Monthly Archives: July 2016

Kindergarten

This place was her sweet paradise,
where she ran and played, picked dandelions
and talked about Dandy Lions prancing in the grass
and the wishes the granted when you blew the seeds.
 We stayed here, when trouble came, her family lost,
the home burned, the plague and violence everywhere.
But the violence never touched this Little Eden.
I played games and songs and told her stories, to make her smile.
My maker made my emotional core better than he thought.
 And she lay and dreamed under the big blue sky,
talked to the angels and her family in heaven,
and I tended the plants and garden to keep her fed
and to keep her safe. I do not sleep, so I’d lay her
in my metal lap, and protect her in the night.
 Then she too was gone, my little darling, my cared for child,
and I buried her by the clear and cold stream she played in
and swam with mermaids and the King of Atlantis, so easily.
I tend the garden as the roots absorb her flesh, a communion,
returning her light and innocence to the world.
 The plague and the violence took them all, and if my eyes
could make tears, I’d cry over her grave until I was nothing
but rust and loss. The emotional core makes me humanlike,
so humanlike I know the pain of loss.
 I tend the garden, still, until my batter dies at 500 years.
Her spirit and innocence is in the grass, in the trees,
in the nestling birds and the Dandy Lions granting wishes
as the seeds blow in the wind.
 She is near, I feel her near, though she’s been gone so long.

Deep, Emerald Green

The woods of deep emerald green,
the fog and morning a mystical scene.
Soft shafts of light through the mist.
Why would we ever be found, or missed?
Her hand warm and wet, held so tight.
King and queen of some lost Fairie delight.
Let these sorrow slip out from our souls.
Left behind, people whose heart are black coals.
And the animals welcome us here,
It’s ever morning, ever warm, without fear.
More things that they ever dreamed of.
King and queen abide in innocence and love.
A coranation by the angels, given golden crowns.
The gold braid sewed into the royal purple gowns.
Adored by all the lost, broken and empitied out.
She holds those filled with tears and doubts.
The woods of the deep emerald green, ours.
where the innocent and weak no longer cowers.
Somewhere beneath the ground we were put away.
Children thrown out by the world so bitter gray.

Due North

The all night snack bar, by the drawbridge, almost morning.
Hot coffee can’t burn away the fog in my head, or seer the
sorrow of my heart, the constant chasing of her.
She smiles and I cast down my eyes. She knows. She knows.
Work’s coming up fast and I’ll have to go, and I’m so nervous
about stealing looks, but I’m a compass, she’s due north.
What I wouldn’t give to be someone real and confident,
who could give whatever it she’s looking for, what dream,
to ride off in my trash car to a better life.
I throw away the empty styrofoam cup, and give her a smile,
which she returns, and a little wave. I know I should never
come back her again, that it only hurts to see her.
But I point, ever and always, Due North.

Shared

This was a secret world, among the thick green and tall grass, a lush little grotto by the clear, silver creek. The sounds of the highway and the shouts and noise of the people in the town did not come here. It was a shard of Eden.
Gabriella was leading me by the hand. That hand was small and warm, and felt so light and strong in my own. We did not talk, as this was sacred.
The branches and leaves of the trees hid even the twilight sky, though honeyed gold lit us in robes of flames. She pulled her hand away and faced me. She smiled, then placed her hands on my shoulders, signaling me to kneel in the dirt.
I did.
Her smile grew brighter, and she did the same.
Her fingers brushed my cheek, and she looked me in the eye, locking me in her light, which was grey like starlight, and as ancient. Her eyes were the color of the water that was the only sound, deep and resonate and without blemish.
She kissed me, softly, tenderly. Her fingers curled into my hair.
A light began to emminate from inside her chest, crimson and pulsating and rich, the color of blood and life and birth. She put her fingers into that light, and pulled her chest open.
The ball of crimson light came out in her hands. Our sacred place was like an unshed womb, dark with nuturing flesh.
On her face was a shy and intimate smile, the light in her hand she was handing to me, to my hands that waited and trembled, in this most intimate moment, our most delicate bonding.
She was handing me her soul.
I held it, and it was heat that did not burn, a dream that did not wake, a wound that was cut and healed at birth.
I felt the light of her, the essence that had drawn me to her, helpless against her wonder, was in my hands.
We were one, this angel and me.
And I felt all the sweetness of my life return, untarnished by loss and the fall from grace, I felt the times the light of heaven had poured through me like the river crashing in white capped power down the mountain, washing away all else in it’s past.
If I had been unworth, we both would have burned away.
And in that fleeting eternity, that sweetness of her glory, she knew all there was in me, and all I could be, that I would be, for her, for us.
And I returned her soul to her , and slipped back into her silk and soft flesh that closed around it, and sealed in the light.
She looked like a young woman again, hiding her power and beauty.
Again, she reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek.
Again, she gave me a soft, tender kiss.
The tears wracked me then, unable to absorb all that had happened, that we had shared.
She drew me in her arms and kissed my head, sang me a song from some happy land.
I cried, then slept in her arms.

