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.

Protector (A Collab With Author Karen Dewitt)

* Karen and I have for a while now been in sync with each other as we continue to dig deeper into our works to get to another level. She is my muse, and I am happy to say, she has been a beacon of hope for me. I hope you like what we have pit together.


I cling tightly, to the inner maze of the soul
cushioning the blows of nature, the birds as they mingle unnoticed
I lay on a dreaming pillow, trimmed in the highlights of life's forgotten
as horizontal trains billow down the runway of my heart

Forging, furrowing ditches through me

Clinging tightly to the runway of my heart-
Reaching far, and wide... tickets in my wrinkly palm stretched,
ready for the journey that will take me to another dimensional zone, untouched
Through mountain escapism's and wandering meadow encounters
becoming entrenched within the lining of infinity, and empathy

Reading your mind... the mountains you've climbed

Reaching far, panoramic whispers- the lining of my psyche-
A large boulder extended across the span of my existence, detouring me
to a place I know nothing of, outlined by sadness, pain, and waterfall eyes
The atmosphere fills itself with fate's perfumes, an admiring aura stands still
touching the depths of all the cosmos, plateau's, and infinite portraits

You cannot surrender... for fighting through, clawing with fingers

A substantial stone and limitless paintings-
Though I do not proclaim to understand my presence,
I face both my future and past in one steely glare.
I say nothing, know nothing, except bitter instinct
which shelters me from smoldering suns and tremulous rains,
opening floodgates from the Heavens, washing my torso bare.

I stand up to the olde world, pushing through the universe-

Though I do not declare my torso nude-
I confront pain directly, staring unashamedly
at its face, afraid that the willowy wind will blow me away
to another nether-region that is not home, nor foreign a place,
and I wonder why I have been the one sought to bare all,
to risk whatever is coveted in order to protect others and self in unison.
Solace, alas, finds me withered in a dusky corner.


(C) All Rights Reserved, 2012

Stormy

Your daydream dances inside my head,
tantalizing me like a languid lover
headed for a freight train,
about to jump its tracks:

careless,
reckless,
out of control.

When you declared you were leaving
my heart cried foul, and the searing
shock of your assault pummeled
me to treacherous ground.

What was I to fathom?
Anxiety invaded my body
like a careless hurricane drowned
in corpuscles and veins,
until I had no direction.
Comfort left my sacred house,
while depression moved in,
inhabiting even the darkest
of sullen corners and surly shadows.

It was a violation of my consummate lovel,
so much so that I capsized
like an engulfed barge
trapped in lethal tidal waves.
So much of my pearly essence
was attached to your churlish charm;
my confidence, my conviction, my integrity,
buzzed hastily out the postern door
like a bullet speedily exiting a gun,
leaving me a balance of debris:

repugnance,
acrimony,
abhorrence.

Yet, you refused to relinquish
the devious imprint you callously
seared on my indignant soul.

Look within I say.

Then one creamy morning
I awoke to a steely stillness
within, and I meticulously conceived
that only an abysmal abomination
can take me down for the count.
Like a lassoed bull stubbornly
fighting against brawny rope,
I succumbed rather than resisted,
abandoning your torturous reign
and I stepped up to the plate,
amplified through self acceptance,
and somehow sidestepped
your wicked potion. I affirmed
that I was your perilous antidote,
to your treacherous venom,
your Achilles Heel, your weapon
of mass destruction,
and it could not have materialized
at a more enlightened milestone.

Chronic

^ This piece was conceived in my writing group, and I was able to dig pretty deep for it. It is not poetry this time, but prose. I hope you enjoy it, or appreciate it.

The weary world wreaked havoc, day in, day out, breathe in, breathe out. Worrisome weeks passed, sometimes months, but the chromatic feelings pursued him, taking a stranglehold, until he would nearly choke.

The pins and needles in his periphery began about seventeen years ago, planting themselves in his left toes and the balls of his feet, slowly evolving as they sleepily stretched out across the ankles and rapidly raced up his calves, until just below the knee. The fuzzy sensations in his extremities turned cold, then numb, but thankfully the severe shooting pains were intermittent, and mostly only bothered him when was about to fall asleep.

Some days he would linger in bed, in his lush six hundred thread count sheets of silver, refusing to answer prying phone calls, neglecting pestering email from his friends, his family, even illustrious men who just wanted to spend some time with him, share his body, covet his secrets. These loved ones, and admirers, fell to the wayside in these sterling moments, swept up in a dust pan, and discarded into the trash without a second glance.

His doctor asked him if he felt depressed. He laughed at her until she rephrased. "Are you depressed because of how you feel, or does how you feel cause you to feel more depressed?" His silky voice purred: "Does it really matter at this point?" She nodded her head, just nodded her head, as if she had heard this a million times over and over again.

His cocker spaniel, Billy, gave him some sort of purpose, and he was a responsible pet owner, Billy had a fenced in yard as his playground three times a day, and his water was always fresh, and there was always food in his dish, maybe even a morsel from the dinner table those days when he was too weak to swallow.

The nature of being chronic, he surmised, is that nothing necessarily or drastically gets better or worse; it's just a state of being, like floating in a translucent pool of water, you just sort of drift from moment to moment. Weekdays become weekends. Some mystical nights became luminous days. He would sometimes take advantage in those precious times and maintain some of his relationships by receiving guests in his home, or by going to see a film, or even having dinner somewhere inexpensive and quiet, something he could afford, since he had a limited income, and rarely allowed others to pay his way.

He had looked fear in the face many, many times until he just didn't care. He'd learned to sing in his late thirties, to pass the time, and even played the guitar to James Taylor, with Billy as his audience: "Oh I've see fire and I've seen rain..." he would croon. Someday there would be a cure he thought, and he wondered where he would be. He hated that feeling of drifting through life, but for not it is what it is. He learned to stop judging and just let things be. Let things be. For now, he would sleep, think of Paris and the Champs E'Lysee. It was nice to dream. He still had that.

Sand In My Shoes

The sea washes away crystal sand castles
like wiping a blackboard slate clean,
the tide robbing sand from the surly shore.
It reminds me of what can transpire
in a milky moment.

One of us is always arriving, the other departing,
through opaque doors of opal and liquid dreams,
silent dreams where I always keep you present,
a velvet wish, soft like an overstuffed chair,
comforting my perilous heart
when you are a moon away.

The magical box has been glaringly exposed
by your caramel key. I rouse
from malleable slumber, slipping
into my sandals, as the willowy waves
beckon me, calling me like a siren's anthem.
I urgently wade into the silken ocean,
until I peer just over the hazel horizon,
relishing the sacred island
of starfish and sea horses.
Are you there perhaps on the other shore
longing mistily for me, whispering a luscious wish?

I shut my diamond eye, tears stinging lovingly;
I can distinguish you in my aching soul...
sky blue eyes , dark mane, stoic, yet benevolent.
It's with satin curtains pulled, that I perceive
you clearest, encounter your honey sighs
upon my torso chilled, thoughts unblemished
by what the crazy, weary world offers.
I exhale trembling ever so slightly,
my nucleus ever aching, aching,
my tethered soul unyielding.

I continue to fervently replenish my hope,
chasing splendid, lemon journeys
to acute depths not yet forged
facing frosty truths, lonely, but not alone.
I miss you as always,your silent kisses
betrayed by melancholy sorrow,
when you suddenly vanish
lost in the blues and greys.
We seem to be at a crossroads
where our inner roads conjoin,
seemingly selecting the languorous path
just us two, the Siamese twins,
fearlessly facing life's challenges,
together.