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 |   "Scattered leaved with poetic imprints." My new collection of poetry. |
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P.(tree)Log ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Well, it's now mid- 2019 and this is still the only book I use to house part of my new poetry. I began using it years ago due to a lack of storage space in my over-700 item WDC portfolio. I really need to do some spring, summer, fall and winter cleaning. There are still lots of static items which have never received any mention by other members here. But that's part of the problem of being a writer ( musician, artist, actor ... ). I do not know how to network. Thanks for discovering this link. Please leave a comment. Bookmark it, please.... This is a writing site and not FarceBrook where it's so easy just to press the button "LIKE." (( And I am not a fan of the fact that WDC has added it. )) |
| pure wildness, angry magic songs burning the wilderness the earth suffers and her creatures are powerless when she screams in pain time will not heal these wounds obscurity, shadows lifted from underneath the clouds the song of the rain contains a dark magic a sadness consuming the heavens angels should not know sorrow deep beneath the glassy surface the lake sleeps, the gods hover above, searching for peace to reflect their dreams in the arms of human worship prayers are lost in the magic songs of moss beneath the water nightingale, somewhere distant what is the meaning of your song what magic spreads from night’s blackness to the erring of my sleepless heart? tell me, sweet friend of the skies does your song make you weep phoenix tears at dawn? anthracite, dove gray streaked with peach somehow creates light blues of a new morning contained in the magic songs of the wind, blowing hope softly across the ashes clinging to the horizon songs of magic [2010.12.5…a] Inspired by “Cants magics” for piano, by Federico Mompou |
on the path of silver bricks leading home seventeen tartan plaid ducks waddled across the dull turquoise lawn I counted them from the orange bench where I shaded myself from green sunlight they plunged single file into the golden lake a blue cherry tree dipped its purple barked boughs into the wetness my yellow-submarine glasses tinted everything strangely, quite unlike the black and white found bound between colored leather allowing words to court imaginary life like toy soldiers or rag dolls bored with their pseudo quacking, I plopped three tabasco flavored chocolates into my mouth, swishing them down with pink lemonade tasting more of magnolia blossoms than anything lemon-lime-like fortunately, I am not alone in this delusion for a life overflowing with chemical additives had to eventually induce elaborate optical illusionary side effects after a few generations I wonder why the words still remain black and the pages white… is there no gray any more? no gray [2010.11.5…a] |
| hot toddy groggy vodka, shredded love letters one picture still remains never discarded though peering at its shadows no longer makes me weepy maybe a few lemon bitters … enough pills will numb back pain what kills memories? with carefully over-brewed tea scholarly melancholia studied and rehearsed, I am a master of maudlin love poems the mirrors wear black velvet my reflection always cringed when your eyes ceased to wink back that morning I only blinked twice in between, you disappeared forever in between [2010.10.5…a] |
| I am alive when we tango our heartbeats intricately connected to the swaying rhythms of those possessed by the frenzy of love’s dances spotlighted, we move as one reinventing our unity as easily as we breathe even as the music slows and silence overcomes our ardor I know this bliss will end, again our calm oneness — two bodies and two souls — briefly joined by the bittersweet echoes of motion’s intensity and as we separate, again I crawl back reluctantly to the solitude of a single’s life regenerated for a few hours, yet every time I leave you my heart stops beating one second longer I fear the hourly eternity released from your arms that keep me from seeking those of death one second longer [2010.9.5…a] |
| under the striped parasol we wander together in a carousel of circus color cushions and blankets that cover the ivory speckled sand beyond the gentle lull of the waves sunset mirages our afternoon sensuality in ever changing pastels soft as our loving caresses the stars present in your eyes replace forgotten candles I follow their light deep into your soul and wait there comfortably as if the years had never separated us remembering the first time I held your hand when we cast coins in wishing wells and vowed a quarter each that one day we would learn to hide under umbrellas in the rain or parasols at the beach... after all, love is a quiet place a blossoming rose garden as large as the deserted island of our first kiss at the beach [2010.8.5…a] |
| his suave and lazy voice whispers jazz poems the brush on the cymbals swishes, and zen candles add puff clouds of incense couples sway, sipping alcohol, its consumption like yellow daffodils or poppy seeds his suave voice craves and intensity is born the moment freezes lighters flicker drama thaws in the memory of a dying lover, too much of life’s corners and shadows dance with the moon’s static light his suave voice croons about laziness hums a cigarette melody after the funeral when his heart loses its beat a dull thump as his tears fall when he sings [2010.7.5…a] |