Where No Eyes See

Down the little trace of a trail,
away from the road and the picinic ground,
away from all the people and their noise
and crudness, she waits.
 Trees and weeds thick and green.
Only the quiet of the wind
and the clear water babbling.
Even my thoughts go quiet.
Even my heart grows still.
 Hidden in a clutch of trees,
a patch of grey pebbles and sand.
Deep waters still and dark.
I see her dark hair and glistening face.
I see her huntress smile.
 I strip naked and go to her.
The water is cold and sweet.
She runs her fingers through my hair.
Wraps her tail around me, brings me close.
She kisses me, claiming me.
 Where no eyes see, we are together.
A place left for her, as the wildness
and darkness of the world is flattened
and made into an amusement park,
a shopping boutique.
 She holds me close, her skin warm
despite the coldness of the water,
the depths of the darkness in our hearts.
We go down in the depths, beneath a flickering sun,
breathing the light of passion.
 We swim, above and below the water,
wicked as children, as free and strange as innocence,
as lost as lovers who cling to each other.
The sun fades away, our time passes away.
Sweet times are never long enough.

As the stars start to come from bloody sunset,
I put my clothes back on, and head back
to the world of fast food, gossip, and churches.
Leave her behind, to go to her den and her kind.
I blow her a kiss. She smiles before diving away.

 I walk back, heading buzzing with her devotion,
and my own heart swells with the feelings I
have for her and our little feral grotto,
our place in a better sun, a better dream,
as I hear the roar of traffic, people laughing.

Sky and Sea

I wake as first light comes over the sea.
The blue waves black in red light.
The black being chased to blue.
Soon, the blue sky, the blue sea,
will be one, indistinguishable.
 She wakes, and sits next to me.
Peace in sleeping under the sky
and by the sea, the crashing waves
that soothe, remind that there is
more than humans.
 A war rages, the world is burning,
even  as we find the peace of an
ancient, more wild goddess,
here under the sky, by the sea,
crashing waves.
 We hold hands, and when light comes
we will hit the tall glass waves,
ride them to paradise and to shore,
to that place where we are no longer
ourselves, but one with sky and sea.
 And the world is burning, the blue
of sky and sea being turned black,
like the hearts of humans, the minds
of the pious. We are burning home.
We are burning ourselves.
 A moment, one with sky and sea,
as the water takes us back to birth
our us and of all life on the verdant land.
One with sky and sea, me and her, becoming
one by fading into a goddesses heart.
 And the world is burning.

This Is Station 9, Out Past Charon

This is Station 9, out past Charon, can you hear me?
Station 8, out by Titan, can you hear me?
It’s been a month since your last reply?
What’s happened? Are you okay? Can you hear me?

It’s dark and cold out here in space, I need a voice.
It’s dark and cold out past the edge, I need your laugh.
It’s been a month since your last reply?
What’s happened? Did I offend you? Can you hear me?

