Supernova (Part Three): Crawl

Crawl critters, crawl
On bended knees and broken thumbs
Crawl children, crawl
With absent minds and upturned hearts
Again, my friends, crawl
From some old desert: barren, cold
Ticking, dripping with a life
A constant dance of bleached, crossed bones
Crawl insects, crawl
No eyes shall find your conquered heart
Your rotting brain, without a thought
Or love will find your empty gaze.
Crawl infants, crawl
Across a frozen sea abounding
Just beyond an icy curtain.
Sealed and locked, and seeming safe
As tempting as tomorrow's fate
Crawl my lover, crawl
To find me on the other side
And with my warmth and gentle arms
I will be your soul protector
When biting frozen breezes
Bring a love to last the night.

Supernova (Part Two) : Waning of the Light

Love,
a coin that rests in my pocket.
Two faced,
valuable,
and easily tossed,
dropped,
or lost
in some forgotten, dark crevice.

Once,
we kissed on the Ferris wheel.
Sat there,
eyes locked,
rocking at the top
without
a thought
to the grimy world below.

Dreams
ended with apocalypse news.
Then we
grew apart,
without a future.
No light
to shine
upon our infant's cheek.

Pale
and silent now you sleep.
Yet here
I weep
for loss of love,
lack of
strength
to face the coming dark.

A flickering candle
in a dark and quiet room.
She fades and winter comes,
but winter I have now seen.
Without a love, without a dream
A frigid heart, forever chilled and blue.

Supernova (Part One): Oh Cosmic Love

Burning hot among the cold
and endless tracks of faceless sons and daughters.
Ever peaceful. Never silent.
Life is coursing through and out
and brings to sultry worlds and keen eyes
warmth and vibrance, love and beauty,
kindness beyond measure.
Yet without thanks or point of view
Sleeping, shining, making seen
Wonders with abundance,
She maintains a never ceasing
vigil of countless glistens in the dark.

Oh, my bright and decadent star.
Life is springing and children laugh
Rays are bringing needed joy
and nourishment,
embraces and importance.

Golden persistence pushing zephyr dances
While two old lovers look dreaming
And beaming with yet even more
unfathomable purity and sheen.
Worlds turn and away she goes
Still they turn and back she comes
and never could the need be greater
for such a radiant, caring mother
burning out beyond the heavens.
Flares and winds and burning passion
bring us together and one day,
that passion will drive us apart.

Oh my dying, wonderful mother,
Iron burning from a reservoir
One day will it bring a doom,
and devastation,
terror and the end.

Unseen Treasures

Opening the pages
of some parchment
that time forgot,
that dust embraced,
and sunlight faded,
I find an old bit of knowledge
that sparks a new connection.
Suddenly I stop
and wonder just what hands
have felt
just what eyes
have seen
this bump and that.
How many times has
this letter spoken
and this word
brought joy
to bleak
and bothersome days

Turning past the tan
and brittle pages
of an ancient friend,
I cannot fathom its journey
and never will I find
an eager teacher so full
of thought
and
so ripe with age
and
so ready to speak.

To an extent I only dreamed,
only thought I knew it well.
spells and incantations,
superstitions and momentum
to bring me safely round
through shadowy alleys of life
and other unforgiving places
that winds and tides
will surely take me.

Reluctantly, I close the door
and wave farewell
to bold new fascination,
dreams of foreign objects
and myths
that melt through time.
My eyelids fall
and in a moment
I am in a new frontier
of dragons, beasts,
and stormy seas.

And there I stay til morning light

Beauty Kills

A stark gray fox
Laying dead in the leaves.
Eyes closed, ears down
Bushy tail curled up
Into a bundle
Of something once warm
And brisk as the sun
Cunning as scientists
Bright as the dawn.

