Luminary In Her Dearth

adrift
amid the vapid bedlam

palliation sought
eluding

stinging mistral
stretching onward

unseen
through the looking glass

left
to bare futility

lorn
where languid life doth linger

mistress lost

the first
the last

as she alone
compelled the stars

to loom anew
the constellations

lucid whispers
shaped her lips

like lucent kisses
illustrating

dormant creed
of freedom’s virtue

solitary
heart-sworn wisdom

salvaged from a wonted way

of this frail earth
where only fools
and martyrs
of demented mind

stand to find
a disposition
sound of spirit

. . . listen –

for her’s is a legacy
of love

luminary
in her dearth

and presence
redefined

 

 

[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]

Upon Consideration . . .

fuck you
for the thought you’re thinking

fuck your epic pompadour

fuck that smug look
on your fuck face

fuck your doppelganger dog

fuck your every breath you breathe

fuck whatever makes you happy

fuck the way your clothing fits you

fuck the timbre of your voice

fuck anyone desperate
or dumb enough to fall for your shit

fuck you
for not being bothered
by the fact that you’re a prick

fuck your “soul patch”
fuck your soul
fuck your lack thereof
fuck no

fuck the way your mouth moves
every time you make an utterance

fuck your feigned gesticulations

fuck you
just because

fuck the fact that you perceive
yourself as being above others

fuck your lack of self-awareness

fuck the way you mistreat women

fuck your racist undertones
you always try to justify

fuck your privilege
being of a magnitude superlative

fuck your pompous
omnipresent omnipotent arrogance

fuck your vapid elocution
fuck you for always guffawing

fuck your predisposed conclusions

fuck you for wearing “cologne”

fuck you for making me smell you

fuck your insincerity
fuck your insecurity
fuck your lack of verity
fuck your duplicitous nature

fuck you because “~Dashers, Dashers~”

fuck your fucking sweater-vests

fuck you for even existing

fuck you for not remedying it

fuck your parents
fuck theirs too

fuck them all
for never caring

wait a fucking minute, dude –

you too
were neglected

under slightly different circumstances

nonetheless

life had not afforded you
the proper chances

for the record
fuck my hypocritical
lapse in discretion

leading me to perpetrate
a most impetuous transgression

if you would excuse
my hideous affront to civil discourse

mayhaps you and i
could be the source
of one another’s recourse

[image credit: František Kobliha]

Petaluna Linger

awash
in coils of amber
umber

and slumber
as autumn awakens

a solemn breeze
seizes
lofty trees
in lucent columns

a gauntlet
of ambient umbra

born the republic
of czechoslovakia

briefly
a voice could be heard:
“call me ishmael”

forces of intrigue
colluded in union

to bring forth
a most inconsequential
kismet

through mistral moons
into mellow mons

from stumbled startings
to fallen ends

asterina anomala

sweetness
of a serene dawn

plush fur of eternal purr
fills my pillow
ever brimming

buffering
this astral seraphic
kitten cabal

[image credit: Ivan Bilibin]

Messages in the Night Sky

beautiful sentiments from my dear friend Christine Ray of Brave & Reckless

Brave and Reckless

I look to the stars

In this onyx night

Trace constellations

with tentative fingertip

My heart aching to find

the shape of you

in raised dots

that read like braille

to my soul

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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memories like these

cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto

nineteen-eighty-six
or so

through the foothills
of tujunga

headed to the old rainbow

pockets emptied
at the castle

somewhere out
in sherman oaks

squandered
trying to conquer strider

level four
was all she wrote

swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier

followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare

frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck

but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck

garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix

pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes

gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes

members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued

weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air

regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare

helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend

ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed

i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder

fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders

not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination

come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation

memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight

where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die

(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)

Hearsay What?

few exist as piteous
as those swayed
by the plague of hearsay

regaled by despiteous
imposters desperate entreaties

cunningly devised
in ways that play
to every preconception

disarming unwitting parties
of their competent discretion

unbeknownst to whom
would be distraught
with shame by such imprudence

if they could thus comprehend
the gravity of their congruence

sadly, were they to be disavowed
of their misapprehension

consciously their mind would disallow
truth through dissociation

as cognitive dissonance
would pardon their disreputation

safe from any consequence
befitting of their resignation

wont are we as humans
to surrender our hallowed intentions

in spite of our knowing better
still, we submit without question

rather than making the effort
to consider all positions

we would sooner spurn the victim
guilty by their word’s omission

stayed by shame of prohibition
knowing what we dare not mention

so it is that we condemn
those innocent to false convictions

meanwhile, those responsible
for inciting such accusations

revel in the glory
misappropriated by deception

left without a moral
that would suit such an affront to ethics

such truths will perpetuate
for humankind is that pathetic

[image credit: George Cruikshank]

Daydreams

some days
we long to be killed
more than others

to save us
from spilling
our secretive druthers

in rum-soaked confessions
to loathsome ex-lovers

or nameless encounters
with strangers uncovered

shamelessly asking for help
from our mothers

whose salt stings the wounds
from the womb to the gutter

whose ruinous choices
left pagans to shudder

impetuous voicings
so flagrantly uttered

lugubrious lamentations
seethe and smother

you see
i have neither the will
nor the the wanting

to languish in suffering
ever so daunting

i rather prefer
to bestir to the coffin

and slough this infernal coil
right the fuck off then!

[image credit: Edward Honaker]

In Life

machinations
of the mind
maligned
by self-imposed design
the designated driver
of a maladaptive
disposition
dislocated sediment
intent on masochistic dreams
essential to the martyrdom
indoctrinated by a matriarch
of drastic sadist aspect
etched upon
wretched projections
usurped by alienation
parchment poisoned
by a plucked pen
paraphrasing false-inflections
pulse diminished
inquisitions
redress of aloof forsaking
rooftops shunned
by dawn’s awaken
caustic disclaim
trained on trauma
interred at the infirm
spun of silk
encased chrysalis
incrementum in reverso
verses of accursed squalor
umbral indigent
in freefall
following in footsteps
fading faster than
the self-effacing
imbrue of inebriation
seesawing with undulation
diametric poles
in flux
de facto devolution
folding inward
on the precipice
event horizon somnolent
a fate inferred
and self-fulfilled
through flustered blurs
of blighted pills
spilling the inner-light
and stirring dust to volant heights
in violent hues of tapered will
through eyes of silent dearth
and death as breath escaping
flights of fury
cilice of a soul
unfurling life
like crimson shed
in water
blissful skies of sought ensconcing
molded by the want of naught
but for the promise
of demise eternal
more than earned
in life

[image credit: Harry Clarke]

Eve of No Tomorrow

lay your thoughts
upon my pillow

willows whisper
winds serene

tales unfold
composed of kisses

lost in silent reverie

this night beckons
ever urgent

argent skies
immersed in light

as the stars
succumb to ruin

tranquil drops
well in your eyes

[image credit: Kay Nielsen]