The fall of Lucifer in my eyes.
A seam
In the stream of life
Came apart
Letting loose all of my dreams
So many moonless nights
On which to gaze upon falling stars
With their earthly light
Watching the end of flight
Of a meteorite bound for hell
One last flash as it burned
With the first glance at our atmosphere
And then a blazing head and tail
Tell the tale of the trajectory
That was predetermined to end its flight
On a silent moonlit night
Having promised mother earth
That it would return someday
I could hear it hissing and as it
Protested burning away at its seams
Came apart at the end of its long
Journey amongst the stars
Never having had an ounce of life
And yet as it raced across the sky
It seemed to be so alive to me.
traveling so far
to places planes and cars cannot go
paths into the narrows and the depths
of consciousness
uncut through the thicket
traversing through the invisible
like water evaporating into the ether
beyond sight and sound
little moments plucking and rounded,
moving toward the beauty
far beneath the surface
far into the depths
where time is as soft
as a blanket of silence
carefully wrapped and untouched
by all that’s happening
entering the peacefulness
of acceptance
alabaster paired with the onyx
like whites and pupils
and piano keys playing the music
for the choir
and something collaborative
seen through the tiger’s eyes
with their keen flecks of gold
shining beneath a calm sky
like marbled permanence
while the sun and moon chase the horizon
beating in time
along the soft rose quartz
heartbeats
watching the ripples
in the deep blue sapphire pools
and the fertile jade
of evergreen tendrils
wrapped around the trellis
near the pear trees
espaliered with their arms
forever outreached
grasping for the leaves of the next
in peace’s garden
It's probably just the wind,
The howling of the evening breeze,
The cries of the swinging branches,
Whipping against the window of my room.
It's probably just the rain,
Crying for the loss of her daughters,
Slain and mutilated,
The soaked bodies of the trunks of uprooted trees.
It's probably just the shadows,
Of the trees beside the windowsill,
The sound of an object slamming on glass surface,
Also making the curtains tremble.
It's probably just a bird,
Whose body almost cracked the window,
And stained it red as strawberries,
And left trails of hair in its wake.
It's probably just an illusion,
Of a body crossing the room,
A slow trail of black long hair,
A hurried tremble of long thin limbs.
It's probably just a-
Oh.
It's her.
Yellow daffodils
hail the season spring,
Yellow blooms -tall twin tulips,
by the gardens swing.
Yellow buttercups,
dress a sunny roadside field,
Yellow cowslips peek out
along a shadowed quiet creek.
Yellow dandelions,
wave fluffy tufted heads,
Yellow hot, scorched summers sun,
yellowed grass burnt dormant dead.
Hayfields, oats, wheat, rye.
Yellow bales,-in fields slumber sigh,
Orchards yellow transparency apples
On sturdy branches high.
The harvest moon’s, soft yellow glow,
across great nature’s lemon sky,
Yellow stars soft twinkling light,
ride lake’s rolling waves at night,
A cluster of stars in the galactic sky,
luminous patchy dusty nebulae,
looks like a flat conch
swirling with splattering azure fire glitters,
fiery stars are iced by a gassy spatula,
the stellar constellation looks like ninja star,
planets are lapis lazuli
embedded in the black smooth maquette
sketched by the Almighty,
Herculean enigma unresolved,
travelling time over many millenniums,
Shimmering dust scattered over,
impotent to unfurl the knot of deity,
to disentomb the path to eternity…
__
a pure snowflake drifts and rests in my palm melting swiftly like a promise never kept, the icy teardrop winks at my glassy eyes ‘til the sorrow dies
This flesh
eats me
piece
by
piece,
grinding
white
then
yellow teeth,
until
This flesh
is
divested
of flavour,
and digested,
regurgitated,
consumed in masticated
repetitions
of ravenous
behaviour.
No amount of garnish
can save
This flesh,
no days under marinade
could inject it with taste,
could make it any more palatable,
( just gristle, jerky,
not malleable).
Tough bristles
had to be wiggled
until stuck morsels
were eased free
from entombed teeth
and were spat out
or were swallowed
like balled wet paper.
This flesh,
dried out,
furrowed,
never a delicacy,
never a treat,
eats me,
eats me.
EATS
me
piece
by
bloody
piece.
trapped in a web of unforgiveness
wrapped in tarnished brass bitterness
eating away at flesh like rusted metal
slowly dying from inabsolution
she released her harbored heart
through newfound grace leaving
behind her anger in the mangled mess
she inhaled restoration instead