Fall Migration

' I know it is not Fall yet, but this is a piece about that time of year.

Skies illuminate in amber
the crisp air shimmering
over frosted skin,
leaves moving from green
to gold to crimson to plum.

Foliage descends from trees
burying the cold ground
the sunlight streaming
through tree branches,
its warmth hinted at by bright rays.

Flocks of geese
litter blue horizons
dusted with ivory clouds,
as they migrate to tropical places -
the continents of Africa and Europe.

And I am getting older,
once a silly man
who espoused what appeared
to be smart revelations,
but wisdom came with age, experience
and not ideological youth.

Warm blanket on my lap
I am content for the moment
knowing that change is inevitable
that when the world overwhelms
it is best to go limp
when falling out of the lofty air.

What Was

Note -  It has been quite a while since I last posted my work in my blog. There have been a variety of reasons for this, but I am determined to keep this blog going, Sorry for being remiss I shall correct it!

What Was

I would watch him
in tender moments
somewhere between blue skies and inky sea
while he slept beside me,
head on my shoulder
fully unaware that I observed him.

I would trace his hips
with one finger
and he would grasp my hand
like the child he has always been.

thorns

sometimes judgment obscures -
significant truths
plunge into battles of woes

thorny bushes scrape
foolish pride
who is right, wrong
mere projections
that hurt aimlessly
like hitting the bullseye
blindfolded
wreckage of pride senseless

all I acquire
are bragging rights
for precision

ultimately, the war is lost
though the skirmish won
alienation the price paid
for defensive darts flung
in efforts to be understood -
why do my words plummet
like an anchored ship?

barbed wire hands
cling to shredded hearts
mountains of baggage slip
expose valleys of vulnerability -
pick, pick, pick

sinkhole of thoughts swirl
questions, answers intertwine
pull me underneath
where I breathe mulch

alone again
I shake my weary head
submerged in confusion
I ask -
was it worth it?
was it worth it?

now and then

This was written for a competition where we were required to write vignettes in response to a current popular song based on a sonnet written. The song selected was "Born To Die" by Lana Del Ray

i.

through opaque crystal

I sift through dreams, what was

what now is

what seemed forever a mix

of dreams embraced,

free of inhibition

rests a life forgotten

put on hold,

bound with yesteryear’s spirit

that hummed sweet nectar

when hopes were at once eternal

now expunged

ii.

I trek down many paths

particularly ones emblazoned

with your curse

I tried to reform

taste the feral journey,

though it screams so

in all appearances

boys like me don’t hatch

from the typical nest-egg

we trade souls

hiss secrets to be liked, craved

so that in the night air’s bustle,

you desire more

only the high of you

gets me off

satiates heroin hearts

does not hesitate

to transform and become

what you spell out

in amour’s curse

I sing hoarsely

“it’s not the end,

but I perish in Autumn’s amber”

iii.

the outcome is always the same

I always dreamed it would be me

that Heaven would embrace those

that fought through trenches

living out the now in future’s folly

but you can never return

to an innocent past

where hard work, determination

paid dues for those who rasterized

internal worlds now guilty

in slackened acceptance

your body listless

at the foot of the bed

a slash of crimson

where there ought to be a bow

I Loved You Then As I Do Now

* This piece was created for a contest. Most people know I do not write rhyme, unless it is eternal, because I suck at it, but somehow in this challenge, I was given specific meter requirements, and was told how the syllables should sound in the sonnet itself, and something clicked. I am getting a warm reception writing out of my comfort zone, so I was just excited to share!

** Rhyme scheme: abbaabba cdcdcd (iambic pentameter)

I Loved You Then As I Do Now

Though life’s travails can break a turtle dove
Kaleidoscopes deny the trickster’s verse
We stay together through the journey's curse,
And rise to hold each other’s heart in love
We recognize the lessons taught above
Connection sealed in passion’s wealthy purse
Concealed embraces we reserve, rehearse
Like hands that snugly fit in leather gloves

Our Heaven dwells on Earth not in the sky
The miracle of blooming buds in May
And pleasures shared when hopes learn how to fly
Sweet tenderness defies the need to stray
You changed my tears of pain from wet to dry
Illumination clears our paths each day

Citrus

* This poem was written for a contest. The requirement was to use color in 75 words or less. I loved this challenge, because color is a device I use in general for my poetry. In fact, I had to cut back on the use of color, not because I needed to so much as to try other poetic devices. In other words, I have been trying to grow, so I hope you all appreciate my efforts.


Citrus

My mind dwells in yellow;
blues dissolved green
until what lingered
was a sour lemon
stuck in butter.

Abandonment isn’t as awful
as the remains
of a tepid relationship
picked over by crows,
bones buried
in fermented compost.

Words spit nails into hands,
pressed against stucco walls
knives thrown at cranberry heart
missing by inches
but you wear plum battle scars.

Yet, I miss the idea of you -
only the thought.

