Tag Archives: murder

The Assumption of Lilies

A night, cold in February, ghosts on my breath,
the silent fear, little fevers that come now
because no one can comfort you.

I cannot touch your face, or wipe away tears,
or raise the dead or even bring down the
Wrath of God. “Broken Arrow!”

Is love honey in Elysium, giving a sweet taste,
as the eternal sun dries the blood, heals pain?
Does it’s taste tell you, you are remembered?

 

No tracks in the snow, but you walked on air.
What turn into the cold snow, moonlight, was taken?
Lilies lain on your head would let you Assume.

Percival I want to be, to give that Holy Water
to your thirsty lips, and restore your aqua eyes
and that laughter, that can put the pieces back.

The haunters follow us, ever after they claim us.
Maybe that flaming sword could slay them,
but you never had it put into your hand, despite holiness.

 

I play these strings, hoping to make the notes
your laughter so they will love you too, and forever.
Love you as I have always loved you.

I play these strings, to remember, sunlight warming
your skin and the days in childhood paradises and
feel the radiating warmth again, of a perfect summer.

I play these strings, to resurrect you, so you can follow me
from the underworld or a cell, or a lonely grave, bring you home.
But to play these strings I must look back. Always look back.

 

 

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Weighed Beneath The Sky

The ghostly young woman had come with the summer rains,
by the old house, dark and lost, with inky stains.
She stood dim and grey, in that white shirt,
and part of her old school uniform, pleated skirt.
She walked outside, and their were wail and cries,
as if the state of things had come onto her a surprise.
Sleeping in the dirt, where she died so long and gone ago,
waking in a half-light world that she did not ever know.
She had met a lover their, in the once grand estate yard,
telling him she was pregnant, and he stabbed her with a shard
of a broken terracotta pot, and left her and child to bleed.
He told police later: “That bitch and her brat he did not need.”
Put to the grave, but not put to rest, no resolution of loss,
there by the brackish water and laze Spanish Moss,
she cries for her death, her lost child, her betrayed heart.
No way to heaven, weighed beneath the sky, cannot depart.
And I go in the fading twilight and sweltering heat this night,
to say a prayer, light a candle, try and release her with that light,
so that the angels and God above may take that away that pain,
and all that blood and death can be washed away in the summer rain..
And I hope she can walk on that golden field, bright as the sun,
and her child in her arms, given a home to dream and run.
And nothing will ever hurt her again, only the light in a nightless sky.
I pray and offer a rite of healing, passing, as I silently begin to cry.

Séance By The Ocean

It’s the first of September, chill creeping in,
stars gleam without a care as we now begin.
The woman, behind her dark hair, whispers:
“The angels, demons, are all estranged sisters.”

I brought the Angel Michael medal she gave.
One of her many treasured I made sure to save.
The woman clutches into in her tight fist, sighs.
There are only so many unclaimed miracles in the sky.

The woman’s eyes flutter, as the waves crash, recede.
I have learned no escape in drunkenness, sweetest mead.
I need to hear her voice, say goodbye, say: “I love you, still.”
With whatever angels listen, I will gladly make a deal.

The woman’s eyes open, and it’s her that gazes out her eyes.
My heart flutters and breaks, in this bittersweet surprise.
I take in a moment, as a smile comes, conspirital and wild.
The unburned spirit of a woman who kept freedom of a child.

“I love you.” I say, tears flowing know. “I love you. I see you in stars.”
“I see you in old Grail Romances. I see you in the sanctuary that was ours.”
And the smile becomes wider, but sadder, and I she kisses my cheek.
A sweet eternity passes between us, no need now for us to speak.

And then she is gone, and the woman is back, and the medal is gone.
Her empty fist opens, and she strokes my cheek, so far from warm dawn.
I stay on the beach as the woman leaves, watching stars and ocean churn.
What I do now, what I can dream now, what love remains, so difficult to discern.

She Will Take Him To The Stars

She is young and beautiful, with child, LA sun.
The night is coming, dusky, starlight glow.
She is happy, at peace, they will be a family.
What’s coming for her, she doesn’t know.
She tells her child, she will take him to the stars.
That they are glittering angels up in the August air.
He kicks when she tells him, she laughs, caresses her belly.
No innocence, no tenderness, does this world spare.
The night is warm in the canyons, the hot winds still,
and she dreams as the starlight glitters in the pool.
The day was perfect, father will be coming from London.
I’m not sure if God in his Heaven is indifferent or cruel.
Too soon, too soon, she’ll be taken, stolen like the sky.
Father will be in London when it happens, not there.
A lower case angel, a child yet to be, butchered lambs.
She will be remembered, a pretty face, and golden hair.

She Carries The Lamb To Heaven


Schrödinger’s Cat

The cat in the box, neither alive or dead, is waiting for you too look.
Neither alive nor dead, until you look, that it said in a science book.
So as the cold winds bully around the house and I shiver under my blouse
I hope that, as long as you’re not found, that your alive, not in the ground
and not frozen in the snow, after what they did all god would ever know.
If I don’t look, If I don’t see, you’re all right and well and will come back to me.
My heart is broken into shards, cast about the snow in the neighborhood yards
where you laughed and played and from we’re you ultimately strayed.
If I don’t look, if you’re not found, you’re alright, warm, safe and sound.
If I close my eyes, I can believe in a surprise, that you’ll be here, right before my eyes.

Julianne

The ghost of a woman walks down Laurel Avenue.
She is singing as she walks, unafraid, unseeing of you.
A body was found in a yard, all those years ago.
Bodies go back to dust, an unquiet spirit doesn’t go.
 She is singing, a ballad of unseen love and adoration.
She is looking for him. He left on her grave a devout decoration.
That was night it was supposed to all begin, but death came.
A man, angry, with a pistol shot her down. He’s to blame.
 The rain won’t touch her, she is unguided by the moonlight.
She is singing, and it’s a sorrowful call, whispering so slight.
The one she loved, is still haunted, still loves her all these years.
But she can’t find him, and her song, and his heart, are full of tears.

Schrödinger’s cat

The cat in the box, neither alive or dead, is waiting for you too look.
Neither alive nor dead, until you look, that it said in a science book.
So as the cold winds bully around the house and I shiver under my blouse
I hope that, as long as you’re not found, that your alive, not in the ground
and not frozen in the snow, after what they did all god would ever know.
If I don’t look, If I don’t see, you’re all right and well and will come back to me.
My heart is broken into shards, cast about the snow in the neighborhood yards
where you laughed and played and from we’re you ultimately strayed.
If I don’t look, if you’re not found, you’re alright, warm, safe and sound.
If I close my eyes, I can belive in a surprise, that you’ll be here, right before my eyes.

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.