debris,
and stolen lives,
to all it consumed,
like a reckless baby
bouncing its way
over scattered toys.

Exorcism

Under my mind, somewhere between ginger muscles
and placating nerves, couched underneath the core
to my wavering faith, lies the essence
that is coveted delicately with tightly kept secrets;
in here lies the precarious Pandora's box,
sometimes enticing, sometimes undermining,
always a crap shoot:

folly,
sacrifice,
desecrated complexities.

I absorb cluttered chatter, and aspire to process
what has gritty substance, discerning what are merely meager
mirages scattered in dusty memories, amassed and preserved,
like a cellar of exquisite nectar, whites and reds;
a petulant portion of these palpable perceptions
are felicitous, but many leave auspicious holes,
and cauterized imprints, that foolishly embed
tremulous truths, tether the spine,
and relinquish forged pride.

I uncoil, just a tad -- "there, there" -- allow cagey emotions
to perilously unravel just a pinch, and observe
my body from atop, peering like a falcon,
as I tremble, and convulse, uninhibitedly,
so sure that damnation will sever my unworthy soul,
while the fearless floodgates to all the acrimony and vexation
pour like a halcyon honey from a hustling hive
from my baby blues, scratching my flushed scarlet cheeks
stretching into dormant tissue.

I open my ceruleans, blink; I ponder, am I still here?
Has survival granted me a second opportunity to flourish,
spread my osprey's wings, and fly, soar, ascend
above the clouds to a safe haven secured just for me:

gratitude,
privilege,
indebtedness.

I seal my eyes, remember the altering transformation,
experience the raw emotion in its purest form,
and shudder, just shudder. I have been granted
one more flight, but rusty redemption has its perils as well.
Atonement has its own malevolence, and I attentively
acquiesce, and acknowledge its virile virtue.