| I planted them blood-red 'twas the only color she allowed on that day my hands weren’t idle a child's fear of cat-o-nine-tails when the whip flew, no one knew I was rarely far enough away how those crates of flowers did weigh my comic books went unread they were birthday bright and new no good in complaining aloud until I'd finished the rose bush tale and trellises became her new garden idyll roses of any color were never my idols thorns always got in every way any small pleasure they did curtail my knees were scratched with red and swollen welts, I whimpered aloud though that, for her, was nothing new I kept secrets she never knew imagination grew into my new idol masked by the silence she only allowed I vowed to get even, I’d find the way if like a bull, she’d make me see red I’d sow her garden with rotting rats’ tails I grew into a tiger swishing its tail came a day when I knew her blood would flow thick and red upon her bed of roses, and I, not idle, I buried her deep away under loamy earth, no cry was allowed she’d yell and scream out loud oh! such a desperately quiet tale at last I’d have things my way — served her right, cause she knew I hate books left unopened and idle on a shelf I’d painted blood-red. ‘twas my idyll, spinning revenge’s tale, hands rough and red, discomfort allowed I’ve a new bloody hobby…roses? no way! rosebush tale [2010.6.5…a] A sestina inspired by NovaCatmando |
if I can no longer say goodbye will I slide, or bounce three hundred feet colliding with the mountain’s steep crags and snags will I die deep down at the bottom unconscious and battered or will I cry in agony and collapse slowly my soul splattered and crushed my body heaving and bereaved waiting for the hush of my last breath with time to brush aside my pride and chide myself for thinking life would be sweeter without you… a splattered soul [2010.5.5..a] |
| to sleep smothered in oblivion to forget wrapped in a black velvet envelope where time is measureless, a stationary orbit or an endless trajectory spun in light years like the fluttering eyes of the dreamer obsessed, coaxing visionary images that scorch his soul in silent confession to transcend his yearning with tear stained pillows to inspire desire to recall those souvenirs reactivated briefly upon waking, swiftly to remember the embers before they tumble over chalk white cliffs where the air swirls smoke filled bubbles exploding with daylight to dread opened eyes, spying reality to wish for another patch of darkness where revelations melt and the galaxy of longing sparkles as brightly as a shooting star the eyes of the dreamer [2010.4.5...a] |
| perhaps the boisterous clouds follow me northwards in my trek across the counties covered in vibrant golden fields that separate my heart-throb and my loneliness like the sunlight bleeding color on the rapidly disappearing countryside I have left your welcoming arms once again, to open the door to an empty city space I call home my turbulent white to black of thunderstorms to erupt oh, I share secrets with my four walls but they reflect the sky overhead and I would prefer bright sparkling gem stones to capture my happiness and never let it escape my life…. grey/gold [2010.3.5…a] |
| idle hours wind down to slumbering seconds a tired cognac bottle, glasses chinking after sly smiles, the fire’s logs rouged into coal, rain tapping on every drum-like surface night sounds — quiet laughter muted jazz floating from other stories your sudden kiss — offer meditation sleep and restlessness will follow deep in your eyes the words I long to hear glisten, silently I offer you my shoulder… before slumber [2010.2.5…a] |
| the skies splash sadness over the roof tops orange tiles shine like colorful wet dishes our hunger is satisfied, if not for the want of blue tinged sunlight, we are silent, welcoming the least splattering ringing on window panes for the earth is parched and without song under the eaves of the church spire pigeons roost unseasonably early, it is not yet four in the afternoon tea brews after lively whistles, cake box welcomes dull wooden-handled knives cutting generous slices of another kind of happiness, a fire in the hearth would be ridiculous, but the thought is said aloud laughter follows like the sudden crack of thunder on a gloomy may day, the room perfumed nonetheless with lily-of-the-valley, we wait patiently, for a golden ray, counting on the luck of sharing thirteen-belled sprigs not yet four in the afternoon [2010.1.5…a] |