Unpretty

* This is a piece of fiction written first person through the eyes of a child. This is a collected amalgamation of experiences I have heard over the years, and it is not meant to reflect any aspect or piece of my life. I have no Aunt Desiree, nor do I know the James in this poem.

Prompt for contest: Quote: The demons that dwell within. ~ Gerald W. Locke, Jr. 
 
~ Take this prompt where you may. There can and will be many various interpretations of this quote. No more than twenty lines and no more than six words per line.

Unpretty

Masticated sobs cut the sky
sight of mailman’s letter.
Aunt Desiree faints
before grey envelope is opened
divulges grave knowledge.

He’s dead! It's my fault!
Mama shrieks, sisters bracing her fall -
James officially confirmed dead.

Before Darfur, Palestine,
Desert Storm, Afghanistan, Korea,
where Father escaped cognizant,
lives eternally shattered
like herbs ground by marble pestles.
Families faced military papers
casualties of war’s glitter.
Some only culled white noise.

People pontificate personal tribulations.
Vietnam was commensurate:
global colossal waste, scars imbedded
in defiled gunshot wounds.

when spring arrives

when spring arrives


i. primrose

salmon rosettes bloom
Spring’s first breath
Winter defeated

you tickles spots within
warms chills
first kiss from pink lips
makes knees wobble

sweet aroma remains
silk scarf left behind
stuffed in pillowcase

I dream of you


ii. daisy

love me or not
plucked until
one leaflet remains

you are the one

nerves overwhelm
I ask if you will journey
into uncharted paths

yellow centers with white asterales
descend from Heaven
when you say

yes


iii. snapdragons

we cultivate gardens
till soil
plant trees, blossoms
your favorite
pink clusters with angry faces

the following April
cough persists
blood drains from mouth

doctor’s diagnosis
bequeaths news
words dreaded most

how long? I inquire

doom fills bloated silence


iv. tulip

waxen stance
as coffin passes
tears suppressed
eyes sore
disconsolate grief
dazed disbelief

faded crimson petals
tinges with yellow fold
on once vibrant chest
perfect yet fragile

cursed by nature’s storms


v. hydrangea

we play peek-a-boo
smiles glow iridescent
still on all-fours

one day you will inquire
where she disappeared
you possess her eyes
pale baby blues
bushy florets of hair
tied in satin ribbons

bitter truth lodges in pharynx

Teeter Totter

* I originally wrote this poem back in November 2012 from a prompt my friend Karen gave to me, and it now seems appropriate to post.


Teeter Totter

The sea engulfs, waves that roar
                their voices heard
                                from where I perch
                afraid to inch forward, this tightrope
                                a slick balancing act
                                between the past
                                               and present,
                as jealous sky spins on my right.

I feel the trickle of tears
                beads of sweat
                                that trigger paralysis;
                                I must move forward,
                confront hostile realities
                                              honestly,
                accept their approval or criticism
                without hindrance of my progress.

Life sways in the balance;           
                I press on despite
                                this notion of teetering
                                            on the edge
                                of life, death, flying, falling,
                                decisions that affect
                my ultimate success, derision.
                Whoever declared existence
                                           would be paved
                                with pearly rose-beds
                forgot to announce the thorny truths.
                The true reality? We create paths
                                to follow or not without wisdom
                                of how fate will play her last ace.

I slip, catch the rope,
                hang on by a hair
                                scream for some kind soul
                                to bail me out of bitter lies,
                                contradictory facts,
                                                to pave the way
                                so I may see in obscured light
-                               climb mountains not foraged,
               as wails reverberate into an abyss.

I pull myself up by tethered bootstraps,
                                while anger turns to hurt
                                               then to resentment,
                                but fury awakens courage instilled
                                               in crevices of tissue
                                hidden from consciousness,
                                as I grasp the platform
                on the other side panting for air.

What I gleaned is this:
                memories hold us hostage, encircle faith
                                like a vulture that feeds
                                on cadaverous cattle.
                They obliterate futures of hope and faith
                terrified we can achieve the spectacular
                                            while the present
                                stuns us into submission.

Time for an oil change, lubricate ideas,
                                tighten loose screws,
               exfoliate crisp falsehoods       
                                embrace a new way of existence,
                                          and relish in satisfaction.

No More Sun

Poetry spills from painted hands
tumbles, rolls to storm drains
where they lay
amidst cluttered leaves,
fermented mulch.

Why do words of jubilation
wither from consciousness?
The internal world marinates
in soft tissue, blood;
even the sun can cry,
shed noxious tears
like sheared wool from a ram.

My phrases drip in melancholy
liquidate into greens and yellows,
joy squelched by anxiety, fear
places familiar, comfortable
like swaddled in a lined mink coat.

On the surface
smiles light in cerulean seas
filled with optimism, potential;
underneath, the earth quakes,
fissures appear in tectonic plates
foundation clamors,
sucks in the land, atmosphere
dwells in doldrums.

Yes, I feel beatitude,
but what I know is change occurs
in a wispy blink
as the past incubates demons
who plan to haunt my currency.
It is Fool’s Paradise,
but I stick with what is understood.