And in this
lonely, dusty ruin
I count the coins
comprising
the price
of my perdition.
I have strangled
my conscience,
and opened
my accounts.
An easy life
in uneasy trade
for a diseased soul
that screams
and cries
in the silence.
I watch it
fall away.
I will be
troubled no more
as it sleeps.
And see
the teardrops
spray from my lips
as I whistle
and smile,
eternally
dying.
What is it that keeps
your heart in chains
of darkness, graves,
voids, abysses,
and things
that cut and kill and burn?
Do not your
sleep-filled eyes
behold the sun?
the clouds?
the stars?
What calls your mind
to embrace
the gibbering shadows
that dance in
ever-tightening circles,
venturing up
to block your view of heaven,
laying waste to your
body and mind?
Yet in you
is the seed of song,
of love,
creativity.
Work the fire.
Forge the axe
that sunders darkness
with light
and sets you free.
Prey,
tell us you
are game.
I pour the blood
from my heart
This ink
This lead
These pixels
Resurrected in
the empty church
of my life
Briefly seen,
my life imagined
as I once saw it
Fleeting
the feelings
of my flesh,
the senses of
my being
I kneel
in the empty, fragrant
darkness
The small wooden window
that leads to where I toss my sins
like wedding rice
never opens
I say them
all the same
They pile
like decaying petals
at my feet
multi-hued
multi-faceted
radiant with putrescence
They smell of illicit love
drunken torture
anger and loneliness
rage and despair
I press them to my heart
to stop the bleeding
absolving myself
resolving never to do
these things again
And so the risen sun
forgives me
But I have chosen death.
You hold the knife
as one holds
a fallen fledgling,
Your eyes command my approach,
and as I shuffle,
the shackles sing a
discordant, jangling dirge
I weep,
but whether for my soul
or for your cruelty,
I cannot say.
I held you.
Kissed you.
Loved you.
Sang you to sleep in my arms.
Your smile transfixed me,
and the hidden coils of your flesh
felt warm in my hands.
Your lying mouth
wrought cries from the core of me.
And like fresh clay
you molded me into a sacrifice,
Sharpened your knife
on your heart of stone.
Pray make it quick, love.
I will wait for you
in the
frozen abyss…
The beacon skims
the waves
but no ships sail
this hour of night
A false dawn lights
the horizon, and
obsidian skies blush pale
as the stars shine
their last
My small lantern
battles
what shadows it can tame.
The rest wait their turn
The mulled wine
warms the bones
and softens the edges
of harsh memories
My breathing,
the scratch of the pen,
the sizzling pop of an oil bubble
sound all the louder
at this hour
Far below,
waves whisper
susurrations
of sighs
The keepers of
the past
watch from
realms unseen,
but whether in
approval or censure,
I can’t tell.
Either way,
I’m undone.
A red gold band
of light
sears the seam of
the horizon
I finish the wine.
I finish the page,
and close my eyes
to the sweet brightness
And once more
the walls crumble
to ruin,
the light
dies,
and I fade
like the names
of lovers
drawn in the sand
before high tide.
I write
in the
shadowed places
cold, bleak
and dark
Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk
full of cigarette butts,
phlegmatic spit
and on occasion,
blood
There are crevices
in the fences too,
where the wind whistles
off key,
enticing me
to emerge
and share.
And I want to,
I so very want to,
and know that I
so very
never will
The silent shadows
comfort me,
drape their darkness
across my shoulders
like the powerful arm
of a strong friend
I shift and settle,
a bag of garbage
kicked in the corner,
under a wedge of dim, flickering light
from a faulty streetlamp,
the wires humming in
off key harmony
with the whistling wind
Come out to play, poet…
‘No,’ I reply to the invitation,
now no longer content to be in
the shadows.
I melt into them.
My words spin
out and away,
beyond my control,
into the vast, black
void of heaven.
And I write
in the
shadowed places
Back then, the pit as warm red embers glow
But soon the fire and clawed, webbed wings will grow
The chains will melt that bind me far below
And soon for you, he’ll make the hot wind blow
See how against the moonlit sky he soars
Forgetting steely bars and oaken doors
The ship is no escape, set down your oars
There’s thunder, flame and lightning in his roars
See now the fire raining from the sky
So hot it cooks the skin and blinds the eye
And in the slaughter’s wake there is no why
Perhaps the flame will spare you if you cry
Untethered are we, fire in the cloud
As flying low we skim across the crowd
Our hearts within us passionate and proud
Our battle cries are ringing long and loud
When the alarum bells toll, run and hide
The armies intertwine and fight with pride
But warfare ever was a prickly bride
And vanquished now, we wash out on the tide
What sealed our fate remains a mystery
And now we are a different form of free
It struck us odd because we couldn’t see
That love is best to fight your enemy
I found it quite by accident,
long after
you were gone.
A sunbeam
through the dirty window
was resting on it,
a celestial beacon
like
a navigator’s star,
or a savior’s herald.
Emotions stirred,
slow and sluggish,
a snail waking from sleep.
I hesitated, standing in
the acrid, arid attic dust,
my heart warring
with my mind,
Do I open
the treasure of us?
Long buried memories
of times past,
of youth and strength,
of love and passion,
of you smiling,
of us, in love.
I could open
the creaky wooden lid,
softened, like me,
by age.
I could grasp
the rich fabric to my cheek,
and twirl the bright coins in my fingers,
admiring their sparkle and flash
in the fading light.
I could let slip
through my fingers
the bloody cloth and the fool’s gold.
But it’s all of a piece, isn’t it?
And I would have
peace now.
I wiped my tears,
and left
the treasure of us
unopened.
I will hold it
in my heart,
in these last days.
For that is enough,
and somehow
more than riches.
Flowers for wishes
Flowers for dreams
Flowers for nothing
is all that it seems.
Flowers are falling
from heaven above.
Flowers are given
when one is in love.
Flowers for loneliness
Flowers for tears
Flowers for happiness
driving out fears.
Flowers are falling
in fields green and gold.
Flowers for young children
soon growing old.
Flowers for wishes
from out of the blue,
wishing you’d love me,
if wishes come true.
And now she wanders ‘neath the waves,
her raven hair pulled tight,
dark eyes upon the ocean floor.
She walks it through the night.
The ship she rode was shattered
on a rocky coral shore,
And now poor Muirgen, lost at sea,
will ride the waves no more.
Loved lass she was, and passing fair,
the sailors all did say.
No favor gave she when they’d stare;
she sent them on their way.
A new start was her final wish.
The village grew too small,
and passage bought with man and fish,
they sailed into a squall.
The vessel fought it bravely,
but the waves kept rising higher,
and cracked the mast and broke the deck,
and lightning started fire.
And there was Muirgen, lost at sea,
to bear a bitter fate.
She never would see land again,
but had no one to wait
at home upon the seaside shore
to grieve her soul’s demise,
no family or caretaker.
For Muirgen, no one cries.
They say that you can see her
when the moon and stars are nigh,
serene beneath the rolling surf,
the southern wind her sigh.
We sing of Muirgen, lost at sea,
the world no more to roam.
The current of her passing soul
will guide us safely home.
The current of her passing soul
will guide us
safely
home.
Beyond Panic 