| my garden of desire is paved in dreams nightingale songs and a collection of trinkets found in a leather box where I keep my aging heart no rose thorns tear my heart only a tint of blues and desire locked in a lopsided box where every child dreams of souvenirs and trinkets, a father’s love for songs no words hasten his songs melodies float from his heart and surround those trinkets with newly dried bricks of desire cloudy day rainbow dreams I could never capture in a box I drilled a hole in this box that day, like Pandora, all the songs escaped in my favorite dreams I abandoned my swelling heart and let it pulse through a sieve of desire I lost my life’s shiny trinkets I never found new trinkets to crowd in the death-lined box I touch my garden of desire and remember the perfumed songs that bathed my heart in a six-year-old’s dreams upon our life of flower beds, dreams illuminate precious trinkets kept close to a beating heart now I place him in an oak box and for an eternity his songs will echo rocky paths of my desire let me close this box of songs called desire a place to dream of trinkets from his heart garden of desire [2010.30.4…a] A sestina |
| air curved under a rainbow its verse forged into mountains and icy silent torrents human echoes ricochet softly in these dusk shadows a tiger bounds, camouflaged by the measured cries of life slowly revolving towards time’s end we are the blind, immobile forests of sequoias, anchored to the earth dewdrops caressed by the wind tingles the memory of our ancestors we breathe in the galaxy letting the stars shelter our dreams for mankind stripes of darkness [2010.29.4...a] |
| rainfall stutters upon the vivid hallucination of an indigo scattering under the trellis of world magic audacious monumental elements melt most vivid emotions abandoned to shrivel upon Siberian sands where dunes impersonate mountains and ultramarine junk fills craters dotting unimagined horizons perception is placed nonchalantly in six-by-nine foot canvas views passersby bored or startled with reheated quatrain portraits versed in sapphire cubism modern art [2010.28.4…a] |
| pre-summer heat that turbulent shimmering behind the brightest cobalt the city welcomes my arrival on the doorstep, a black cat purrs against my leg I momentarily forget the door's key code for I hear in his approval rhymes pleasing to my imagination later friends call on us, smiling someone mentions nocturnal visions of a poetess I know her well always in my mind she waits, sheltered by a parasol watching the waves in our two worlds we hope a breeze will move the clouds and our dreams…. in two places [2010.27.4…a] |
a stream of velvet poison vast champagne universe young delicious smiles of blind angels surround the translucent eternity of broken family circles… weep for their unknowing folly innocent answers [2010.26.4…a] |
| speak of eternity time-tied to rhythms too complicated wrinkles appear in patterned lightning I do not know what secrets time hides slowly flowing like thoughts from a rusty fountain my heart erupts, submerged in the darkness where under a tiny full moon flames appear not a romantic mountain snow-capped or veiled in haze but angry ash from earth's womb exploding in the birth of apocalypse promises, timed and untimely that will taint us in gray before we heave speed-of-light words sliding and subsiding in universal invocation Eyjafjallajökull fans a litany of depression across global warning and melts distorted tectonic plates that scrape and spin create crevasses and god’s tears wail pour forth in a slow macabre waltz walling off tomorrow and destiny in secrets only time, counted in millennia will divulge secrets of time [2010.25.4…b] |
| TWO POEMS: I pour myself into a notebook of dreams valentine bound with silver wrappings from chocolate kisses I fly from gilded cages, prima dona songs unrequited love, a Shakespearean ending, the resounding sadness thus I hide my heart behind crystal walls protected from shadowed shards by fragrant vines clinging to sunlit hope above I flee eagerly the promise of autumn's melody broken into descending harmonies defeated by wounds I have sustained I stare at a grey-blue palette of sunset still a believer of soul-mates stars and moonlight unite in your eyes crystal walls [2010.24.4...b]   ~~~ ~~~ wander along lamp-lit one way streets leading for a while in your direction a four-way stop and do not enter signs confuse my steps follow the leader bread crumb paths the dusk swallows the signs quicker than hungry pigeons eating my hope are you voiceless in anticipation do you know I’m searching for the beacon in your smile desperately inventing the words to your song to join our love high upon a starry bridge where my memory paints your garden several streets over a tangled labyrinth of life separates us until by magic I stumble upon a heart-shaped door and your quiet prayer please come in while I light the lamps your quiet prayer [2010.24.4…c] |
| behind the red door bells and gongs hang in windy corners resonate appeasing birdsong hymns contemporary vibrations I wait for my beloved arms outstretched I seek love, admiration devotion, eyes clear from uncertainty's mist I befriend destiny plant calm offerings for arrows of pure sentiment thrummed by demi-gods I pray, crossing the bridge from night to the summons of dawn I whisper the rules of patience heard in gentle waterfall over mossy stones collected from foreign corners where my heart has learned to blossom I have created Adam's garden brick walls tamed by wisteria and clematis, my favorite fragrances the gazebo, a haven of every rose hue an Eden to caress love behind the red door behind the red door [2010.23.4...a] |
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