Monthly Archives: June 2017

Ghastly Shows

The wild autumn wild blows
as we stand in line for ghastly shows.
Hand in hand we walk into the dark,
where only our love is a bright spark.

And we see the ghosts and ghouls
and we laugh at vampires; we know their rules.
The zombies walk in the graveyard,
their souls and faces broken and marred.

when it’s over now, and we walk out on the street,
dancing in the skeletal wind, not missing a beat.
We make our world under the kiss of the moon,
never caring that dawn is coming so soon.

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Angela

The silvery moon shines through my window.
Where you are tonight, my love, I don’t know.
A war in a far off place took you from my side.
Who ever knew, that this world was so wide?

The old bar on the end of my run down street,
the familiar place, where every night we’d meet.
Beer and pool and laughter, and once, a soft kiss.
The future that that kiss promised is my emptiness.

The moon shines on all the world with it’s cold light.
The dream we hoped for is lost, nothing to put it right.
And the bar is just a hollow shell haunted by your ghost.
I lay in my bed, in the dark, with dreams, the tears they host.

Come back to me.

The Crown Is Clearer In The Dark

The party is too much noise.
I go outside with a bottle of red wine.
It’s cold and wind, end of September.
The stars a diadem for heaven.
The crown is clearer in the dark.
The crashing surf the bridal train.
I sit in the sand, drinking, singing.
An old love song from my youth.
Sappy and corny as all get out.
Still it’s a hymn to heaven,
worthy of a crowned head,
even on her wedding day.
A boy and girl, laughing,
no darkness in soft faces,
teenagers pure and perverse
as they splash in the waves
and hold hand, kiss, tickle
and run wild on a knifes edge.
I remember. I remember.
She was the sun I orbited,
The sun went nova.
I lay down, bottle empty,
watching those perilous stars
and singing that sappy song.
Hymns are songs of devotion,
glorying the seed of light,
that soothes and burns and inspires.
I hear a woman’s voice calling me.
Please come here to the night.
I will place this crown upon your head

The Moment of Quiet Before The Race

The river, just outside the high school, was still not clean.
Not after all these years.
It roared and was cold and silver, but not clean at all.
It only looked like home.
It still soothes me, something like my mother’s voice,
my lost mother, lost to the arsenic and the greed of man,
that died so I may escape, walk on two feet, safe.
I can’t remember my mother’s voice, only feel it.
In the dead of night, when I am all alone, I can be me,
mermaid and water spirit, floating in the man made pool,
looking up through the glass ceiling at the soft and distant stars,
even as the chlorine burns my skin, makes it pale and flaky.
I am a natural in the water, a child of Neptune and free, so free.
Even in the harsh water I feel free, even using human legs to swim,
I am free and almost home and where I want to be.
I pretend I love the crowd back. I pretend to bask in their cheers.
Mother gone, and I among the humans, who wrecked home for me,
caused my mother to be lost in what was hers and should not have
been taken, would should have been sacred. They should have cared.
Cared about the world they ravage for pieces of paper and shiny metal.
The river roars and I am clear in my mind, before the swim meet,
before my only peace and comfort, something more than the cramped
bathtub I have in the home a live in, with a sympathetic human,
where I can at least have my tale out, they I am trapped, with nowhere to go.
The meet is about to began, and I get up, and walk up the hell, the cool air
turning hot in my lungs, and my heart racing from stress if not exertion.
The quiet is fading, and these noisy bastards will soon cancel out all the peace,
but that is yet to come, and it is still a cool spring morning, and I am alone with quiet.

Tugger

Late in the lab,
tired and bleary.
My heart still hurts,
my soul still weary.
Trying to pipette
and be lost in this.
Not think of him
and his tender kiss.
Can’t swallow the sun
and I can’t push it out.
Can’t kiss the moon
or let go of my doubt.
Ponytail, keeps hair up,
out of my face worn dull.
Not even in sleep now
is there a soft lull.
Tugged, my ponytail pulled!
I snap around, looking for him!
He used to pull my ponytail,
did he come in this lab so dim?
Hand to the back of my head,
was it a ghost or a dream?.
Was it a desire for his return,
or an intoxicating moonbeam?

Love and Thread

Needle and thread, she sews the skin together,
simple domestic and womanly things, seals
the cut that manly, and honored, things had opened.
Her husband, almost like her beloved doll Amelia,
that was wounded and opened by love, stuffing
put back inside, and closed up, to receive more love.
Her husband, closed up, but not as simple as sewing shut.
Wounds linger, maybe gangrene, or permanent limp.
He’ll receive more love, but will not be the same.
She puts away her needle and thread, bandages him,
once more have gotten more life out of something torn.
Next time, will love and thread be enough?

Seeds

A lost child from the water has the most kissed face,

make clean and holy by the black river’s depths that
love my cherish a ghostly clean smile, full of light.
A daughter of Persephone holding Cairron’s hand
as the water erases every trace that held her name
from the world that gave her seeds of the underworld.
Kisses unfelt are still tender, though sparks shame heaven.
A face kept pure as it watches from the bedroom wall.
Tenderness sweetned by the bitterness of death scented breath.

Wildflowers

Wildflowers blowing in an open field,

heads bowed to the ground

and whipped back to exalt the sky.

They know not why they grow

or why they bloom

or why so many had to die.

Those who knew are gone,

buried deep beneath the field.

The young don’t know, no do they try too.

The wildflowers grow, and lover’s now wallk,

and the ghosts remain silent.

A Ritual For One

The dead of night without dreams.

Sleepless, sitting in a darkened kitchen,

drinking piping hot coffee, looking out

on the street lit only by sickly streetlamps.

The demons run riot, kicking up a stir,

though I may look calm, and dead eyed stare,

out at the quiet world that gets to rest.

The demons always run riot, never let me be.

The coffee is hot, and harsh, and bitter,

and it keeps me connected to this world,

and it’s alkaline pleasures and hard touch.

A simple thing on a sleepless night.

A ritual to get through, as reverent in it’s

banal steps to make something I don’t need

as any religious ceremony, made for communion.

A ritual for one, who is not even a supplicant.

Maybe for a moment, just a moment, there is

quiet and the demons winding down to gnaw

on a pleasurable memory or a tender place so sacred.

Maybe I can distract them with some anger or bitterness.

Soon, the day begins, and I put on my smile and laugh

and go through it all again, as the demons ruin everything

and nothing sacred stays in my heart, and the devil beats

his wife on a sunny day, that is just a well lit rainstorm.


I Can Run To Heaven

The forest is cool and damp in the fog,

the bluish smoke a gossamer veil over

dead and burned out trees, tiny flowers.

I know The Devil is after me, coming here,

and I do not know the way To Refuge,

by the silver waters and cold, grey mountain.

I run, run and run. It’s what I do. What I know.

The scams and the awful choices and her leaving.

I ran kinder forests when I was 17, still a child.

Just keep moving, I hear his harsh breath,

and clipping hooves and smell his stench.

I can run forever. I can run to Heaven.

Commandant had the evidence. Another had

the receipts of needed things for a quiet night.

Mom and Dad didn’t know. If I make it, they never will.

The fog welcomes me like an overeager lover

and closes around me like hungry flesh of that lover,

who wants your skin to be their skin, all as one.

The fog welcomes me, and I know it is The Devil’s

friend and The Refuge is near the running water

and I can find it, to rest and plead my sorry case.

Just keep moving. I can run forever. I can run until

the daylight rips the fog away, like a mask from a demon,

or the lying smiles of that cold heart that said: “I Love You.”

Just keep moving. I can run forever.