Monday, August 17, 2015

Mute King

Floating and wanton, but never forgotten
Set to flame on a spool of wire
Created solely by my need to conspire
And upon fruition while blooming and birthing
I found a conclusion that left me searching
So be these thoughts foolish, frank, or sequestered
I remain the mute king and they the prince jester.


Turn Around

I kissed the wind
When it wasn't looking
And found a clue
Among the morning dew
To why she never turned around
Tornadoes then, would touch the ground.


Flower Pokin'

I was a naturalist raping nature for its beauty.
Taking from the black earth the thing that made it pretty.
I did it out of fear, working in a crying fury,
Searching for the recipe to help cultivate the flirting.
And finished now, my fears run off as I prune, ridicule, and scoff.

I stand now knowing your potential, my dream here has come true
Of a centerpiece worthy of my god, itself, and of you.
Done working now, done flirting justified by my creation.
Never to repeat again my flower poking damnation.

I keep the pace with a sad face running the lifelong mundane rat race.
From quivering lip to perked emotion, travel steady and in slow motion
And near death or upon it, or thinking only of it I am enlightened till it passesa
And then back to the desk and sit, work hard now, and then, work hard to be rewarded when?
Too old to go, to old to grow, to old for it to be worth the sins.


Aeson Over Coffee

Ive had memories caught in smell before but not these strong emotions. Not till now as I cry over Brazillian Coffee to the thought of my mentor, who passed. And these people, seeing what I see, smelling what I smell are painfully unaware of the tragedy beset in my mind even though they can smell it. And why do they laugh, why are the speaking of fashion, love, lust, and greed. It's disrespectful, I mean cant they smell it, this loss is penetrating me. 



Walking, float down the isle,
Tears fall over a smile
Eyes hidden, vailed in hope
Deep beating and exposed
Vows, kiss, new life with you
Soul is grown to life renewed.

My Sonnet

Of this opine, and in striken mind
I lose all that I am
And replacing this treat, a blind melody
Buried in between.
Love and lust, desire toward something
I must.
Looking for soothing, I lost.
Daring to someone, to trust.
23 thoughts enter my head, some of them fleeting
some of them red.
And chasing these fires to the depth of my know
I am set burning to infatuate slow.
I am set burning to the things I've known
I am set burning to love the scarecrow.
Fishing for plush savory pulling
I deny boring and let myself go
Fighitng for the day the night must fall
Only one to lay down as the sun cat crawls.


The Sun Is Low

The Sun Is Low

Morning has come, the days young, and the sun is low in the sky.
Birds call to lovers, we war over covers, and the sun is low in the sky.
Awakening begins, love, kisses, sin, and suns still low in the sky.

Noon rolls round, the day is here, and the sun is so high in the sky.
The world finds its rhythm, we go to find them, and the sun is high in the sky.
Food finds us starving, like some monogamists darling, the sun is high in the sky.

Sunset comes, the day draws close, the sun is low in the sky.
Birds call again perching together as kin, the sun is low in the sky.
I find you staring at imperfection and falling in love again, as the sun sets we begin.


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