 Is there still an Earth to go home too? Is the world still there?
Is there still an Earth to go home too? Did they fucking do it?
It’s been a month since your last reply?
What’s happened? Is it just us in the dark? Can you hear me?
 There is no one else. There is only us. Please reply.
There is no one else. There is only us. Please reply.
It’s been a month since your last reply?
Am I alone until Charon comes to Charon? Can you hear me?

Spook Show

The woman followed the vampire willingly. He was pale and handsome and full of promises, such promises. Through the foggy heath she followed, into the castle, a remnant of decadent aristorcracy. Not much farther now to go.
“I should not be here.” The woman said, as if her head were as full of fog as the night around here. “I should go.”
“But, my lovely one, you’ve come so far already. I have such things to show you.”
He took her hand, which was soft in warm, into his own, which was cold and smooth as marble. The woman’s breath began to come faster now. It would not be much longer now at all.
Down the mossed and broken steps, into the selphulcre. There were candelebra lit, casting velvet shadows on the anciet walls. The oblong coffin was open, it’s lid laying at it’s side.
The vampire moved in close to the girl, inhaling the jasmine scent of her perfume, the lilac scent of her silky hair. Her ran a long, white finger down the line of her jaw. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“I have such things to show you, my lovely one.” The vampire said, and sank his long fangs into the woman’s neck, sucking her life’s essence through the pin prick wounds.
Sonya shuddered in the darkness, imagining the vampire’s ivory fangs sinking into her own neck. Flickering on the screen, the woman slowly crumpled as her life was drained out of her. Her skin became pale and smooth like the vampire’s. She seemed to be in ecstasy even as conciousness and life slipped away from her. They so often followed, perhaps knowingly.
In the safety of the audience, where nothing on the screen, no matter how cruel and cunning could touch her, Sonya wondered what it would be like to walk into the night, into the fog and shadow, and follow the devil into his world.
The movie was letting out. It was well after midnight, the triple feature have taken up all the darkned hours; soon morning would be coming around again. Sonya leaned against the the front wall, by the poster announcing the night’s shows, and smoked a cigarette. She had promised her mother she’d come right home after the show was over. But it was already so late, surely a few minutes more would not matter……

“Hello.” A voice said. Sonya turned and saw a boy, a teenager like her, smiling at her. He was dressed in dressy black clothes. His hair was shiny and slick and cropped closed to his head. His eyes were ice blue.
“Hello.” Sonya said in return, returning the greeting as she took another drag from her smoke.
“Pardon me, miss, for being so forward. I know we have not been introduced. But I saw you coming into the show tonight. I wanted to make your aquaintance.”
“Why?” Sonya asked, curious.
“Because you are so beautiful, miss.” The boy said. Sonya saw his teeth were perfect and ivory white when he smiled. She didn’t know what to make of his compliment.
“Thank you.” She said, and smiled back at him, a little unsure. She was flattered, but she couldn’t imagine what it was about her the boy found so alluring.
“It’s a dark night out miss, and it’s very late, would you like for me to escort you home. Perhaps we could talk along the way.”
“Sure.” Sonya said, flicking away her cigarette. The crowd from the theatre was already dispersed’ it was just them on the street.
“Splendid.” The boy said, and smiled again with those perfect ivory teeth.

