Stillness of Grief

This stillness of grief
Like a soft veil caressing my skin
Comforts yet tears – shreds
What lies within
At times I claw
Try to find a way out of myself
Leaving more wounds inside
That have no sound to imply…
This stillness of grief –
Seems a very strange thing
No help from the Universe
No salve to calm the burn
The pain masked behind my eyes
Raining tears down my throat
Still can’t calm the fire –
Smoldering, sooty, rubbly – as I choke
No revision for these words
No voice to be heard
A soft place to land
A blessing and curse
Stealing my lonely breath
Demanding my spirit; acquiesce
As my fractured heart withers like time
My soul forgetting that it’s divine…

This disparagement of love
Cupids arms overwhelmed, exhausted with sorrow
And I; in my grief I dismiss my significance
If I had meaning, or enough meaning
Would this catacomb be a sacred resting place?

This stillness of grief
Is unlike in the past –
Where raging and wailing were thrown from me –
Through the night and the valley, down walls, over fences…
Unveiling my haunting with no recompenses
Now I lay torn and crumpled, like a leaf beneath a stone
Hope, a ghost – forlorn, dismissed, wandering without a home
Where love should be soft, where love should be sweet
Instead there are barbs, rusted wire gouging me
As my hurt creeps inside this twisted cage crushing my heart
The cherished faith that love abides busted apart
Raging tears form a sea where I wish I could drown
Get lost in this burnt landscape with its sorrow bleeding down
But there’s nowhere to hide, no great escape from loves wounds
Even death won’t end this agony much too soon
This stillness of grief at this moment defines me
It’s all I know, all I feel, all I am… All I see
Turned within, flowing through yet pushed down, deep into –
Where no one else could ever bear to be
Lost although I seek…
This stillness of grief


Mesmerizing Mauve Membrane

I’ve been pacing in my shadow
I’ve been killing all my poems
Walking the words backward
In this valley of the bones
There’s no subtle way of leaving
Spongy walls of blue despair
Carve the feeling of your distance
Deep into this static air
I’ve been sensing my own murder
Since my grief is running mad
And it’s ripping up my memories
Like they’re just a current fad
How to shake all of this dust off
Is, in truth, anybodies guess
I’m all alone despite my own company –
In this existential mess
Tried to extricate my lack of meaning
Although I loathe this absurd need
To form words into some semblance of beauty
Some sense of fleeting dreams…
A kaleidoscope in motion
Yet my souls a wordless ocean
Time is sinking quickly into
Hopeless sands of my corrosion
I’ve been acting like a cliché
Stuck and drunk in my debris
Wallowing in rootlessness
Since my words have deserted me
An empty, undone poet
Spewing misery that turns this dim air blue
I’ve no more words, and thus no voice, no soul
Just this cup of bitter brew
Damn this vile inconvenience
That’s erupting in my chest
Until my mouth is spewing
Consonants of emptiness
All you specters, all you demons
Now you’re hiding under veils
You’re such narcissistic dwellers
When the pains not up to scale
Where’s my sweet, sad, sullen song?
Where’s my moody blue impression?
Even though my fingertips are bleeding –
I’ve no poetical confession!

At my desk, leather scent of tomes heavy in the air
Beyond the window; I’ve searched the sky for weighty words
Dreamt that I could countless times move souls
To the extent that they might rejoice or weep, or deeply yearn…
But I lament I’ve failed to paint the endless sky
With bridges leading to my beloved shades of greys and blues
Oh, just to hold a pen that once again leaks inky words of lonely, morbid woe
There is nothing that I wouldn’t do

Wretched Things

Cold Concrete Crawling with Creatures

The crows circle this turbulent air, amethyst clouds puffy with beautiful decay
Wretched things puking debris
I don my collar of discontent, a silky black feathered rosette
Heavy rejection comforting my weary head
I’m remiss, in this pain… no collecting all these morbid thoughts
There is no room for loveliness here
In this foul, sadistic atmosphere, where even the demons are haunted
As they spiral down into the rabbit hole
To find oblivion in new volumes of misery –
Sinking further into ooze that crawls with lamentations
Specters poeticizing about woe and death
In smoky caverns, where worms are murky, their fleshy bodies distorted with weeping thorns
From feasting on acid rain
Do not touch their prickly, venomous armature against your skin
Or suffer the corrosive nature – how your flesh falls away, layer by layer, melting… peeling…
To remind you of your brevity
That various degrees, depths, altitudes, latitudes, dimensions exist within this circle of chaste collapse
Its riots, disequilibrium, firestorms –
Char chemical gardens, leaving gnarled, twisted, bent ruins
Jagged hieroglyphs of mysteries bursting with answers that carve questions
Since before origins were painted… then written…
Since before the dirt was marked with bones of sorrow
Since before death was anointed with sinister distortions
There is no moon tonight, just a violent, cerulean hole, sucking in water and spitting out dust
There is no magnet to pull the stars from their sockets –
Lure the moon from her bitter sabbatical
Feast on these hideous and lovely precious things
This is no midnight collaboration
But through the earths crust, doused with stones and weeds; A pod resting, blossoming petals tucked away
Splits, sprouts and climbs, its gangly vine curving and slithering like a calligraphic love letter
Defying curses, afflictions and pestilence
Tender leaves scratch, poke at the dirt; Peek out
Quell lifes indiscriminate brutalities
An innate knowing
That eternity unwraps time from its sedated follicles
The sun will soon be gliding across the sky, bees calling, butterflies playing
Flowing into lifes elemental atrium
But momentarily
The sky lurches and rumbles, cracks and hisses its icy, rancid breath, painting a frigid emptiness…
Sometimes the blue can feel like drowning…
Sometimes the blue can feel like dying…
Some day will tears fall from the eyes of someone crying
For me?
Ducking beneath its soil blanket –
Tunneling back into the moist, warm earth; waiting patiently to bloom, to thrive
There is no pinched stalk here, no waxen leaves nor wooden determination
Just a gentle hum, a tranquil momentum; A Picasso blue beautifully lulling a gentle patience
To drift, to dream
The place, the space, the ripe moment will unfurl, and in the meantime –
To sleep until the moon returns