in truth
i am nothing
if not
for this
suffering
fleshed
of sighs
in nuanced
rebuttal
abjection
from sanity
lost
spectrums span
ceaselessly
i dare be sworn
to behold
the bane
of my dedition
In Truth
Lost Expression
all that i desire to say
can be found lost in my expression
enshrouded by archaic airs
arbitrary to my intentions
are these conscious thoughts of truth
in conflict with my hidden layers
or is it pretense so aloof
driving rifts through solemn lair
this much i may never know
and such it is i must accept
that all i might forever show
should be not what my heart reflects
Sharing Is Caring:
Universal Truth
The universe has once again flourished in my consciousness. Knowledge of my own existence and that of the world around me becomes my reality. There are many things, infinite things for which i feel fear and unknowing. Life persists and time is imminent. I am helpless to anything other than surrender to its insistence.
In spite of the anguished plight of each individual’s existence, i feel the warm energy of assurance and comfort radiate throughout my entire being. An understanding that all that has been, all that will be, and all that is, shall be okay.
The singularity of time and truth looms above. Not as a harbinger of sorrow but as the sun, infusing all with its golden beams of love. Doting on each and every one of us with buzzing motes of life’s exquisite mystery. Anything within and beyond our comprehension may take place at any given moment.
Just as we are here so shall we be gone. As those that are gone are here, surrounding us with their love and granting us stay. Their existence continues in all realms. The love that permeates throughout the varied instances of our day speaks of this divine truth.
This understanding brings hope. The love we all share brings hope. Hope is the understanding that although we have no possible way of knowing what things may come, we refuse to let the fear of the unknown tarnish our weary hearts. For we know that things will be okay.
Knowing that regardless of the surreality of reality and all things contained therein will happen as they will. And this is okay.
Every moment we have ever experienced. Every treasured memory Every misplaced memento that wanders throughout our subconscious as the fuel that feeds the fire of our dreams. Every brief moment of perfect happiness that so fleetingly dashed across our life’s landscape. Every first beholding of love that was previously unknown to our conscious minds. All of these exist in this very moment.
When we gaze upon the open sky of umbrage we are overcome with a sense of wonder and awe. As we glance upon the very particles that compose our own existence in physical and ethereal form. The true essence of everything in every temporal tense of existence.
That truth is love.
[image credit: Chesley Bonestell]
Sharing Is Caring:
Perilous Sky
my truth existed
somewhere
in her opaline eyes
a timeless visage
dangling moonbeams
from the edge of oblivion
muted by the dismal
desert sky
silently
she drove an erubescent arrow
through the sorrowed vales
of a wailing echo
which impaled my imperfect heart
i followed her flicker
’til the trail
led me to an apparition
which dissolved
into a parasol
sprawling with mesolite
then she vanished
into the night
[image credit: Kay Nielsen]
Sharing Is Caring:
Subconscious Calamity
christians are coming to coddle your kittens
with puddles of prattle not subtle but maddened
it’s radical to be crepuscular bustling britches
of rustic vernacular vibrantly verdant
in volant tribunals attributable tunes of a triumphant
visual sadly convulsing combative collusion
as clear as a warm summer day in the attic
of possible dreams drenched in leather lotharios
lithely maneuvering ubermensch avenues
ever evincing the principle paramour
pandering products intended for troubadours
mending their troubles in bubble text laterals
flattering baberaham lincoln with attaboy
linking up lankershim lost in the valley
of spent evolution devolving erratically
severed endeavors of laughter erroneous
phony evangelists dialed on disaster
in spastic capacities spooning the man on the moon
most mendaciously ponce de lunacy what i just did there
is no time for sentiments soon we will all be returning
to sediment lend me your earphones i’ll listen
to artifice smartphones and stupid humanity
hailing the vapid evocative evil salvation
absolving to imbecilic plastic munitions
drastic in form as the new norm soon supersedes
