Blogging 101 – Page 19

Winged Moonlight

This pale raven,

prepared to shine,

this ivory plumage

s p a n n e d

beneath

the cobalt sky.

Alabaster wings

scatter stars,

red-gold talons

grip tight

the silver moon.

In silent flight

rising

above the

shadowed world,

breaking chains

of spirits,

herald of the

mist,

and emissary

of a

sunless realm,

nevermore

to shine.

Vanquished

Vanquished now,

I return

to find

all bare of life,

and stilted, stifled purpose

laces the air that has

disguised her

earthy scent,

rank loam in the ruins.

The stones of my home,

my fence,

tumbling

atop each other,

as my men

from their horses,

ungainly unseated,

and skewered

for their lack of skill,

or a champion.

Grasping, bare, black branches soon

reach to pull me into

the shadows

of my mind.

As did she.

Merciful

was the

headsman’s ax,

and swift.

The sky and ground

joined hands

to somersault

in sun-dappled motley

before my eyes.

And

I returned home,

now

Vanquished.

These Vaunted Halls

The history

of the world

decays within

these vaunted halls.

Bones of men

whose legacies

have long passed into dust,

now scattered,

or drifted into drains

to swirl and sink

amid the sewage

These vaunted halls

of vainglorious scholars

and savage soldiers,

This labyrinthine lair

of painted women

and holy mothers,

running children

and feral dogs

This ornate gauntlet of

open secrets and

private trysts,

This once- proud venue,

where learned men

hammered out their thoughts and beliefs,

vociferous in their ferocity,

gesticulating like tribal dancers

This enviable marketplace,

with its bright colors, shady deals,

and the rush of winning a well-wrought

haggling session,

Is now the place I skulk,

and stalk, and catch the rats

that bite me in my sleep,

and take the bodies and coin

of unwary travelers.

My kingdom,

a silenced ruin of

damp and crumbling marble,

dim sunlight,

and solitude.

These vaunted halls

will return to their glory,

stone by stone, page by page,

man by man.

But for now,

I feast.

Chrysalis

Within the dark green chrysalis

I see the torchlight’s glare.

As I walk down the flame-lit hall

I feel the demon’s stare.

He’s hidden and he’s silent

but he’s watching all the same.

He’s changing into something

that will want to play a game

of cat and mouse and hide and seek.

I’m not up to the task.

I’ll have to kill him quickly,

so no one will ever ask

“Who won the battle tween the two?”

I’ll win it handily,

And slice the chrysalis apart

and finally be free.

When There’s No One Left to Cry

In the empty room,

she sits alone.

The snow pats at the window,

and the wind bumps against its panes,

but she ignores pristine whiteness.

There were snowballs, sleds and snow angels, long ago.

In the park she sits amidst

singing birds, solo saxophones,

and new blossoms full of hope

and virgin fragrance, budding with the

hum of the earth in their stems,

but she ignores the music.

There were picnics, finding robin’s eggs and holding hands, long ago.

Along the rainy path she walks in the evening,

when people are home, drinking coffee

and kisses from lips, warm and safe and dry.

The broken umbrella hides her face, and the

rhythm of the raindrops beats to the

racing of her heart.

She ignores the water.

There was jumping in puddles, closing her eyes to listen,

and sticking out her tongue to taste the water, long ago.

Standing at the bridge, alone in the misty twilight,

she stares at the red leaves clustering on the riverbank,

as if the tree bled its branches bare.

Vibrant with their true color, she ignores the fallen foliage.

There were bonfires under the stars, the admiring of

deep colors, holding them up to the gold and crimson fire

to see through gold and crimson filters,

and sipping hot chocolate, long ago.

And now there’s

no one left to cry,

to cry with,

to cry for,

to cry to.

And so,

she cries

for them all.

Beauty Like Rivers

I love

your tranquility,

your clarity,

your smoothness,

your purity,

your brightness,

your changing moods

like shifting currents,

the sparkle of your eyes like

sun diamonds on peaceful water.

I love the dark somber mantle

of a reflected moon in your dark hair,

a midnight lake of cascading curls

that eddy about my ears when you

look down at me,

and the loam smell of your bare skin

against me.

I am

an autumn leaf

in love

with a spring,

drifting away on your

beauty like rivers.

All My Everything

There’s reason to go on, they say.

Just take it slow and day by day.

But see, I know I’ve lost my way.

And no, my friend, it’s not okay.

Good intentions, noble hearts.

No avail, my life’s in parts.

Some are missing, some are old.

Tarnished is the burnished gold.

With a rueful smile I see

There’s no getting back to me.

So with what remains, I’ll go,

Hat in hand, a so-and-so.

What’s that, friend?

You’ll say a prayer?

Does my heart good

that you care.

Thank you for that.

Leaving now.

God don’t answer

why or how.

Still, I won’t say no.

You pray.

Say it as I

walk away.

Love you too friend,

don’t you cry.

Don’t think I’ll be back

to try

starting over,

learning new.

Time is short,

and days are few.

Gonna watch the sun go set.

Come with me, and pray, and let us

share that moment,

knowing why .

And when the sun sets.

So will I.

Sifting Shifting Sand

All my duties come to naught,

and as for all the things I bought,

I place the high-def screens in

front of things that really matter,

And put the things that really matter

inside the screen.

Pictures of family

Pictures of memories

Pictures of successes

Pictures of loss and regret

Pictures of friends who lost

the battle to live forever…

And today,

here I stand

utterly alone,

wrapped in sullen silence,

chilled by cold thoughts and

ironic imaginings

of what might have been

after all this time.

Sifting shifting sand,

unable to find what I deemed insignificant

and buried,

only to realize all that

ever matters

is the life you’re living

Now.

Making Warr (new chapter)

Check out the latest chapter of Making Warr.

He’s in WAY over his head, but that’s where he thrives…

Making Warr:

Warren Bradley was retired, the victim of a failed experiment that not only would have increased his strength, but his intelligence as well. When a decision is made to re-launch the project, a botched attempt to bring him back in by force results in his wife being killed.

He is now determined to obtain and destroy the information that led to her murder, and get the people responsible.

There’s just one problem: The information’s been stolen and taken overseas. And an ex has re-entered his life on the side of a rival agency. And the chemicals in his system are starting to degrade. Okay, that was three problems…

http://channillo.com/series/making-warr/