 A wind was blowing. A few leaves, though still green, had already fallen. They were pushed down the sidewalk at their feet. There was the hint of a chill in the wind, the crispness of autumn already beginging to push back the wet, hothouse heat of summer; winter would be here before long.
“You are a brave young lady, to be out so late on your own. Is not you’re mother worried for you.”
“My mother does nothing but worry for me. I’m surprised she doesn’t have ulcers.”
“Are you always making trouble for her?” The boy asked.
“Yeah. I don’t mean to, but it always seems to happen.” Sonja replied.
She turned to look at the boy. He looked every bit as youthful as her, yet something seemed aloof about him. Plus he talked very proper, like one of her grandparents. In the washed out golden light of the streetlamps, she saw his skin was almost as white as marble.
“You shouldn’t be trouble for your mother.” The boy said. “She loves you very much I can assure you. She only wants you to be safe.”
“I know. But it seems like no matter what I do it always causes a stir.”
“Oh, my dear girl, that will never do.”
Sonya turned to the boy and scowled. Why was it any his buisness anyway? Why did he care so much about her mother to begin with?
“You said you came up to me because I was beautiful.” Sonya said, hoping to change the subject.
“Yes, miss, that is true.”
“What’s so beautiful about me?”
“You haves such beautiful skin.” He said. Sonya again scowled at him. What kind of thing was that to say? Though, all things considered, she should perhaps be pleased he didn’t say something rude about the size of her chest. Then again, would he say anything rude at all?
“Beautiful skin?” She asked.
“Yes, very healthy and glowing.” He said, then stopped walking. He leaned in close, ran a finger down her jawline. She didn’t close her eyes or sigh. He’d must’ve downed a bottle of mouth wash before coming out tonight, but still there was a hint of something……fetid on his breath.
“And your cheeks my dear.” The boy continued, now smiling. “They are so chubby and ruddy with color.”
Sonya backed away from his touch. His smile, she saw now, was full of a predator’s hunger. And where there fine tipped fangs there as well. She looked around her; they were in the park, a good half mile from her house, in the middle of the night, no one was around.
She turned to run, not knowing what else to do. Yet she was in such a state now that her limbs betrayed her and she fell in an ungaily heap on the paved trailway. The boy placed his hands upon her arms and easily picked her up. She looked into his ice blue eyes, and knew not what she was seeing.
“Now my dear, be still, and soon I will let you go.”
 Sonya awoke in her own bed, under the covers, nice and warm. She heard her mother snoring in the next room; she had not been awakened. Yet something itched in the back of Sonya’s brain, something that would not let her think it was all a dream. She felt her neck; their were two bumps their, almost like mosquito bites. And she felt somthing hot stirring beneath them.
She curled into a ball beneath her comforter, watched into the darkness of her room, which was lit only by the tint of the moon. What would happen now?

Laughing Children

Laughing children over the wall,
always playing in the dying sun.
 Laughing children never seen,
somewhere beyond the wall.
 Laughing, laughing, laughing,
as twilight descends into night.
 Laughing, laughing, laughing,
yet no one lives there at all.
 Empty streets and empty homes,
nothing here remains of the world.
 Laughing children still play
in the lot beyond the wall.
 Beyond the wall, beyond the wall,
what is there but broken toys?
 Beyond the wall, beyond the wall,
the devil left his burning mark.
 Laughing children over the wall,
always playing in the dying sun.
 Laughing children never seen,
somewhere beyond the wall.

Left Behind

“At least it’s not beer or dope.” I tell myself,
as I pass another night on YouTube, looking
for something to soothe or distract me.
Blood soaked operas. Lovelorn ballads. Old movies
about The Devil or Evil Genuises or Unstoppable Death.
Video Essays about the color blue in Tarkovsky’s films.
“At least it’s not Pornhub.” I tell myself, as I, bleary eyed,
finally go too bed way too late, feeling way too empty.
 The phone never rings, except to tell me an orders come
or my dentist appointment is tomorrow, or it’s a come on.
Emails go out. The words I shape in poems. Mad sessions
from late night freak outs. Weird jokes that pop into my head.
Maybe something cool about my day. Or 500 words on “To The Wonder”.
Whatever goes out, almost never comes out. Not “K” or LOL or
never send this shit to me again! No reaction. Made of a Noble Gas.
Trying to reach out to those who love me, my fingers closing on empty air.
 So it’s back to beheaded queens and lost love and supervillains.
Something to soothe and distract me from the ache in my heart.
My mind broke senior your, and I was 23 before I was myself again.
And they all got married, had children, careers, all that stuff.
I’m not bitter or resentful or shaking my fist at the sky.
Shit happens, and sometimes it happens to you, that’s all.
But I wish I had someone who was there for me, who had the time.
I wish there was a place in this world for. A gift left to make me belong.