tr-igg-ere-d

smudged thumb print on the second last petal

imprint of a feeling that hungered

snap back with the stinging as the red shows

a wounded flower so pretty in its pose

still pretty with only one hope left

clinging to the base of its blossom with cloying grandeur

at least it thinks

at least it continues to define the whole

apart from the stem

the others sigh green

why always this one

always the last one born

so pretty can’t you see

its edges catch reflecting raindrops

with swirling smiles from the sun

moon

and stars

it could command the galaxies this one

leaving four fingered prints on their lenses

making them so giddy they’d spill their soil

exposing all routes

there would be truth in that

a way at the very least

to make its detachment

seem

alright

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Gone Gone

An unsmiling leaden cloud cynically blocks out the sun,

Hogging the sky, as if it alone has rights to the day,

An uninvited wind, unseen and death cold, steals its own moment,

Pretending to be uninvolved…

“A world of darkness is one without answers,

A life full of answers is one with too many bad questions…”

White flashes of pain accompany the metallic rumble,

A sour rain threatens to pour from my eyes,

Dousing what’s left of this day and killing my hope,

I can already taste the earth…

“The faith of the faithless is never tested or wasted,

Yet it throbs with the strength of its own purpose…”

When the land is soaked through and yet my throat remains dry,

I know time has left me behind to face the night alone,

Wrapped in my own feelings I imagine a moon after the storms,

And my roots shiver…shiver…shiver…

“Growth is immeasurable while it happens,

It becomes shy when you stop to notice it…”

 

Walking

“How long have we been walking?” I asked turning back into the fuggy darkness.

There was no response, just the faint sound of a branch breaking in the undergrowth as if the silence were furtively retreating.

I blew warm air on my gloved hands and looked at them with irritation as if it were their fault they couldn’t stay warm.

Looking down at my own footprints in the cold mud, and then all around me as if in disbelief, I wondered who I had been directing my question to.

Was I thinking that out loud or did I really think somebody was here?

Surely there was somebody just here, somebody who had come all this way with me in these conditions, otherwise how could I have done it alone?

The answer to that question quickly became irrelevant as I now started considering where exactly I was and the new question was “where the heck am I?”

This time I was sane enough to think it in my head although it seemed loud enough in there to startle me a little.

Or maybe it was the slight fear that I had to ask the question in the first place that startled me.

What a bother I am in, surely.

 

Steel

Faced a world of clattering steel have I,

Kissed the horrors that couldn’t let me die,

Bonded with curses that pierced my roving eye,

Upon a powdery bed of bones my heart’s stifled cry,

Why?

I swing a dastardly weapon with a thirsty edge,

Wooing enemies with long toothed grins into my bed,

The sound of thunder and drums booms flirting with the end,

It was mine long before theirs oh if I could only smile and pretend,

And then?

Decimation would surely come,

The winged creatures would plummet from above,

Into the subliminal wilderness tumbling from my shove,

Lying in a shallow grave with the others I’ll lick my wounds when I’m done,

What of love?

15:30 Cup of Tea

Once the lid lifts the emptiness can but escape…

The essence rises disappearing into the senses,

I’m open…

Boiled to perfection by waters that cleanse as a matter of decency,

This particular pot is for contemplation,

Is this me?

Hello…

A cupful for us both then, well met I’d say,

No sugary vagaries we’re natural in this madness,

Been at this tea party before,

Just not so with such company…

And not ever with this wild special blend,

It has me gingerly reaching,

Towards the light…but I am so alive…

Feeling,

The inside of a burnt black pot,

What an odd place to hide?

No more,

You too said so, promised on your lips,

That taste is bewitching, like cinnamon sprinkled childhood,

A whole forest on my tongue, the little leaves rustle…

In that last sip there they are,

Looking like they want to be rescued,

And I would oblige them if I wasn’t in such fine company,

They can wait, I say and I agree too…

My needs are clear…

From now on, you all pay for your own coffee…

Rabbit Eyes

I

The wind has been whistling beneath my feet,

Tickling me into shivers as I chase mine out in the street,

I don’t look too far nor stray in any away,

But I feel my wonder canter wherever my disposition will play,

I roam with unmeasured intent like a falling leaf,

Just staying afloat waiting for the down to bring relief,

Since I’ve left my tree I’ve lived each night for each day,

Pulling the strings with the crystalized blotches on display…

II

It feels like I need keys to hark back to,

Keys to open me up to what they say true,

These flittering things that protest to know me,

As they hold on snugly and reduce me to what I used to be,

It actually seems that changing tides will not wash through,

With time slowly drowning maybe they have only made me see askew,

Through the haziness of the bubbles that captured the dreams I set free,

The ones I was so sure that if I pursued on my own would fill me with glee…

III

They riddle me with shame as they burn in my heart,

They ridicule me in blame when I don’t learn and fall apart,

I saw it in those Rabbit Eyes as we met so unexpectedly while crossing,

My brother’s heroin bent instincts were to flee without stopping,

But love haunts the wicks in the depths of his soul shaft,

Just as I am haunted by his face I see on those lost,

Ambling vagrants outside in the wind tossing,

Wondering if any of this is worth stopping…

 

Fallen

Fallen.
A poem from a wounded warrior lying prone on a desert’s vast audaciousness,
A crying silence of appeal that itself stretches for the horizons,
Screams without talking,
For all who were here have been cut down, like death was never more contagious than this,
One hand still clutching as if reaching for the sun rising,
His soul will be day walking…
Shimmering against the blades of dry grass threatening the sky to drop its basement,
Changing hues dance to the music of the beating sun,
Her melodies scorching,
The warrior’s place fades as his memories bleed out on the very ground he is facing,
There is nothing left he is blinded in her and his war is done,
He will be remembered as tortured…
Although,
Not by that gawking lizard gaudy in his guise against the desert’s blandness,
A false witness whose truth is as natural as it is sinister,
But what does it know of the wounded,
Or those who fight against others when they could be united in their sadness,
Maybe it is just the finisher,
Who could have assumed it?