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]

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]

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)

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]

Stoned Miles

ashes eschewed

usher fall underfoot

 

the remnants

of endless days

 

gray

and despondent

 

shuttered

 

i no longer see

the trees taper

 

impressions

once flourishing

thought, sound, and feeling

 

flashing

in shrill peals

 

a tale stowed surreally

 

stolen

by flickering

madness

eluding

 

strangely retold

in a cold, bleak immersion

 

hours burned frigid

of infernal mind

 

rue forms a sordid soot

of the soul’s toiling

 

inward it folds

fueling lucifer’s fire

 

solitude broods

failures born of inaction

 

on mattresses

barren

 

time-worn

and forgotten

 

mottled

with mildewed crumbs

 

bones for a pillow

 

the contrast stings anguish

 

shone stark

with such loss

 

beyond even nightfall

its poignancy stretches

 

these truths

weep beside me

framed by the faint gloaming

 

the autumn dawn

breaches

 

as ardent

claims feigning

to never have cared

 

but the silence

she already knows

[image credit: H.J. Ford]

Let Me Tell of No More

hope

like humankind
is truly
the cruelest

if not all too usual

like a challenger deep
i could have easily
inhabited the trenches
of the great mariana

if left to my own devices

in a steady stream
of entropic existence

this, is not to say
that my soul would not
seep through the fissures
absconding to hellfire
in iron-core iconoclasm

my chosen paths
are minded with honors
and badges

it’s the acclimatization
and the stayed deprivation
that stave off the gravest of fates

. . . to be stricken
with the malignancy
of minded emotion
in the spur of the moment

to. . . argh

to, ~ f e e l ~.

for when i do
dimensions cry, uncle

as my watery ways

shear gaping rifts
through the planes of perception

. . .

i dwelled in detachment

living tortuous death

every breath a burden anew

but at least i knew~

now, time has wrought trickery
upon my soul’s dispossession

and the distance which spans
amid consequent disparity

has displaced my consciousness
landing a final blow
upon all i have known

rent by the unspent
tempestuous
turbulent
fervid
and festering
the influx of blustering
bombast so drastically
thrashing my breast

an impetuous
press against her lips
precious

all the years of my life
have always belonged
to her

this, i know
will inhabit my bed of dirt
when i greet the insect hordes

but more than just this
it was the mistle-streaked
visage since sallow and sullen

the culminating of hearts
acquiescing

a lifetime flashed before me
in that briefest of respite

much like a comet streaks
through a burst sky

only now

had its tail ensnared
the pulsating mass
fresh from my chest

and thus it was shot to the sun
in an instant

and such elucidation
diffused forces known

as gravity left me
to fall back to earth

nothing
can tell
of the ghastly descent
whence i combusted
to dust
from the old familiar sphere
of atmos and mir

thunderous crashing
i plunged into depths
the source of eternity’s tears
ever felled

in an instant
they passed through me
like ghost particles
colliding

i can no longer abide
let me now stay my tongue

take my leave
for this grievance
shall venture no more

boring all
like the sting
has bored holes
where my eyes once beheld–

let me tell
of no more

[image credit: Tess of the Storm Country (1922) featuring Mary Pickford]

Trust

i have spun this web
with words unsaid
upon a bed of sorrow

love ne’er ebbs
though in her stead
i dread to face
the wakeless morrow

broken vows of death’s departing
spoken with a silver tongue

cloaked in shards
from shattered hearts
enshrouded by the blackened sun

seconds fall at fevered pace
as life does from this land of lust

where all intentions turn to waste
and hurt is what we earn for trusting

Not Even Death

and here we are
yet living
on this eve of lost idyll

i am no more able
to feel your touch
than sorrowed skies retreat

the passing hours
grow ever darker
my lair has turned to dust
unsettled

roaming on this plane
alone
in search of any senseless reason

the more i look
the more i find
my mind is but a distant ruin

littered with the consequence
of time’s relentless ire

as truths unravel
by its hands
extending far beyond
the grave

where now
not even death
can stand to save us

Stoic Submission

even now
when thoughts of her
affronting love’s convention
have shuffled off
the consequence
befalling our mistake

do trails tell truth
of hours attending
context tread anew

disavowing fated remnants
lingering devoid of interest
bleeding web of understanding
weeping reaped
sown of her seed

in retroactive disillusion
memories become unraveled
like the sutures
faintly tethering us
at the tearless seam

so it seems
as days unfolding
shattered moulds
tinged with decay
hinging on pending perspectives
shifting lights shine
fears display

in the barren sands of ruin
truant cheeks
turned weak of will
baring thoughts i pray not bear

surrendered to stoic submission

The Sleepless Hour

drowning
in the darkness

silence
rests upon her lips

i long
to lift my leaden head

paralyzed
by thoughts of living

seconds drifting
in and out
from borrowed backgrounds

sitting in the circle
of regret
and rotting earth

thoughts of her
tormenting
pages shorn
to show an ending
spurned

still
her laughter echoes
through the frigid nights
of empty air

poisoned
by the voiceless peril
slithering through
meadows maddened

striking with a force
unfounded
never was her kiss
denied

but shallow whispers
lay awake
to court the
shadow’s song of ruin

through the forest
whence we stumbled forth
to greet the sleepless hour