Tag Archives: pollution

Gatlinburg By The Shore

I drive straight through until I get the sea, just stopping for gas and quick snacks.

Gatlinburg on the shore is what this town is, but I can see the endless waters here.

The threat of rain as I sit on the beach, the sky the color of an old, neglected tombstone.

The waters just as dark in color. But oceans separate the worlds, the planes of being.

 

I walk on the sand, heading away from gaudy, crass city. There are cigarette butts

and beer cans and plastic trash in the sand. Nothing sacred or beloved. No pride at all.

I walk on the sand, and maybe just in my imagination, I see a mermaid out in the water,

and I hear her tempting and mournful song, the only true psalm in praising loss.

 

I stand there, between kingdoms, wanting to leave this one forever, not knowing how.

I see, however real, a mermaid past the breaking waves, a dream of spirits and angels

that made all this world pure and treasured, before we made all of it all about ourselves.

Her song is mournful, a psalm to loss, and standing there, I wish for the will to go to her.

All The Boys Are Gone

A young and pretty French girl, in her blue and white swimsuit,

walks upon the beach, her light brown hair a little shaggy,

that shortly ago was a playful pixie cut.

The holiday season is over, but it’s still warm, still bright,

and she imagines she will see mermaids again, out in the waves,

know that all the ignorant eyes are gone.

That all the boys are gone.

Still cigarette butts in the sand, and a soda can half-buried,

people not caring. A million years ago no people existed, to take

and to sully, and to claim as their own.

The mermaids were here though, as they always have been, outside of time,

and a girl’s broken heart, like hers. A mermaid, with dark hair, sparkling tales,

waves to her from the breakers.

She waves, all the boys are gone.

The mermaids are eternal and outside of time, like the hulking black bunkers,

from a war that never ended, just down the coast. Skulls of a demon that burrows

in brains and flesh, always hungry, always finding willing hosts.

She walks into the water, lukewarm and swallowing, and swims out to the mermaid,

her sister and friend, who knew here, when she was free and innocent, and the terror

was in shadows and not in the light.

The mermaid has come for her, all the boys are gone.

Disgorged Beast

The dumpster being lifted and emptied,
disgorging it’s rancid trash, brackish water
into the garbage truck with clang and smash,
sounding like the cry and roar of ancient beast.

4:30 A.M., the beasts rage wakes me, in my room,
cluttered and disarrayed, to the sickly piss yellow streetlight
shining in from my bedroom window, a mocking sun,
the light of heaven gone and curdled in this world.

On the desk is the words and incantations of poetry,
last ditch hope, that I can make an angel come to me,
with her sword of fire, wings of white, and furious eyes,
or a least a kiss from her so I can fight these ancient beasts,

that roar in the night, hiding in our skins and faces,
in industrial clatter of the waking world, the noose that
is soft and sweet and slow that we welcome it’s grip like
a young and enthusiastic lover, as the ancient beasts command.

I lay in that sickly light, that ancient beast chugging on,
and compose prayers and invitations for that pure angel,
so we can fight and I can be brave and maybe the ancients beasts
won’t have their revenge in the black pool liquid of their bones.

All To Loss

I see her, out in the water, the distant face
and long black hair of the mermaid.

She watches me, wary and curious,
not sure, and not coming closer.

Our eyes lock, and I smile for her,
but hers in return is ghostly.

Then she flips her tail, swims away,
back into the depths that are no shelter.

Our world makes it all go dark, all to loss,
and nothing will remain from our greed.

Her eyes, ice white and sharp, stay in my
mind, as the day begins, humanity marching on.