Three old hens
Sitting on their eggs
In an old green chicken coop
Right outside the barn
One on the first day
Two on the next
Nothing save a lead ball
Taken on the last

When the beauty of the clever thief
Killed without remorse
Fades into an old oak tree
Fallen in the forest
Soon will rise another
Born in vibrant Spring

Soft As Cashmere

Eyes like silver from the mines
Coal is your hair, sheen and black
Lips, soft as velvet from Genoa
Sweeter still than chocolates
From a southern island nation

Waves crash and creep and hiss
Sunlight shines on silken skin
Smiles beam like divination
Reaching out and holding close
Close to a cashmere lover
Sprawled out on a lonely beach

Evening cradles new found love
Teasing, pulling at the seams
Sewing both into a pattern
Laying bunched along the sand
With none but sea gulls to observe
Gliding softly on the wind

The crescent moon, she smiles down
Diamonds peer through a blanket night
Shimmering silently, caught in place
In a net cast over all the heavens
Burning hot out beyond measure
Cooling lovers on the sand

With morning light comes new tomorrow
Blank and generous and eager still
Wishing for a moment more
To spend entwined upon the ground
But now is seen what was forgotten
Now is known the rest of life

Part our ways O' gilded angel
Never shall we meet again
Under star and grace of night time
In the arms of evening dim
Warm and whispering without worry
Never shall we be again

Some Old Tree

Raging, ripping
Full of life
Dripping wet and cold
In a dark and dusty hole

Rats will sleep there,
Grab your guns
Dogs will hide there,
Sniff them out
Cats will lay there,
Cut their tails

Let them dry in the noon day sun
On the limbs of some old tree

In the shade I sit and love her
With a blanket all about
A picnic set before our legs
Words of love come dripping down
And my heart beats
Thumping!
Faster still,
The bumping of her chin
Against my chest
Her soft hair waving in the air

Crickets sing and her blue dress
Tossed among the roots
Of some old tree,
Sits and stares at a loving mesh
Legs and arms and necks and skin

When what is said is done
When what was done is said
Then we travel home
Then I sleep alone
Then she strikes a tone
With a drunk and dirty man

The tree's gnarled roots
Ask where she's been
There's only me.

I can't find her
I can't see her

She is gone

All I have are strands of hair
Caught on the gray buttons
Of a shirt I never wear

Loose Lips of a Sinking Ship

I am America's cold,weather beaten son, driving through a field of writhing despondency. My tires are worn. My will is torn. My eyes are glued to an imaginary white horizon while the chaos around grows ever worse and ever more dangerous. Time rolls by and I fear that one day the circling carrion birds will suck the marrow from my bones, the sun will bleach my skull, my name will be forgotten to earth and sky and humanity, and still I move forward on rusty tracks of uncertainty. The coal that gives me strength, the driving momentum to a place I do not know, is slowly leaving; eaten by a thousand-eyed monster that never sleeps, only devours. Does my mother look upon me with the twinkle of pride, of love and dignity, that all my life I have been told was every man's God given right? No, she is hiding in thecracked mortar between the stones of justice. She is squeaking under the floor boards of a flawed yet ever present beast;the same beast that finds me in the deep, dark, dismal mines without a hot meal and lungs blackened from my struggle to make a life of my own. I do not ask for a miracle or a hand out or a gift. I do not ask for the watchful eyes of our overseers to glance the other way while I rape the land and steal men's hard earned crop. I ask only for a fair and clear chance to rid myself of these chains, to reach out into a promising world and carve out a hole in the cliff side to make my nest.

Fighting to draw together enough twigs and leaves and feathers to make my sturdy home, I near completion only to be drown by the cruel and cold crashing waves, and I slip into the dark abyss, forgotten and alone with no chance of redemption or return. Is mine not the strife of every young man or woman? All but the most priveliged, it seems, are being tossed aside by these rouge waves and although I now find myself not alone, my dead company brings with them no cheer and no second chances. This seems our fate: We walk along the sea floor, unable to die. We sulk along the sidewalks, unable to cry. We drive through the wasteland and meet our fates as the washed up, beat down, tired inheritants of a corrupt, broken system. But is their hope? Is their a silver lining to be found in this monsoon or are all the smiling faces bruised and bloody and the open arms of the world ripped off and lying at the feet of their deformed owners? Of these questions and countless others that have been or are going to be asked I have no answers. I only pray to a God whom I see no truth in to save me. I only pray that my tires do not go flat.