what was once named reseda and the pleiades
soporific precedents poised to intercede
somnolescent comments culled from epiphanies
septic or epic it’s difficult to decide
hiding in harems devising a matricide
armed with a fist of fastidious folderal
calling all cataclysmic mystic masters fall
into abysmal miocene themed myopics
mastications lost in listless scene’s reverie
roving through needles of threaded complacency
boldly implying the impetus for our means
median modes start eroding erratically
seraphim hymns sodomizing with nascent speed
spurring sporadic combustible catalysts
paradigms prodding elusion emphatically
safe from the phallic delusions of malcontents
hell-bent on plentiful ploys of ecstatic sin
limp as a sunday morning on a pink flag
exorbitantly dressed in drag and then storming
in on monty pythonic pliable placators
practicing sparring with swords of scorn swelling
in hordes so hellaciously formed like a stream
of striations intrinsically born to be
all they can beat on the bratwurst next door
to the exodus exiting earth evermore swore the end of this
Sharing Is Caring:
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]
Sharing Is Caring:
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]
Sharing Is Caring:
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]
Sharing Is Caring:
Dissevering
never were worlds so condensed
crushing sounds of chaos crashing
the eve of shattered shells
shackled in rippling clamor
torn beyond arm’s length
bracing memories of bartered being
the aching void of absent panacea
toiling for passage
the sting of earned lament
forthwith abandoned
to stations conflicted by minds unsound
long trodden in tumult’s refrain
what burdens we carry in these chains we so cherish
fighting the sins born of heaven
hammering down upon hapless casts of dissevering clay
complexions so fragile
never straying from the vaulted eden of sanity’s mind
ceaseless hordes
in planate procession
fools fraught with erstwhile fixation
betraying the worth of the words carved unyielding
through the infamy of torrid tempest
feigned in fluster
with haste, forgotten
but some flourish ephemeral
~querabus in acquiescence
nonpareil without parallel~
sweltering seamen scout the echoing seas
to plunder the gifts of god’s glory
treasures unknown
to inhabit our hearts
belying these stagnant disfigured illusions
should gentle grace ameliorate
and the rapids arrive at a quietus lull
-they say voices spout melodies stealing the wind-
and here,
this pen spreads jilted verse with piteous affectation
in shades of redundant avowal
this, the pilfer of poets and priests
only in the threads of ethereal thought, does truth reign
neither bound by scientific bane
nor beholden to idle slight of ideal
the essence of knowledge sublime
that we find the one
and the other in spirit
when realms of spent flesh beckon nigh
we shall yet persist – in tether and thyme
the warmth of unspoken goodwill
stirs the ocean’s heart humble
like the fiery swells of our wounded earth’s rain
a feeling which none are to have known
ere we wander into the borealis of the soul’s aura
wading into the florid confluence
to taper off in eased undulation
neath the umbral sway of a burgeoning berth
[image credit: Tallmadge Doyle]
Sharing Is Caring:
Profound Mechanism
what an oddly profound mechanism memory is
to be able to hear
the exact sound of someone’s voice
from years ago just by imagining it
to be able to vividly picture
a scene from a bygone era
whilst simultaneously looking
at the reality of the present moment
to summon the irreplicable symphony of flavors
rendezvousing upon the tongue
from a cherished dish
whose creator is no more
to behold the sweet scent
that once had found your senses
rapt in an erstwhile lover’s embrace
to revisit the feeling
of fleeting ideals
whence they fooled you into falling
for what you thought would be forever
foundations are ever shifting
in the light of newfound context
tragedy reshapes the stories
locked within our mind
knowing that the day will come
when all that we might stand to muster
swiftly turns to dust swept away
by a lonesome gust of wind
and this, the only truth
that we might ever trust in
it is for this very reason
we must live
within each moment
to foster our experience
as though it were untold
to leave a bold impression
that we one day might recall again
when all is lost as we retreat
into death shrouds of our own making
Max, or Not 
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